Page 80 of The Dangerous Lord

Felicity thrust her foot through the opening to block the door, wincing when it crashed against her boot. Lady’s footwear obviously wasn’t designed to serve as a doorstop.

“Go away!” a voice called through the aperture. “I’ve nothing to say to you!”

“Please, Miss Greenaway, let me in, just for a moment!” When the woman only kicked at her foot, Felicity called out, “I’m Ian’s fiancée!”

A sudden silence came from the other side of the door. Then Miss Greenaway leaned around the edge, clutching her baby to her chest. “You? His fiancée?”

“I’m afraid so.” Unclasping the chain holding the signet ring, Felicity held both out to the woman. “I really am.”

With a wary expression, the woman shifted her baby to her shoulder and took the ring. But as she studied the object, confusion replaced wariness. “I don’t understand. Master Ian—I mean, Lord St. Clair—did tell me yesterday that he was marrying a Miss Felicity Taylor, but he didn’t say you were also— I mean, I never imagined⁠—”

“He’d be marrying Lord X? No, I wouldn’t have thought it myself a few weeks ago.” So Ian had already been here to tell Miss Greenaway of the marriage. That would increase her jealousy if not for one thing—the woman seemed surprisingly undisturbed by the idea.

And would a mistress call a man by his childhood appellation? “But I am Felicity Taylor and I am engaged to be married to him. In fact, the wedding is at eleven, so I don’t have much time. Would you please let me in? I truly must talk with you.”

The woman hesitated only briefly before opening the door. “His lordship will be furious if he learns of this.”

“Then let’s not tell him,” Felicity said as she stepped over the threshold.

Miss Greenaway surveyed her curiously. “All right. Let’s not.” She gestured to a coat stand. “You can put your cloak there, then come with me into the parlor, if you please. I have Walter’s crib in there while the maid is at market, and I was about to put him down for his nap.” She glanced at her son’s little head, with its golden baby fuzz. “Though I think he’s started on it already.”

The glow of love on the woman’s face heightened the flawlessness of her china doll features. How could any one woman have such perfect beauty? Felicity couldn’t squelch her envy. Only the faintest brush of tiny lines at the corners of Miss Greenaway’s eyes revealed her to be older than Felicity. And though the woman dressed in a practical wool gown that hid every inch of skin, it did nothing to hide her matchless figure. A quick stab of jealousy went right to Felicity’s heart.

As they walked down the corridor, Felicity said, “I’m sure you’re wondering what I’m doing here⁠—”

“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.”