Page 40 of How to Cross a Marquess (The Way to a Lord's Heart 3)

“Your sentiments do you credit. But you need have no fear.”

“Mere friendship?” the marquess asked, again as if he doubted.

“You’ll find as you grow older that there’s nothingmereabout friends, Chatton.” Arthur tried to sound reassuring, and it seemed he succeeded. The younger man relaxed, as if he’d done his duty and could now return to his own concerns. The question was: what were they? “Shall we walk a little?” Arthur asked.

They moved along the path that led to the far end of the garden.

Arthur tried a question, rather like tossing a baited hook into the water, he thought. “I understand you’re acting in the historical pageant with Miss Fairclough?”

Roger suppressed a start. Macklin couldnotread his mind, no matter how close to the subject of his thoughts he’d come. That lad Tom had told the earl about the rehearsal, Roger concluded. He’d tell him about the ride today as well, though he couldn’t have spoken to Macklin yet. But today’s expedition certainly wouldn’t beclandestine. Was that idea ridiculous? Roger found he didn’t care. He was ready to do whatever was necessary, whatever she asked, to spend time with Fenella.

“So you’ve reconciled?” asked Macklin.

“What do you mean?”

“After the…misunderstanding over that ride in the rain.”

“Miss Fairclough had nothing to do with my wife’s death!”

“You said that.” Macklin looked him over like a man considering buying a horse. No, he didn’t. That was ridiculous. “You seem quite certain, now. As you did on the other side of the question in London.”

“Fen—Miss Fairclough is far too levelheaded a person. She tried to keep Arabella from going.”

“Ah.”

Did Macklin sound skeptical? He mustn’t be. He had to convince him. Meeting the earl’s level gaze, Roger saw not doubt but genuine interest. He remembered that dinner in London and the clear impression he’d received of a judicious, generous person—a rare man who listened rather than commanding. He’d felt so much better after that conversation, and he’d thought, afterward, that Macklin would be a good source of advice. But what would such a man think of his behavior? He valued the earl’s opinion more than he could say and, equally, feared his judgment. But he couldn’t offer Macklin anything but honesty. Roger flailed through his chaotic thoughts. The earl didn’t break in as he groped for the right words. “I wanted to blame someone for Arabella’s unhappy end,” he said finally. “I accused others as well. Unjustly.” He looked down, ashamed.

“Understandable,” said Macklin.

Roger’s head jerked up. He saw no condemnation in the older man’s face. The relief was immense. But there was worse to confess. “I didn’t want to admit that I had any part in it. But I did. I made her unhappy, which made her reckless.”

They walked a few steps in silence. Roger braced for disappointment. “I’ve often wondered about my responsibility for others’ feelings and actions,” said Macklin.

This wasn’t the reply Roger had expected.

“Particularly, these days, with my children and grandchildren,” the earl continued. “Those who care the most for my opinion. Or so I think. Occasionally I say or do something that worries them. Even though I try to act with kindness always.”

“I didn’t.” Roger bit off the words. “I got angry. I shouted at Arabella.”

“Were you unhappy as well?”

“Miserable.” He had never been more so.

“And was that her fault?”

A flare of anger shook him. He recognized it. He’d used it before, as a mask and a bulwark against the very worst. “When she was gone, I was glad the marriage was over.” There, he’d said it aloud, as he never had before.

“But you would not have killed her.”

“Of course not!”

“And perhaps you tried, now and then, to make things better between you.”

“It was impossible. She hated Northumberland, and life at Chatton, and me, I think.” His efforts had been a failure from start to finish. The familiar weight of it descended on him.

“I’m sorry for you,” said Macklin. “You might have found a way, if you’d had more time.”

Roger couldn’t suppress a snort of disbelief.

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