Chapter 13 #2
“That’s a very inventive story, Edgar,” came a feminine voice from the doorway, “and so convincingly presented, too. You rival even me in your ability to tell a tale.”
As Felicity swung her head toward the door, Edgar Lennard leapt from his chair.
Standing in the doorway was the Galleon of Gossip herself, Lady Brumley.
Felicity had ignored the woman all evening, knowing that the marchioness would pelt her with questions about the Worthings’ ball.
But now she felt insanely glad to see her.
Listening to Edgar Lennard’s sordid accusations made her skin crawl.
Mr. Lennard didn’t appear happy to see the woman, however. “This is none of your affair, Margaret. Miss Taylor and I were having a private conversation.”
“Yes, but in my house.” Lady Brumley moved into the room, the glittering embellishments of her headdress catching the candlelight.
Tonight a gold satin turban with embroidered ship’s anchors circled her head like a crown, and from it dangled an enormous gold brooch of a ship that bobbed as if actually at sea when she walked.
“You weren’t invited to my ball, Edgar. So imagine my surprise when I saw you dart out of the ballroom after Miss Taylor. I only wish the crush hadn’t prevented me from joining you sooner.”
The marchioness’s tinpot-colored eyes revealed such malignance that a chill scrambled down Felicity’s spine. At some time in the past, the Honorable Edgar Lennard had foolishly made the marchioness his enemy.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “I heard the rumors you’ve been spreading about how my nephew might offer for Miss Taylor. When I learned that he and Miss Taylor would be here, I wished to see for myself if they were true.”
“And what did you decide?” Lady Brumley asked, her features stony.
“Judging from his noticeable jealousy toward Lord Masefield and the way he couldn’t tear his eyes from Miss Taylor half the night, I’d say you were right.”
The impropriety of this conversation began to grate on Felicity, especially when both parties seemed oblivious not only to her but to the facts of Ian’s friendship with her. She opened her mouth to tell them so, but was prevented by Lady Brumley’s next words.
“So you’ve decided to scuttle this courtship the way you scuttled two of his others, have you? Is that why you’re telling lies to the poor girl?”
“They aren’t lies,” he protested.
Two liveried footmen appeared in the doorway behind the marchioness.
Without even turning, Lady Brumley pointed to Mr. Lennard.
“That’s the man. Throw him out.” As the footmen hurried into the room, the flickering tapers lent a hellish glow to Lady Brumley’s smile.
“One thing I learned from you twenty-five years ago, Edgar, is not to allow riffraff into one’s house. I’m afraid you’ll have to leave.”
“You have no call to interfere in this,” Mr. Lennard protested as the footmen flanked him.
“No, but my interference irritates you, which is what I live for, as you well know.”
The footmen led him to the door, but before leaving he glanced back at Felicity. “Don’t listen to this harpy’s tales. Remember what I said—my nephew isn’t what he seems.”
“Get him out of here!” Lady Brumley snapped, and Lennard was dragged off.
Felicity stood motionless, her mind and emotions in a turmoil. She couldn’t believe Edgar Lennard’s strange accusations, yet the very fact that Lady Brumley didn’t want them heard made her wonder at them. What was going on?
Lady Brumley closed the door and walked to a sideboard that held a carafe and some glasses. Hands shaking, she poured herself a generous amount of purple fluid, then took a gulp. “Do you want some port?” she asked as she lowered the glass.
“No. But I would like some answers.”
Lady Brumley faced her, the glass clutched tightly in both hands. “You didn’t believe all that balderdash Edgar fed you.”
“I don’t know what to believe.”
“He’s only trying to dissuade you from marrying Lord St. Clair, you know.”
Felicity sighed. “You and Mr. Lennard labor under a false assumption. Lord St. Clair has no intention of marrying me. In case you hadn’t noticed, he stood up with half a dozen ladies tonight and didn’t stand up with me once.”
Lady Brumley chuckled. “I’ll be hanged if that’s not jealousy I hear in your voice. And I haven’t seen St. Clair kissing any of those ladies passionately on the balcony, my dear Miss Taylor. Or taking advantage of them as you implied he did at the Worthings.”
