Page 63 of How to Cross a Marquess (The Way to a Lord's Heart 3)

“I have not been able to get out until now.”

“Has something happened to your gray?” She’d looked so at home on that spirited creature, as if they had a special bond. The horse she rode today wasn’t nearly in the same class.

“Lightfoot has been sent off to be sold,” Fenella replied in a toneless voice. “Along with my father’s other horses.”

“I thought she was your horse.”

“So did I. But apparently what’s mine is now…not.”

“What do you mean?”

“I had to borrow a mount from one of our tenants,” she went on without acknowledging his question. She indicated the gelding. “He was kind enough tohumorme. I had to have some air. I’ll pay when I get home.”

“Pay?”

“When my brothers-in-law learn I’ve been out riding alone, I’ll get a lecture. Or worse.”

Roger remembered her tart response when he’d made that objection, so long ago it seemed now. She seemed a different person today. Still as beautiful, but she looked weary and dispirited. Perhaps she was mourning her loss? That burden could grow heavier before it lightened. “I’m sorry about your father,” he said.

“I am more than sorry. I am ruined.”

“But surely he left you well provided for?” Roger wondered if Fairclough’s affairs had been left in disorder. Was that why the horses were being sold?

“Some might think so,” Fenella replied. “I do not. He left my portion in trust until I marry.” She gritted her teeth. “To be overseen by my sisters’ husbands. I believe you’ve met them.”

Roger nodded.

“We have never been more than uneasy acquaintances.”

He could understand that. They hadn’t seemed the sort to be her friends.

“And now we are very likely to become bitter enemies.” Fenella shook her head. “I expected to gain my independence. Of course I did not want Papa to die. I’m sorry he’s gone. But to leave things like this! He might have noticed that I managed his affairs quite competently for the last year. That I can take care of myself. But no. My fortune is left entirely out of my control. Every move I make must be approved by two men I dislike, who hardly ever agree with each other.” She made an angry gesture. “They’ve been given the right to approve any match I make. Can you credit it? They intend to make the most of that, I can tell. My only hope is that they won’t be able to settle on one candidate. Of course I shall refuse.”

Roger groped for words. It seemed that his thought of presenting himself as an official suitor would not do. Fenella’s greedy relations would see that they’d gain no advantage with him.

“I have been ordered—ordered!—to live with one of my sisters. Most generously, I may choose which. Perhaps you remember how well we get on.”

Her tone was bitter. Roger could see that she was devastated. But the fact that stood out in his mind, selfishly, was that she was going away.

“Can their husbands have failed to notice that Greta and Nora have very little regard for me? But why do I ask? What do the silly opinions of women matter to them?”

“I don’t suppose you can fight the will,” Roger said.

“For what cause? And what judge would side with me?”

It was true. A trust for an unmarried woman was thought to be a kindness. She would be cared for with no need to bother her head about business.

“I suppose I will return to my grandmother.” Abruptly, Fenella looked wary. “Don’t tell anyone I said that. They’d stop me.”

“You have my word.” Perhaps he could visit her there, Roger thought. And then flushed.Hewas not the one needing help here. She was.

“The idea of running back to her makes me feel like the frightened girl I used to be. Again!” She hit the saddlebow with her fist. “First those wretched letters and now this. It isn’t fair.”

“There must be something you can do.”

“I don’t have anytime. They mean to hurry me away. And they keep me confined in the most insupportable way!” Fenella looked out over the sea, her expression deeply unhappy.

He had to do something. He couldn’t stand seeing her this way. But what? An idea bloomed in Roger’s brain. A tempting idea. Unthinkable? But he’d thought it, hadn’t he?

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