Chapter 25 #3
“Why, yes.” She hoped Miss Greenaway would forgive her for this as long as all names were kept out of it.
“That woman I mentioned in the paper, the one on Waltham Street? I was mistaken about her connection to my husband. He helped her because she’d been Mr. Lennard’s mistress for a time and was in dire straits.
She’d left Mr. Lennard because she couldn’t endure his grief any longer.
I talked to her about all of it myself.”
“Y-You talked to her?” the duchess stammered.
No woman ever talked to someone presumed to be her husband’s mistress, which Felicity prayed would lend credence to her claims. “Yes. I wanted to find out if I could do anything to help dear Mr. Lennard through his grief. He is family, after all. Ian and I are both concerned about him. The poor wretch’s mind seems to have snapped.
” She leaned forward and lowered her voice as if to impart a great secret.
“He has some notion he should have inherited Chesterley instead of my husband. Can you believe it, Your Grace?”
That started the whispers going, as she’d hoped it would. Such a “notion” offended firmly held beliefs in primogeniture. Besides, everyone assumed that the estate was entailed on Ian’s heir. Thus Edgar Lennard’s “notion” only proved his madness.
“That doesn’t explain why your husband fled England,” the duchess persisted.
To Felicity’s surprise, Lady Brumley answered that one. “He left to fight in the war, of course. Everyone knows that. His father—wise man that he was—refused to let his heir join the army, but boys will be boys, and Lord St. Clair wanted to serve his country.”
“Really, Lady Brumley,” the duchess retorted, “do you expect us to believe that a viscount’s heir—”
“Just ask Wellington about it,” Sara put in. “Only the other day, he mentioned Lord St. Clair’s service to my husband. He said England wouldn’t have won the war without the Viscount St. Clair.”
Though she still looked skeptical, the Duchess of Pelham clearly realized when she was outnumbered. Casting them all a scathing look, she tipped up her chin and walked off.
Felicity nearly collapsed. Good Lord, she hoped she never had to deal with that woman again.
Lady Brumley took one look at her pale face and clasped her arm. “Do come tell me more about your troublesome husband,” she said as she dragged her away from the crowd. “I want to know all the details.”
With relief, Felicity allowed the woman to lead her along the edge of the dance floor and away from the others. As soon as they were out of earshot, however, she asked in a low voice, “Do you think they believed me?”
“The ones who don’t will keep it to themselves.” She patted Felicity’s hand. “You did very well, my dear. Now you must leave matters to the rumor mill. Coupled with your obvious affection for St. Clair, your story should gain more credence than Edgar’s in time. So relax. You’ve won.”
She dearly hoped that was true. Ian had suffered enough. She cast a quick prayer to the Deity, Let it work, God, please. I’ll never complain again if You’ll do this for me. And for him.
“So tell me, how much of that Banbury tale is true?” Lady Brumley asked.
Felicity’s eyes widened. “What? Didn’t you believe me?”
Lady Brumley laughed. “Not a word. Well, except for the parts about your husband’s qualities. I take it you’re well-pleased with your ‘troublesome husband’?”
A shy smile crept over Felicity’s face. “Very pleased.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Some young women can’t recognize a good man even when he lands in their laps.”
She thought of what Ian had told her about his uncle and Lady Brumley.
“That’s because men—both good and bad—hide their characters very well.
For example, Edgar Lennard might seem like a good man to some young women.
But any woman who escaped marriage to him should consider herself fortunate.
From what I understand, he has a violent temper. And a tendency to loose it on women.”
Lady Brumley stared at her keenly, and Felicity didn’t flinch from her gaze. In that moment, an understanding passed between them.
“I think I already knew that,” the marchioness finally said. “Though I sincerely hope his nephew doesn’t take after him in that respect.”
“Not in the least. But then, you knew that, too, didn’t you?” She squeezed Lady Brumley’s hand. “Thank you.”
The marchioness looked uncomfortable. “For what?”
“For having faith in him when no one else did—not even me.”
Lady Brumley gave a shrug that set the ship’s bells on her new headdress tinkling. “You’re welcome, Lord X. And if you should ever need someone to write your column for you—”
Felicity laughed. “Don’t worry. You’re the only person I’d consider.”
Heedless of the loud music and the sounds of clomping feet coming from the ballroom, Ian and Jordan stood silently in a deserted card room.
