Chapter 18 #2
“Not at all.” The woman cast her a sidelong glance. “You’re here to learn whether I’m really Lord St. Clair’s mistress as you postulated in your column.”
Heat climbed up Felicity’s neck to her cheeks. The woman was shockingly blunt, wasn’t she? “No, I ... That is ... well, I—”
“Trust me, I’d do the same thing if I were in your place. But let me set your mind at ease. I am not—nor ever wished to be—his mistress or anything else.”
An enormous sigh whooshed out of Felicity before she could prevent it.
Ian had proclaimed a hundred times that Miss Greenaway wasn’t his mistress.
Sara had been nearly certain of it, and Lady Brumley even more so.
But until Felicity had heard the words from Miss Greenaway’s own mouth, she hadn’t quite believed it.
And though she supposed the woman could be lying, she could see no reason for that.
“Thank you,” Felicity whispered as they entered a small parlor.
“You’re welcome.” With a little cooing noise, the woman laid her son in a wooden crib that sat near a large chair. “It would be churlish of me indeed to repay his lordship’s kindness by misleading his future wife.” She gestured to a pretty Hepplewhite sofa. “Please sit down, Miss Taylor.”
Felicity complied, feeling awkward. The woman was being very gracious, considering the situation.
“Before I go any further, I must apologize for my article. I shouldn’t have speculated so publicly about your association with Ian.
He’s made me see it was wrong to do so, especially when it might ... harm your reputation.”
Miss Greenaway chuckled. “My reputation?” With a grace and posture only a governess could manage, she lowered her posterior in a vertical line onto the chair beside her son.
Felicity had never seen a woman’s spine remain quite so elegantly straight.
She certainly had never managed such an enviable posture herself.
“I thank you for your concern,” the woman went on once she was settled, “but it’s unnecessary, I assure you.
You didn’t mention my name or Walter’s, and my reputation was damaged long ago.
Besides, your assumption was logical, given the circumstances.
And as you well know, Lord St. Clair rouses speculation wherever he goes. ”
“That’s true.” Felicity swallowed. “It’s the real reason I’m here. You see ... I hear a great many rumors in my profession. And ... well, I’ve heard some particularly nasty ones about Ian. I was hoping you might tell me what is truth and what is lies.”
“I see. What have you heard?”
Under different circumstances, Felicity might have been more delicate about presenting her situation, trying to assess how best to elicit the truth from her companion.
But she had no time for such subtleties today.
She was forced to be blunt. Fortunately, Miss Greenaway’s earlier frankness made it easier.
As briefly as possible, Felicity related the two conversations she’d had at the Brumley ball. Though Miss Greenaway’s expression altered somewhat at the mention of Ian’s uncle, the woman kept silent throughout Felicity’s tale.
“So you see,” Felicity finished, “I don’t know what to believe, or if either of these tales are true at all. I hoped you might tell me why Ian left England. And why he and his uncle are in conflict over his marrying.”
“What does his lordship say?”
Sarcasm laced her voice. “That I’m merely jealous. That it’s nothing to worry my pretty little head about.” She tilted up her chin. “He won’t tell me anything. And as his future wife, I think I have the right to know.”
“I agree,” she said gently. “I will say this—his lordship’s uncle can’t be trusted. But beyond that, I can’t tell you anything else. Lord St. Clair swore me to secrecy the day he brought me here, and I owe him too much to betray his trust.”
No! Despair knotted in her belly. This was like those garden mazes she hated, where each turning only led to more turnings. Sheer frustration drove her to her feet. “Then how am I to know I’m not making the biggest mistake in my life by marrying him?”
The woman’s forehead knotted into a perplexed frown. “Tell me something, Miss Taylor. Two weeks ago, Lord St. Clair instructed me never to speak to you, yet now he’s marrying you. How did that come about?”
“I’ve wondered the same thing myself,” she said glumly. “Apparently, somewhere among our many battles over my column, he came to the conclusion that I’d make him a suitable wife. I can’t imagine how, since we have nothing in common.”
“No indeed.” The woman’s lips twitched with amusement.
“Except perhaps for an incredible ability to find out other people’s secrets.
And a tendency to act forcefully to get what you want.
And let’s not forget a fondness for children—he did say his fiancée had four brothers he’d be supporting, and he’s always been kind to my son.
” She broke out in a smile. “But nothing else, certainly. Whatever do you see in each other?”
Felicity didn’t like being mocked. She halted to glare at the governess. “You’re laboring under a misconception if you think this is a love match. Ian didn’t choose to marry me for any such commonalities, I assure you. He wants a brood mare, that’s all.”
“A-A brood mare?” Miss Greenaway choked out.
“A woman to give him an heir. And in exchange for my marrying him, he’s paying off my debts and providing for my brothers and me.”
“Ah. So your marriage is nothing but a business arrangement?”
“Precisely.”
“And the fact that you’re a beautiful, intelligent young woman has nothing to do with it, just as his attractions have nothing to do with your decision.”
She colored. “Certainly not.”
“Then why, pray tell, are you so intent on uncovering his past? If this marriage is merely a business arrangement and he’s keeping his end of the bargain, why do you care what he did ten years ago?”
“Because,” Felicity said through gritted teeth, “in a short time, I’ll be putting my life and future in his hands, and the man is so bloody secretive I don’t even know if I can trust him.” That wasn’t entirely true, but she had no time for shilly-shallying.
“You needn’t worry about that. Lord St. Clair is quite trustworthy. He’ll treat you well.” Miss Greenaway rose and approached to where Felicity stood trembling. “But I think you know that. So what really torments you so much?”
Felicity ducked her head to hide the sudden tears swimming in her eyes. “What torments me is that we aren’t even married and I’m already in love with the scoundrel.”
She sniffled. Oh, damn, it was true. Why else did she feel sick at the thought of being his wife and not having his heart?
It was love, to be sure, even if he was a cold devil sometimes.
And she’d fought so hard against it! She should’ve known fighting was pointless from the first time he’d sauntered into her study and informed her that she would regret tangling with him.
Oh, yes, she regretted it. She regretted that tangling with him hadn’t made him love her back. The tears straggled down her cheeks, first singly, then in solid rivulets, forlorn pilgrims streaming to the shrine of unrequited love.
Miss Greenaway drew out a sensible cotton handkerchief and handed it to Felicity. “There, there, my dear. Surely it’s not so terrible to be in love with a man like Lord St. Clair.”
“It is when he doesn’t love me,” she whispered.
“Are you sure of that?”
She nodded. “Ian has a thorn buried deep inside his heart that prevents him from loving me in return. It needs plucking out. How can I do that when I don’t know what it is?” She lifted a pleading glance to Miss Greenaway. “Can’t you help me?”