“But…I thought you meant the other part, about the…the…” Iris’s face heated. “Well, you know.”
“Oh, no. The physical part is fairly straightforward, though if one is lucky, not lacking in variety. But love—well, I’m afraid that’s much more complex.”
Iris stared at her. Love? Which of the two gentlemen in question did Lady Annabel suppose she was in love with?
Not Lord Wrexley.
The thought came out of nowhere.
No. Surely not—
“I suppose you’ve discovered what a scoundrel Lord Wrexley is?”
Iris choked on the sip of tea she’d just taken. “You knew Lord Wrexley was a scoundrel, all this time?”
“Of course. I’m a wicked widow, Iris. I know a scoundrel when I see one.”
“But why didn’t you just tell me, then?” Iris dumped her teacup on the tray with a clatter. “It would have saved me so much fuss and bother.”
Lady Annabel arched one blond eyebrow. “Would you have believed me?”
“I…well, of course I would have at least listened, even if I didn’t—”
The eyebrow inched up another notch. “Didn’t Lord Huntington tell you Lord Wrexley was a scoundrel?”
Iris’s lips turned down in a sulky frown. “Yes.”
“Did you believehim?”
Goodness, it was unpleasant to admit it when one was wrong. “Not entirely.”
“No, you wouldn’t, would you? No one can convince a lady a gentleman is a scoundrel. It’s the sort of determination she must come to on her own, and it sounds as though you have. I suppose Lord Huntington’s told you about Miss Hughes?”
Iris’s mouth fell open. “Miss Hughes! He said only a few people knew her story. Why, even Lady Honora doesn’t know, and Lord Wrexley is her cousin!”
Lady Annabel sighed, and set her teacup aside. “Diana’s story isn’t widely known, and Lord Huntington isn’t aware of my connection to her family. Her mother, Lady Farrington, and I grew up together. We were dear friends, and Miss Hughes was something of a niece to me, though not by blood.”
Dear God, what a tangle. How had a simple house party turned into a drama worthy of the London stage? “But neither Lord Wrexley nor Lord Huntington act as if they know you.”
“They don’t. Miss Hughes’s unfortunate association with Lord Wrexley took place after I’d married. I was living in Derbyshire and heard of it all through letters from her mother. I can assure you, Iris, Lord Wrexley is as guilty as Lord Huntington claims he is.”
Iris fell back against her chair, shaking her head. “What a fool I am. Lord Huntington tried to warn me about him, but I didn’t believe him.”
“You’re not a fool. Lord Wrexley is a skilled dissembler who exploited your innocence for his own gain. But scoundrels like Lord Wrexley don’t interest me much. Once their perfidy has been revealed, they become nothing more than tedious caricatures of themselves. I think we’ve said all we need say about him.”
“I hope I can forget him as easily as you can.”
“You will. But I’m pleased Lord Huntington has told you the truth about him at last. I’ve been waiting for him to do so all week. I’d begun to worry I’d have to tell you myself.”
Iris lapsed into a pensive silence as she stared into the fire. When he’d told her he’d been betrothed before, and that he’d loved Miss Hughes, the strangest sinking sensation had squeezed her heart. Perhaps he loved her still. Perhaps a lingering loyalty to Miss Hughes was the reason he wanted to marry a lady he didn’t care for.
“He told me he never talks about it.”
“No, he doesn’t. Otherwise such a scandal couldn’t have been kept secret for so long. Lord Huntington has his flaws, just as we all do, but he’s an honorable gentleman, Iris. Not a simple gentleman, or an easy one, but an honorable one.”
“Perhaps, but he’s distant and difficult to talk to.”
“Yes, I’ve heard people say so, though I find him to be a touch awkward and shy more than anything else.”
