“Nonetheless, appearance is as good as a fact.”
“That’s not true!”
“It is tonight. I do not know what you have and have not done, and until I do, you will not be allowed inside.”
“Lady Jersey, I implore you. Perhaps I could—”
“Good evening, Lord Satyr.”
“Sayres!”
“What? Oh yes. My apologies. And good evening.” And with that she swept inside, past the large footmen left standing there to prevent anyone without a voucher from entering Almack’s hallowed halls.
Jackson wracked his brains. There had to be some way he could get inside. Certainly, he could sneak in, but once there, any of the five patronesses would see him tossed outside within minutes. He couldn’t possibly make Gwen the center of attention if he was constantly being removed from the ballroom.
He descended the stairs down to the street where he paced back and forth. He watched as young potential brides descended from carriages, all giggling behind their hands while their mothers corralled them with clucking sounds. Many of them noticed him, and it was clear his notoriety had reached their ears. Mothers glared him away, though he never approached any of them. The girls went from giggles to outright gasps, and in what had to be the most humiliating slap of the evening, two young gentlemen passed him their cards in the hope of being invited to his next night of debauchery. They even had a name for his revels—Satyr’s Seder—in the most revolting mix of mythology and religion he’d ever heard.
He tried to set them straight, but the young men didn’t want to listen to a lecture, nor did they believe his denials. No one did. So he was forced to wait for Gwen while trying to hide his face away from every glaring mama and overeager son, not to mention the girls, the papas, and even the servant staff who cut such a wide berth around him that he might as well have been a leper.
“Lord Sayres? Is that you?”
He spun around at the sound of Gwen’s voice, but then was stopped short at the sight of her beauty. She was dressed to perfection, a vision in blue with those beautiful Lincolnshire daffodils making her look like the goddess of spring. Which was wonderful, except her face looked pinched and anxious.
“Gwen, you look wonderful.”
“They won’t last,” she said as he looked down at the flowers in her bodice. “I need to give them more water, but it spills on the dress. You’ll have to help me. My hands are shaking.” She held them out to him. “I have never done well at Almack’s. Always end up standing next to the wall and drinking their horrible lemonade until I’m sick. I swear I hate the very sight of the building.”
He gripped her hands and pressed his lips to them. He didn’t want to tell her of his failure. The one thing he’d promised her from the beginning was that he’d be by her side as he made her into the most famous woman this Season. And now he had to abandon her, and it cut him to the quick.
“I was able to get a maid inside the dressing room. She has a large vase of daffodils for you and will help you replace any that have wilted.”
“That’s a good idea,” she said.
“And I’ve told everyone I can think of that you’ll be here. That they’ll not want to miss seeing you.”
“Oh my. You’re adding to the anticipation. I’ll have to do something amazing.”
“You are amazing. All you have to do is be exactly who you are, exactly how we practiced.”
She nodded. “I remember.”
“And when they compliment me, tell them it’s all because of the magic of your daffodil.”
“Yes.”
“And they’ll buy because they’re that stupid?”
“Because they won’t be able to resist trying to copy your success.”
She shook her head. “I’ll have to be successful for that.”
“You will. I believe in it with my whole heart.”
She nodded and he watched her chin firm with determination. Then she turned for the front door. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”
He held back, gently disentangling their hands though it gave him a physical pain to release her. She waited by his side, her hand raised to set it his forearm so he could escort her in. And when he didn’t offer her his arm, she realized the truth.
“They won’t let you in.”