Page 75 of How to Cross a Marquess (The Way to a Lord's Heart 3)

“Oh yes.” Her grandmother looked wistful.

“And so was my grandfather.” Fenella remembered him as a fierce Scot who had no patience for fools. Even her sister Nora had been frightened of him.

“Do you think that makes marital bliss automatic? Not at all. I think it may heighten the disappointments that inevitably come, from time to time.”

“I thought you were happy together,” said Fenella. Disillusionment stirred in her. She’d set up her grandparents’ marriage as an ideal in her mind.

“We were. Because we worked at it. Love makes youwantto agree. It doesn’t mean you will, or solve every problem that comes along. Like some sort of magic wand.” She snorted at the idea.

As Fenella took in this nugget of wisdom and stored it away for future reference, she felt the beginning of a broad relief.

“Well, let’s get this husband of yours in here and see what he’s made of,” said her grandmother.

It was a thrill to hear Roger called that, even as she worried about the coming encounter. “I hope you won’t bully him, Grandmamma.”

“Would he let me?”

“Well, no, but—” She didn’t want them to wrangle.

“Then we have no problem.”

Roger was summoned. He stood before them with his hands behind his back, a bit like a schoolboy brought before the headmaster, Fenella thought.

“Tell me about yourself,” said her grandmother to him. “How do you describe yourself to a new acquaintance? A gentleman acquaintance, that is. None of the namby-pamby stuff you’d tell a female.”

“Wouldn’t,” said Roger. “I’d be a dead boredescribing myself. We’d talk about whatever we were doing. Who introduced us. That sort of thing.”

The old lady showed no particular reaction. “What are your favorite pursuits?”

“Riding, shooting. Dancing. I’m fond of a hand of cards with skilled players.”

“What do you despise?”

“Cruelty,” Roger replied promptly.

“What would your mother say if I asked her about your character?”

“Well, good things, I expect. Sheismy mother. Macklin might be a better reference if I require one. He’s a very honest fellow.”

“Macklin?”

“The Earl of Macklin. He is—yes, I think I can call him a friend of mine, though I just met him this year.”

“An older man?” asked Fenella’s grandmother.

“About fifty, I believe.”

“Ah, it must have been his father then.”

“What must have been, Grandmamma?” asked Fenella. The conversation was going better than she’d expected, if not predictably.

“The previous earl. He was a suitor of mine, long ago.”

“Really?” said Roger. “The current Lord Macklin courted my mother. In London, years ago.”

“Indeed.”

“She thought he might be again, when he came to stay with us. But now they say they’re friends. Do you suppose that’s all right?”

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