Page 81 of How to Cross a Marquess (The Way to a Lord's Heart 3)

“My father and I certainly did. Yet we got along rather well most of the time.”

“I often envied his pride in you,” Fenella said.

“It’s part of a father’s job to be proud and encouraging.”

She made a soft sound, like a puff of skepticism.

That remark had been inept, Roger realized, remembering occasions when he’d overheard Fenella’s father express disappointment in her. Fairclough had been a fool in this area, failing to see the gem in his household. “That’s what I think, at least,” he said. “A father can support the spirits of his children. I hope to be such a father.”

Fenella gave him a startled look. His point appeared to sink in as she held his eyes for a moment. She looked down. “I’m sure you will be.” She bit her lip. “It’s such a responsibility, becoming a parent. I sometimes wonder what sort of mother I will make.”

“You’ll be an exemplary mother.”

She gazed at him again. “You’re quick to compliment, but why should I be? I’ve had no mother to emulate since I was fifteen. Even before that, we had so many disputes over my want of conduct. Greta and Nora may remember her as a kind parent, but I do not. I’ve never been around children. Until John, this summer. With his snakes.” She gave a half laugh, though her expression remained worried. “Can he be a representative example?”

“You’ll be a fine mother because you’re kind and sensible.” Roger wanted to addloving, but they hadn’t spoken of love. Somehow he couldn’t say the word.

“That hardly seems enough.”

He hadn’t known of this doubt in her. She’d appeared so strong and confident since her return from Scotland.

“Of course we have your mother nearby to help,” Fenella added. “She’s a wonderful model of motherhood.” The idea seemed to comfort her.

He’d seen Fenella as beautiful and spirited and sometimes annoyingly stubborn, but never so vulnerable. “Mama and I have had our disputes.”

“Really? You always seem in harmony.”

“I don’t think that’s true of any family. Notalways.”

The word seemed to startle her, as if it had struck her before in some conversation. “I suppose not.” Suddenly, she smiled. “Grandmamma used to ring tremendous peals over her son. And he was a fierce Scottish laird! Yet I know they were extremely fond of one another.”

Having experienced a hint of that lady’s disapproval, Roger didn’t envy her progeny. But he said, “There, you see?”

Fenella looked at him. “See what?”

Roger was lost in her blue eyes, which had regained their lovely spark, and for an instant couldn’t remember the subject. “Not always harmony,” he managed finally.

Her smile widened. “I wager I could learn to shout like Grandmamma. She certainly had a marked effect on you.”

“Please don’t!”

“No.” Her smile faded. “I couldn’t carry it off.”

He took her hand. “Are you happy?”

“Of course.”

He thought she spoke too quickly, and then chastised himself for being over-nice.

“Things did go so very fast,” she added, making Roger’s heart sink a little. “We’d barely acknowledged that we…were drawn to each other, and then we were eloping. We were so pressed by circumstances.” She frowned at him. “Where would we have ended up, if not for Papa’s death?”

“There’s no way of knowing, but—”

“Exactly. Were we forced into a false position?”

She’d cut him off before he could insist that they would have been wed in any case. “You think our marriage is false?”

“No, of course not. I didn’t mean that!” She squeezed his hand. “Our situation is so new. I expect that adjustment takes time.”

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