Page 32 of How to Cross a Marquess (The Way to a Lord's Heart 3)

“Oh well, yes. He misjudged the strength of a tree branch.”

“And Alistair Byrne was trampled by one of the heath ponies.”

“He wasn’t trampled! It was just a kick, and he nearly got onto the pony’s back.”

“He had a great bruise on the side of his face. I remember it.”

“You should have seen his ribs!”

“His mother was furious.”

“But he almost rode a wild pony. Do you know how difficult that is? We all envied him.”

Fenella could see it now, but at the time she’d been daunted by some of their exploits, even as she envied them. Wild ponies were not the issue, however. “If John was hurt while under my care, my sister would never forgive me.”

Roger looked thoughtful. “I suppose not. Greta has no sense of humor. None at all.” He grimaced. “Once, I was setting up a prank in the churchyard. A flapping sheet to simulate a ghost, with a rope I could pull to make it fly away. The vicar—you remember that prig Lynch?—he would have run screaming. But Greta caught me at it and tried to blackmail me.”

Fenella stared at him. “Blackmail?”

“She wanted me to dance with some friend of hers twice at an assembly. I forget which, or why actually. Was it to make her beau jealous? At any rate, of course I refused.”

“You didn’t want to dance with her?” Fenella had never heard this story of her oldest sister.

He shrugged. “I knew that wouldn’t be the end of it. Greta would have me under her thumb if I gave in. So I said no, and she went to my father and told him the whole. And the prank wasn’t even aimed at her.” He sounded as if this still rankled. “Not a forgiving person, your sister Greta.”

He didn’t know the half of it. And Fenella didn’t intend to tell him. The torments of her youth were past. “And so you will not lose her son in a quagmire.”

“The sands around Lindisfarne aren’t a quagmire. Well, except for one or two spots where the currents have hollowed them out.”

“Spots which John would inevitably fall into.”

“Do you think so?”

“He has a genius for mishaps. He’s in exile here because—” Fenella bit off the rest of this sentence. Her nephew had confided the story of the unfortunate kitten. He probably wouldn’t want it shared.

After a moment, Roger said, “I promise not to aid and abet him.”

The phrase made Fenella smile. “Thank you.” She met his eyes. Their gaze caught and held, as if some urgent communication needed to get through. This had happened at Chatton Castle after her return from Scotland, she remembered. They’d avoided looking at each other ever since. She turned away.

“I wish I’d met your Scottish grandmother,” he said. “Did she ever come to visit? I don’t remember it if she did.”

“She and Papa annoy each other,” Fenella replied, surprised at this change of direction. “My mother always went to see her. Why would you want to meet her?”

“She must be quite exceptional. You became a different person under her tutelage.”

Fenella appreciated the admiration in his voice. Perhaps too much. But she also felt a spark of resentment. “She wouldn’t agree. She says you can’t change anyone. You can only encourage their true natures to emerge if they’ve been…muffled.”

“So she saw your passions simmering under the surface?”

Fenella flushed. Partly with embarrassment, and partly with a sort of forbidden excitement at this perfectly true assessment. She knew the color was visible on her pale skin. If she’d had any doubt, she could judge by the red tingeing Roger’s cheeks.

“That didn’t come out right,” he said. “That is, I meant no offense.”

“I’m not offended.” There was no reason not to look at him, she thought. Except the shadow of Arabella, which still wavered between them. What did they owe her memory?

A shout from behind made her turn. John was hefting a broadsword that was clearly too heavy for him. He tried to swipe the air. The weapon slashed down and nearly took off the tips of his toes. How did boys survive their youth? Fenella wondered as she hurried over to intervene.

Roger watched her walk across the village hall and take possession of a sword nearly as long as she was. She returned it to its owner with amused confidence and herded her nephew out. Tom trailed after them.

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