Page 59 of How to Cross a Marquess (The Way to a Lord's Heart 3)

Roger took a step back. When she put it that way… Well, he saw her point. He ought to have consulted Macklin before he began talking, he thought. Or his mother. Or both. He’d just been so eager to make amends.

“I must find John.” She called. “John?”

The boy popped up from behind a monument on the far side of the graveyard. “I’ve found a gigantic toad!” he called triumphantly. He held up the animal, its body much bigger than the palm of his hand. Its long legs flailed in the air.

John brought the creature over to them like a prize. It looked like every other toad Roger had seen—warty gray-green skin, bulging eyes, gangling limbs. He didn’t want to discuss toads. He wanted to explain to Fenella. She was gazing over his shoulder now. Roger turned to look and discovered the vicar’s wife, peering around the corner of the church as if searching for something.

“Show Mrs. Cheeve your toad,” Fenella said to John.

John did so. The vicar’s wife looked startled. She pulled back and disappeared.

A sound escaped Fenella. It wasn’t quite a laugh, Roger thought. Not exactly a sigh.

“I wish I had a cage to put it in,” said John. “I suppose I can hold it in the carriage.”

“I think you’d better leave it,” said Fenella, sounding harried. “It will be happier here.”

John slumped. “Someday, I’ll have a proper place to care for animals. With the right food and everything.” Sulkily, he set the toad down. It hopped quickly away.

“We must go,” said Fenella.

“When will I see you again?” Roger asked.

The vicar’s wife appeared again. Arm in arm with Lady Prouse, she walked toward them. The sight seemed to alarm Fenella. “Come along,” she said to John.

Roger’s heart sank. He’d put his foot in it again. Perhaps he’d said too much. Or chosen the wrong bit to tell. It was so hard to judge about that. And now she was walking away from him.

He followed her to her gig, trying to find better words. Most people had gone. His mother’s carriage wasn’t there. The vicar’s wife trailed after them for some reason. Macklin waited with their horses.

He handed Fenella into the gig as John jumped up on the other side. “I will come to visit your father.”

“That would be kind, but he’s not really up to visitors now.”

She used a polite tone that made Roger want to grind his teeth. Yet when she looked at him, he thought her eyes brimmed with sadness. Could that be right? She drove away before he could think of a way to find out.

Roger stomped over to his horse and mounted up. Macklin followed suit, and they rode together toward the castle. Roger wrestled with his temper. Anger hadn’t helped anything before. “You always say the right thing,” he said after a while.

“Hardly,” replied Macklin.

“No, you’re known for it. Everyone says you’re a master of conversation.”

“An exaggeration.”

Roger ignored the older man’s humility. “I’m much more likely to say the wrong thing. I have a…a kind of genius for it. Words just pop out. And go on after I should stop. Because I don’t realize until afterward, mostly.”

“Are you thinking of some particular instance? Today?”

“I was trying to retract that stupid tale about Miss Fairclough that I was fool enough to start. Because…but I suppose you already know.” Roger sighed. His mother was probably aware as well. She tended to know everything. Though in that case, it was surprising she hadn’t mentioned the letters.

“Know?”

“About the letters.”

“What letters?”

“You haven’t heard?” Perhaps no one had dared bring the news to Chatton Castle?

“I don’t know what you mean,” Macklin said.