Felicity groaned. Her deception had returned to haunt her. “He didn’t— What happened at the Worthings was a mere flirtation. He and I have both forgotten it.”
“I see.” Lady Brumley set down her glass. Walking to the door, she opened it. “Well, if you’re not considering marriage to the man, you don’t care about Edgar’s tale, and certainly you needn’t hear my opinions. So we might as well return to the ballroom.”
She waited expectantly, and Felicity scowled.
The woman was a Machiavelli of the first order!
If Felicity admitted wanting to know more, it would confirm her interest in Ian.
Yet not admitting it meant letting this opportunity go by.
How could she? Mr. Lennard’s nasty assertions tormented her, and she needed to find out if there was any truth to them.
The Galleon of Gossip would be more likely to know than anyone.
Felicity sighed. “I didn’t say I wasn’t interested. I’m still a friend to Ian— I mean, Lord St. Clair. So of course any gossip that might hurt his reputation interests me.”
With only the twitch of her upper lip acknowledging that she’d won, the marchioness closed the door once more. “A friend. Hmm. I suppose that will do for now. Sit down, and I’ll tell you what I know.”
Trying not to look as anxious as she felt, Felicity perched on the edge of a settee and folded her clammy hands in her lap.
Lady Brumley, however, took another large swallow of port before settling her stalwart frame in an overstuffed chair by the fire.
“I assume Edgar told you the same ridiculous tale he’s related to the other women St. Clair courted—that St. Clair raped Cynthia and she killed herself out of shame, prompting him to flee to the Continent. ”
Put so bluntly, it sounded ridiculous or at least melodramatic. “Yes. Mr. Lennard said that the woman linked to Lord St. Clair in the paper knows the truth, which is why the viscount took her under his protection. He says Lord St. Clair ruined her.”
Lady Brumley waved her hand dismissively.
“Poppycock. If anyone ruined her, it was Edgar. The woman you refer to—whose name is Penelope Greenaway—was not only the governess to Edgar’s children, but was also Edgar’s mistress after his wife died.
He cast her out when he discovered she was pregnant with his bastard. ”
“How do you know this?”
“Let’s just say I make it my business to know all about Edgar Lennard and his affairs. Which is easy enough, since he pays his servants so ill that they don’t mind making an extra guinea simply for giving me information.”
Lady Brumley’s low chuckle held a certain bitterness.
“In any case, when Edgar threw Miss Greenaway out, I would have aided her simply to annoy him, but Lord St. Clair got to her first. Since he has as much contempt for his uncle as I, he saw the advantage to helping the one woman who might bring his uncle down. Besides, he has a soft heart and her child is his cousin, after all, bastard or no.”
“You think that’s the only reason he helped her?”
“Of course. No matter what Edgar claims and a certain gossip columnist has written—” She paused to shoot Felicity a knowing look. “Miss Greenaway is not Lord St. Clair’s mistress.”
Then why hadn’t Ian simply said that? “Just because she was Mr. Lennard’s mistress doesn’t necessarily mean she’s not Lord St. Clair’s now,” Felicity remarked, disappointed that Lady Brumley hadn’t given her more certain proof.
“If Lord St. Clair hates his uncle, it would be a fitting revenge to make her his mistress, don’t you think? ”
“And take his uncle’s leavings? He’d be too proud to do so.”
That was a good point, and one that made her feel a bit easier.
“Besides, St. Clair wouldn’t keep a mistress while he’s courting. Men keep mistresses regularly, to be sure, but the occasional mama does frown on it. So why risk it? Especially when Edgar seems so bent on preventing him from marrying?”
“Yes, and why is Mr. Lennard determined to prevent him? I don’t understand.”
Lady Brumley tapped her fingers impatiently on the arm of her chair.
“I suppose he has the usual motives—if Ian dies childless, Edgar or his son will inherit eventually. That’s as good a reason as any for Edgar to scare off St. Clair’s young women.
Well, I shan’t let him scare off anyone else with his sordid lies. ”
“You’re certain they’re lies?” Felicity asked hopefully.