Page 99 of How to Cross a Marquess (The Way to a Lord's Heart 3)

Roger whirled and leapt up so quickly that his chair tipped over and tumbled onto the carpet.Fenella! Could it be?Or had he gone mad and begun conjuring phantoms?

Her red hair was a wild snarl. There were dark smudges under her eyes, and she was wrapped in a bulky cloak. He ran over and swept her into his arms. She was reassuringly solid. He whirled her in a great circle. “I can’t believe it! You’re really here. I thought you were dead.” He remembered his promise to himself. “I love you,” he blurted out.

“I love you,” said Fenella at the same moment.

“I meant to tell you,” they said in unison.

Then spoke together yet again. “I’m sorry.”

Fenella giggled. Roger couldn’t laugh. In a little while he would, when this miracle had sunk in. But not yet.

The cloak came loose, revealing the top of her salt-crusted shift. He noticed bruises on her neck, scratches on her hands. “You’re hurt!”

“Well, I have been through a bit of an ordeal. I’ll tell you, in a moment. It’s so very good to be home.” She swayed in his arms.

Rather than berate himself for not noticing her condition, Roger sprang into action. He half carried her upstairs, scattering orders among the servants who lined the corridors for a bath to be filled, food and drink to be brought. Fenella’s half-laughing protests were ignored as he piled on command after command. He was only just able to leave her in the hands of her maid as cans of hot water began to arrive from the kitchen.

An hour later, they sat together in her boudoir, surrounded by the results of Roger’s demands, along with other treats added by Mrs. Burke and the cook. His mother had sent her delighted congratulations. Macklin had added a kind word, as had Mrs. Thorpe. Now they were finally alone. Wrapped in a warm dressing gown, with her feet up on an ottoman, Fenella had told him the story of her battle with the sea. She looked tired but content.

Roger couldn’t let go of his wife’s fingers. “I shall never allow you to swim again.”

She raised her eyebrows at the wordallow, but said only, “I don’t want to just now. That’s certain. We will see about the future.” Fenella sipped hot chocolate with her free hand, one of the many delicacies that had been produced for her. Trays were crowded with small sandwiches and cakes and sweets. “Lally said they found Mrs. Crenshaw in the sea,” she said.

Roger nodded. “I don’t wish to say I can’t forgive her, but…I haven’t yet.”

“She created a domestic tragedy with her schemes.”

“Two,” said Roger. “First for Arabella and then very nearly for us.”

“‘Very nearly’ isn’t the same,” said Fenella.

After a moment he acknowledged this with a nod.

“She was sorry for what she’d done to Arabella.”

“Not as sorry as others,” he had to say.

“No. Her daughter, and you, bore the brunt of her mistakes.” Fenella considered. “And Mrs. Crenshaw herself, in the end. She was dreadfully unhappy.”

“That doesn’t excuse her.”

“No. She was broken by grief, I think.”

“Iwas desolate when I thought you dead,” Roger objected. “But I didn’t plot to kill anyone.”

Fenella nodded. She sipped her chocolate. “How could she do it?”

He addressed the literal part of her question, as the philosophical was beyond him. “She was staying in a cottage on an estate north of the island. The owner who let it was at the pageant, and he recognized her when she was taken from the sea. She arranged the visit from London with a false name. Corresponded with the fellow’s wife and gained her sympathy with a tale of being widowed and wanting to get away from home. Told them she was fond of history and meant to look around the area, ending with the performance on Lindisfarne. They lent her a horse to use, but never noticed that she had a bow.” Roger realized he was babbling. Relief had set in. His brain felt as if it was fizzing.

“People don’t take much account of an older woman if she dresses plainly and keeps to herself,” said Fenella. She set down her cup and stretched. A soft groan escaped her. “I’ll be stiff for days, I suppose.”

“We will wait on you hand and foot.”

Fenella smiled at him. Fatigue was making itself felt after the excitement of reaching home. She would crawl into bed soon.

“I keep thinking if only Arabella had—” Roger clamped his lips together, as if he had to prevent further words from escaping. “No,” he said.

“No, what?”

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