Page 111 of The Dangerous Lord

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.”