Page 58 of How to Cross a Marquess (The Way to a Lord's Heart 3)

She was reminded of John’s insistence on responsibility.

“I’ll start at once,” Roger added. He was appalled. “You may depend on me.” In the future, he vowed, he would hold his tongue when he felt the impulse to place blame. It didn’t matter how difficult words were for him, hewouldresist.

“I don’t see what you can do. Contradicting anonymous letters is like trying to bat away fog.” She grimaced. “People always quote Shakespeare about the lady who ‘doth protest too much.’ It’s no wonder no one likes Queen Gertrude.”

“Queen…who?”

“I think we’ll have to avoid each other for a bit,” she said. The thought of going back to their distant acquaintanceship made her sad. But it had worked.

“On the contrary, we’ll announce our engagement. And let the insinuating coward of a letter writer go hang.” Roger grimaced. “That went too fast. I meant to propose in form. Will you get down so I can kneel at your feet?”

Fenella was torn between laughter and tears.

“Macklin thought… What I mean is, you must know how ardently I wish to marry you.”

“This news is pushing you to speak.”

“No, it’s not. I’ve been trying to do so for days.” He rode closer and reached for her hand. “I was on my way to ask when those interfering busybodies came to call on you.”

“They thought to help.” Fenella imagined the storm of gossip an engagement would rouse in the wake of those letters. “We can’t do it now.”

“That doesn’t sound like the intrepid woman I know. We can. We’ll simply face them down.”

Would she disappoint him now? Fenella wondered. As she had others. “It’s easier for you.”

“Are you saying that you don’t wish to marry me?” asked Roger quietly.

“No.”

“So you will? Once I make things right and prove myself worthy of your hand?”

“Of course you are worthy—”

“I will,” he interrupted. “You’ll see. I’ll begin immediately.”

Before Fenella could suggest that he take some care with whatever he planned, he was riding away.

Could she have done anything differently? She wondered as she rode home alone. Was there some action she could have taken, or refrained from taking, that would have improved their situation? She couldn’t think of any.

* * *

The following Sunday, Fenella stood in the churchyard after the service beckoning to John, who had scampered off into the long grass of the graveyard. She wanted to go, but her nephew had accorded that desire as much attention as usual. It was as nothing compared with the possibility of snakes among the headstones.

Her gaze strayed to Roger, who was talking earnestly to a group of their neighbors a little distance away. “He’s telling them that you absolutely didnotencourage his late wife’s disastrous ride in the rain,” said a melodious voice at her side. “He’s been telling everyone this morning.” Fenella turned to find that the vicar’s wife had joined her. “I’d forgotten all about that ridiculous story,” the woman added. Apparently she still hadn’t received any of those wretched letters.

Lady Prouse came over to them. “Chatton is explaining how wrong he was to blame you for his wife’s death,” she said to Fenella. “He’s rather making a point of it. Do you think that’s…altogether wise?”

Fenella didn’t. But she didn’t see what she could do about it just now. She hid a sigh. For all the traits she admired in Roger, she could not accuse him of finesse. If she’d known he meant to do this, she wouldn’t have come to church today. Of course that would have roused another flurry of speculation.

“Did you tell him—” began Lady Prouse. She glanced at the vicar’s wife and fell silent.

She was glad Mrs. Cheeve hadn’t been told about the anonymous letters. The vicar’s wife enjoyed being excessively shocked. “Perhaps he’s sorry for having said it in the first place,” Fenella said lightly, as if this was a matter of indifference to her. She didn’t see what else to do. She shrugged, disavowing the vagaries of the male sex. “Excuse me, I seem to have lost my nephew.”

John had disappeared, taking advantage of his first foray outside the Clough House garden walls in days. She needed to fetch him and depart. Fenella walked through the gate into the graveyard. There was no sign of him. She moved around the corner of the church. It was a relief to be out of sight of the congregation. “John?” she called.

Roger appeared, following in her footsteps. He looked for her, smiled, and strode over. “I’ve been contradicting that stupid story,” he told her. He seemed proud of himself.

“Yes, and making everyone who’d forgotten think of it again,” Fenella replied. She couldn’t keep a touch of asperity out of her voice. “And wonder why you’re bringing it up. And so someone will mention the letters.”

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