Page 90 of How to Cross a Marquess (The Way to a Lord's Heart 3)

“He’s brought someone to speak to your wife.”

“No, she’s not seeing anyone,” Roger pronounced.

“A little girl,” Macklin continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “About nine years old, I believe. The daughter of the local miller.”

“What has she to do with anything? Did she see something? Get her up here, and let us find out.” Roger nearly shot off to the kitchen to find out for himself.

Macklin leaned a little toward him and spoke with quiet emphasis. “Tom thinks she’s much more likely to tell a lady what she knows. She’s an odd little creature, apparently.”

“What, you think I’d frighten her?”

“You are, rightfully, agitated about this matter.”

Silently, Roger admitted it. He was ready to shake information from the very trees. A little girl probably would find him intimidating. He would curb his impatience. “I’m coming along to listen,” he said.

“Of course.”

Ten minutes later, their strange delegation entered Fenella’s bedchamber. She was sitting with a book open on her lap, but Roger didn’t think she’d been reading. He knew she’d had her fill and more ofresting.

Fenella examined the group as they spread out before her. She’d been prepared for their arrival, and she was curious about the little girl. The child was thin, with large, dark eyes and black hair that straggled as if she’d recently pushed through a thicket. There were thistles stuck in the hem of her gown and a bright feather at the bodice. She had a palpable, untidy charm. Tom stood protectively next to her. The two tall men hovered at the back. “This is Lally Graham, my lady,” said Tom.

“Hello, Lally,” said Fenella.

“You’re her ladyship,” replied the girl.

“Yes.”

“The lady of the castle.”

Fenella nodded, not certain where this was going.

The child turned to look at Roger. “But he’s not the Sheriff of Nottingham.”

“No, he’s the Marquess of Chatton.”

Lally frowned as if this didn’t make sense. “What about the other one?”

“He’s the Earl of Macklin,” said Fenella.

“Like I told you,” said Tom to the girl. When Fenella raised her eyebrows, he added, “I promised her this Nottingham fella wouldn’t be here.”

Lally caught sight of the arrow that had wounded Fenella. Macklin had told them to display it for this interview, and she had complied. The little girl stared at it. “It looks just like hers,” she said.

Fenella saw Roger start. He took a step forward, but Macklin caught this arm and held him back. She approved. She suspected that this was a delicate moment, and she understood that she was to be the questioner. “Hers?” she asked.

Lally examined her, looking torn. “Did she really shoot you?”

Despite being struck by the female pronoun, Fenella merely pulled back her shawl and showed the bandage. “Someone put an arrow through my arm as I was driving along in my gig. On my way home.”

“When you wouldn’t stand and deliver?” asked Lally.

Did the girl think it had been a highwayman? Fenella wondered. That didn’t make sense on a seldom-traveled country lane. There’d be too few people to rob. Even if a witless highwayman decided to use a bow. “No one asked me,” she said. “I didn’t see anyone. Only the arrows. Two other shots missed me.”

Lally frowned as if this was puzzling. Fenella could see that Roger was itching to push her, but she stopped him with a look.

Whatever struggle Lally felt appeared to resolve itself. She stood straighter. “It’s true,” she said. “That looks just like one of Maid Marian’s arrows.”

“Maid Marian?” Fenella looked at Tom, who shrugged.

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