Page 57 of The Dangerous Lord

“If what you say is true,” she finally said, “then Ian is clearly despicable. But are you sure he forced your wife? She told you of it?”

“Yes. She came to me at once, full of shame and tears.”

“And what did you do about this outrage?”

“Do?” He scratched his chin with a frown.

“Surely you called him out, at the very least, for the insult to your wife.”

“My nephew? I couldn’t call him out! His father would never have forgiven me!”

Yet you can make accusations behind his back without giving him the chance to defend himself. How very noble of you.

“So that’s when Lord St. Clair fled to the Continent?” she persisted.

He tugged nervously at his cravat. “Yes. I confronted him and demanded he make reparations. And like the coward he was, he slunk off to the Continent in the dead of night with his tail between his legs.”

How strange. The Duke of Wellington praised Ian’s bravery, yet his uncle called him a coward. If she had to wager which one lied, her money would be on Mr. Lennard. “That must have been difficult for your wife. To see her tormentor go unpunished.”

With a long sigh, he stared down at his hands. “The shame of Ian’s violation tortured her, so she took her own life, leaving me and our two children to grieve. And all because I couldn’t keep my nephew from ravishing her.”

“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.