Page 58 of The Dangerous Lord

“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.

“As certain as anyone who knows the two men can be. It’s not in St. Clair’s character to force a woman. You know it as well as I.”

She felt numb. “But you have no proof.”

The older woman hesitated, as if debating something. Then she sighed. “I should have known you wouldn’t simply take my word for it. Very well. I have some information I gleaned from Edgar’s servants. It’s not much, but I believe it’s closer to the truth.”