Ian had just finished his story, amazed by how much easier it had been to tell it the second time.
Encouraged by Felicity’s earlier reaction, he’d left nothing out.
Besides, it was becoming evident that the truth might emerge shortly, given his uncle’s determination to ruin him, and he wanted Jordan to hear it from him, not from Edgar Lennard.
Jordan stared at him a long time. He’d asked questions here and there, but hadn’t made any commentary that might reveal what he thought, and that worried Ian.
Finally, his friend sighed. “My God, I wish I’d known about all this long ago. How you must have suffered!”
The reaction stunned him. He’d expected more shock, more revulsion. But apparently his wife was as wise in this as in everything else. His friends cared only about him. And they understood—as she had—that it had been an accident.
“If I’d known, I might have done something to help,” Jordan went on.
“There was nothing anyone could do, I’m afraid.”
“Still, you could have told me. I’m your oldest friend. Why didn’t you say something?”
Ian shrugged. “Shame. Guilt. I hated myself. And I had no reason to believe my friends would feel any differently.”
“But something changed that, didn’t it?”
A smile crept over his face. “My wife. She finally made me accept that we all make mistakes. That living with them doesn’t have to mean torturing oneself with them. Or bearing them alone.”
Jordan seemed to accept that explanation. He gripped Ian’s arm, squeezed it briefly in a show of sympathy, then released it. “Your wife is a remarkable woman. Almost as remarkable as mine.”
“I know.” To him, she was more remarkable, but he doubted Jordan would agree.
“As for your uncle ...” Jordan’s tone hardened. “You can’t let him win this. Even if I’d never known the truth, I would have thought it an abomination for your uncle to gain Chesterley. I wonder why your father ever considered it.”
Ian ignored the sudden jolt of pain in his gut. That particular torment wasn’t likely to go away soon. “He thought me more unfit for the position than my uncle.”
“That’s not true.” Jordan’s eyes narrowed.
“If he had, he would have disinherited you entirely, but he didn’t.
Is it possible he set up that will as a way to make you see your responsibilities?
When he died, he had no idea where you were or if you would ever return.
Perhaps your father feared you wouldn’t return without good reason.
And the threat of your uncle inheriting would certainly be a good reason. ”
Ian had never considered that, but it made sense. It was the sort of test his father would have given him. And it might mean that his father had believed him, after all. It was comforting to think it.
“Perhaps you’re right, my friend,” he told Jordan. “In any case, we’ll never know. Right now, I’m more concerned with making sure Felicity doesn’t suffer the same nasty rumors I’ve endured for the past few years. So I think it’s long past time we returned to the ballroom.”
“You’re right,” Jordan said, then headed for the door.
When they entered the ballroom a few minutes later, he instantly noticed a change in the way people regarded him. The coldness that had been there earlier seemed absent. Some of the women even eyed him with interest.
He wanted only one woman, however. As they joined Gideon beside the punch table, it took Ian a few minutes to spot her standing with Lady Brumley amidst a crowd of matrons.
Someone glanced at him, then said something to Felicity that made her laugh and cast him a delighted smile.
He smiled back. What the devil was going on?
He didn’t have long to wonder. Emily and Sara hurried up to the three of them, out of breath and beside themselves with excitement. “Where on earth have you two been?” Sara asked. “You’ve missed everything!”
“Oh?” Jordan asked, exchanging glances with Ian.
“Your wife is amazing!” Emily told Ian.
“I’m quite aware of that, believe me. What has she done now?”
“I suppose you know about the gossip your uncle spread earlier,” Sara remarked. Ian nodded. “Well, you needn’t worry about that any more.”
It took Emily and Sara several minutes to tell the tale.
As they detailed Felicity’s blithe parrying of every accusation made by Edgar, Ian’s astonishment grew.
They were right—Felicity was amazing. It would never have occurred to him to attack the problem as she had.
Somehow she’d turned all his uncle’s lies into compliments to her husband without so much as calling Edgar Lennard a liar. Incredible.
Sara’s eyes were bright with mischief as she finished her tale.
“I believe she’s still complaining about her ‘troublesome’ husband and how miserable she is married to a man who provides for her brothers, supports her profession, and as she puts it, makes her ‘behave most improperly.’ She has them all laughing at your uncle’s claim that you forced her into marriage.
And pitying him for his other accusations. ”