Page 73 of How to Cross a Marquess (The Way to a Lord's Heart 3)

“The town is pretty. About seven miles south of Edinburgh, on high ground, near the North Esk River. There’s an ancient chapel.” Fenella yawned.

“You’re tired. You should rest.”

She looked around. “We must sleep on the floor. I looked upstairs. There’s nothing here.”

“I’ll spread my coat for you to lie on.”

“Nonsense. You’ll be cold.”

“The fire will do.” Indeed, the room was warmer.

After another glance at the dirty floor, she accepted his offer. She lay down with a look toward the moldy kitchen. “Do you suppose the rat comes out at night?”

“I’ll keep watch and feed the flames. That will discourage any visits.”

“I should take my turn.”

Roger nodded, not wishing to argue. But she looked so weary, and so lovely curled on the wooden floor, that he did not wake her. Instead he waited until light showed at the windows and then roused her to ride on, to the surly indignation of Mr. Larraby’s horse.

The rain had stopped, and they went faster than before, both having had enough of their cross-country trek by this time. Early in the evening, they crested a small rise and looked down on their goal—a substantial mansion of stone and slate.

Fenella set her heels to her borrowed horse, whose quirks had filled her with an irredeemable disgust for him, and moved down the incline.

Five years ago, she’d arrived at this house seeking refuge, Fenella thought as she rode. And she’d received it in full measure. Now she was looking for safety of another kind. A shield from scandal. What would Grandmamma have to say about that?

Her grandmother’s home was the same, with ranks of windows throwing warm light into the growing dusk. Fenella trusted her own judgment, and she didn’t regret her actions. But her grandmother had a lifetime’s more experience and a wealth of wisdom. She would be glad to hear her grandmother’s opinion. And of course to gain her approval and help. Fenella hadn’t realized until this moment how very much she wanted the former.

They were ushered into the lady’s presence without delay. As usual, she looked polished and elegant, making Fenella wish she’d been given a bit more time to prepare. A gown of lilac satin perfectly set off Grandmamma’s white hair and emphasized the wretched state of Fenella’s riding habit, crushed and stained by the night on the dusty floor. The lines in the old lady’s face seemed designed to emphasize its timeless bone structure.

Fenella saw Roger looking back and forth between them. “The resemblance has been remarked upon,” she said. Many observers had told her that her grandmother showed what she would look like at seventy. She hoped they were right.

“Well, what have you to say for yourself, young man?” said Grandmamma.

“I think I’m a very lucky fellow,” Roger replied with a bow that acknowledged them both.

“Ha.”

Fenella hid a smile. Her grandmother didn’t mind a little flattery, if it was judicious.

“I received your letter.” The old lady’s tone was dry. “And your servants, who arrived this morning.” She looked them up and down. “Fortunately,” she added.

Fenella was relieved to hear that her clothes had come. Grandmamma didn’t care for an untidy appearance, which she certainly presented just now. She didn’t have to voice a criticism for Fenella to be aware of it. “As I had no way of predicting the time of your arrival, you have missed dinner,” she finished.

“We’ll behave much better tomorrow, Grandmamma.” That won her a smile, so Fenella followed it with “I didn’t know the little inn south of here had closed. We spent last night on a hard floor, so I’m rather tired.”

The sympathy Fenella had hoped for showed in her grandmother’s blue eyes. A short time later, they were settled in a comfortable set of rooms, supplied with hot water for bathing and a savory meal. As a favorite with the staff here, Fenella was showered with greetings and small attentions. She reveled in the luxury, well aware that a searching conversation with her grandmother had only been postponed, not avoided.

And indeed Fenella was summoned to her grandmother’s private parlor as soon as she was up and dressed the following morning. She waved aside Roger’s concern when it was made clear that she was to come alone. If Grandmamma wanted to scold her, she would, and Fenella preferred to face that on her own. She was just glad she had a proper gown to wear and freshly washed hair.

When she stepped into the comfortable room, she remembered how she’d admired this chamber when she first saw it. Her grandmother had created a very personal retreat with books, flowers, keepsakes, and soft furnishings. Her parlor was a bower of color and ease. Fenella had envied it fiercely five years ago. A thrill went through her as she realized that she would be able to create a place like this for herself at Chatton Castle. She had her own home now, and the power to arrange whatever retreat she wanted.

Her grandmother sat in an armchair by the window. “Are you more rested?” she asked.

“Yes, thank you.”

“So now we can talk.” The old lady gestured at the chair opposite.

Fenella sat down. “Of course. Oh, first of all I must send back Mr. Larraby’s horse.”

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