Page 6 of How to Cross a Marquess (The Way to a Lord's Heart 3)

He spoke as if Roger was longing for a role but was worried about taking it. Roger set to work to dispel that wrong-headed notion and managed to avoid promising any sort of participation in the August pageant, amusing his mother even as he annoyed their scholarly neighbor.

Two

The following day brought a surprise to Chatton Castle. As Roger was looking over a list of rent rolls, he was informed that a traveler had arrived and was asking for him. The card he was handed startled him, but when he went to the front hall, he discovered that Lord Macklin was indeed in his house.

“I’m on my way to Scotland for some fishing,” said the newcomer. “When I found we were passing your home, I thought I’d stop to see you.”

“Splendid,” said Roger, and found he truly meant it. He’d recalled the dinner in London quite often since the spring. The occasion stood out in his mind as both unusual and, somehow, comforting. He was genuinely glad to see the earl. “I hope you’ll stay a few days.” He noted Macklin’s traveling carriage standing outside. An older man who was clearly a valet waited beside it, along with a homely youngster Roger couldn’t immediately categorize.

“I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you,” said Macklin.

“Not at all. We’ll be glad of the company.” Roger turned to the footman. “Have Lord Macklin’s carriage taken to the stables,” he said. “And tell my mother and Mrs. Burke that we have a visitor.” He handed over the earl’s card to be delivered with this news. Only then did he remember his mother’s youthful romance with their guest.

Macklin had stepped over to the east windows and was gazing out at the cliffside and the expanse of the North Sea beyond. “This coast has an austere beauty,” he said. “I haven’t been here before.”

Roger went to stand next to him. “Yes,” he agreed. He knew some found the landscape bleak, but it was his home country and he loved it. “And some unique vulnerabilities. Denmark is there.” He pointed directly east. “A matter of five hundred miles for the invading Danes to sail. And Norway is about the same distance there.” He pointed northeast. “Once full of marauding Norsemen. That’s why Chatton is a fortification rather than an estate house. But we do have an up-to-date wing. We’ll make you comfortable, I promise.”

“I have no doubt of it.”

“Arthur Shelton!” declared a melodious female voice.

They turned to find Roger’s mother framed by the arched stone doorway that led to the more modern part of the castle. One hand was pressed against the bodice of her rose-colored gown. The other held Macklin’s visiting card. Her blue eyes were sparkling.

“Of course you will remember my mother,” said Roger.

“The dowager marchioness,” she said with a throwaway gesture, as if to show how ridiculous she found this designation. “Helena Ravelstoke that was.”

Macklin blinked, and Roger was suddenly worried that his mother would be humiliated. He’d always accepted her tales of social success. But what if they’d been inflated in her memory?

“Helena Ravelstoke,” repeated the earl. He moved forward, holding out his hand. When he grasped Roger’s mother’s fingers, he bowed over them in the style of an earlier age. “Mademoiselle Matchless, the toast of theton.” Without letting go of her hand, he turned back to Roger. “She had every young sprig in London pining at her feet.”

She retrieved her hand, but her answering smile was brilliant.

“There were Falconhurst and Gregg.” Macklin began counting off on his fingers. “Summerford and Dawes and Wingate, and others too numerous to mention. The Prince called you delectable.” He glanced over his shoulder at Roger. “Now the Regent,” he explained.

“My mother didn’t leave me alone withhim,” replied Roger’s mother. “Papa was livid when he mentioned me in that way, but Mama was quite up to the mark. She was pretty well acquainted with the queen, you know.”

“Didn’t Lensford compare you to Botticelli’s Venus?” Macklin said. “Or shouldn’t I mention that?”

She laughed. “Such a shocking thing to say.” She didn’t seem at all bothered by this fact, however.

Was that the painting with the lady on the half shell clothed only in her long hair? Roger rather thought it was.Nota proper image to describe a young lady, especially one’s mother. He banished it from his mind.

“Many hopes were dashed when your mother accepted your father’s proposal,” Macklin said. “Lensford threatened to shoot himself.”

“Of course he didn’t mean it,” she replied. “He wassucha dramatic young man. I wonder what’s become of him.”

“Gone to fat,” answered the earl promptly. “Lives in Somerset. Breeds prize sheep.”

“Oh no!”

Macklin nodded. “Married Wrenly’s daughter.”

“I did know that. But sheep! Couldn’t it have been hunting dogs, at least? What about his poetry?”

The earl shrugged. “He may still write it. But he never published another volume after the one that critic called ‘unmitigated bilge.’”

“He was crushed,” said Roger’s mother sympathetically.

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