The embarrassed shuffling of feet gave answer enough.
“So is it logical to assume that Lord Sayres has done…” She gestured vaguely with her hands. “Whatever it is that’s been said? All while tending to sick dogs, helping arrange balls, and hiring coachmen?” She turned to him. “I believe, my lord, that you have an enemy with a vicious tongue. One who is illogical, thankfully, so it is easy to see the truth of it.”
He nodded. He knew exactly who had done it. Indeed, he had said so, but the women hadn’t been interested in targeting her. So he left it open to their speculation.
“I believe you are right,” he said. “But who could want to tarnish me so badly that she would tarnish every one of your reputations as well as mine? Who hates you, Mrs. Saunderson? Mrs. Bradley? I cannot imagine such perfidy. Thank God it was so easily exposed. Otherwise, how would your daughters fare if your reputation was impugned? Or your nieces? Not to mention sweet Violet who is so innocent, I believe a false word would hurt her deeply.”
That was enough to turn the tide. The women had a mystery that included a subtle threat to every lady here. Gwen’s mother called for more tea, and the women returned to the parlor, apparently eager to discuss the problem.
Well done, he thought, but this was just one group of ladies. There were likely several others comparing him to Satan right now in parlors and in ballrooms throughout London. That made everything more difficult. And in case he didn’t realize it, Gwen’s mother turned her hard gaze onto him.
“There, Lord Sayres,” she said with a hard glare. “I have stopped the worst of it here, but this must end or you may not ever come near my daughter again.”
He nodded as he looked to Gwen. “I must double check all of our plans for tomorrow night. We cannot debut the daffodil in the midst of a scandal.”
Gwen’s eyes were dark with worry. “We cannot delay either. The flowers for tomorrow night have already been cut. They will not be fresh beyond tomorrow.”
He was well aware. “I must talk with Mrs. Ross immediately.” It was at her ball that Gwen was going to make her debut.
“No, no,” her mother said impatiently. “She has denounced you. It was either that or lose her reputation completely.”
“What?” he gasped. He and Mrs. Ross had been friends since he first arrived in London a decade ago. He’d introduced her to her husband and stood at her wedding.
“She had no choice. They’ve been saying the two of you were lovers. Her husband is furious.”
Her husband wasn’t the only one. Damnation, just how far had Isabelle gone to destroy him? The answer was obvious. She’d done exactly what she excelled at. She destroyed his reputation among the financial set, and now among theton.
“You must appear somewhere at the height of respectability,” Gwen’s mother said. “Somewhere no one would question as part of your network of evil.”
He had a network of evil?
“Almack’s, then,” Gwen said.
Both he and her mother frowned at her. “What?”
“We must debut our flower at Almack’s. There is no place more respectable than that.”
He groaned. She was right. No place was more respectable, but could he get in? Could he convince the patronesses to display his flowers? He had a smooth tongue, but no one was that clever. Not with those biddies.
“Promise them popularity,” Gwen said. “That’s what you promised me.”
Her mother huffed. “Is that what he offered you? My goodness, Gwen, you could have asked me.”
Gwen didn’t respond to her mother’s gibe. Instead, she looked him in the eye. “Can you do it?”
It was a simple question, and yet he responded to it like a clarion call. “I will,” he said firmly. He had to or they were both done, and he’d never be able to ask for her hand in marriage.
“Excellent,” she said, as if that settled everything. Then she turned to her mother as she headed toward the stairs. “I am going to change out of these wretched clothes. And then I have to find Elliott. I am done waiting for my dowry. I should like the money now.” She glanced at Jackson. “In case you need to bribe your way into Almack’s.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Iwant youto come.” Five words that Gwen had been repeating over and over. “If it can’t be him, I want you.”
Lilah smiled as she finished admiring Gwen’s earbobs. They were tiny daffodils painted with the correct anatomy and then cut and glued onto ear dangles, all made by Beatrix. “These are beautiful,” she said as she handed them to Gwen. “And he’ll be there.”
Gwen stared down at her hands and did her best not to fiddle with the pin vase at her bodice. It had water in it, but no flower. Not yet. Not until the very last moment. “Aunt Isabelle has made him out to be a… a…” She couldn’t find the right word to describe all the things that had been attributed to him.
“A satyr?”