Page 116 of The Rake's Daughter
“His poor wife has much to bear, I fear.”
The group of ladies broke up then, circulating among the rest of the guests, as was only polite. As they drifted away, Izzy heard one lady say, “Ridiculous man. As if a man like Sir Bartleby would choose to raise his by-blow with his legitimate daughter. He was always frightfully toplofty...”
Clarissa giggled. “Because we never gave him the choice.”
Izzy slipped an arm around Clarissa. “Thank you, love, that was inspired. At the very least it should sow some uncertainty into their minds. Though I doubt the story will stay confidential.”
Clarissa laughed. “Of course it won’t—why else do you think I stressed it?”
Izzy turned back to see what was happening with Lord Pomphret. She’d been so distracted by Clarissa bringing up the past that she’d almost forgotten her anxiety about a possible duel. To her relief Lord Salcott was now standing a short distance away from Lord Pomphret, leaning against a column with his arms folded, wearing a grim expression and watching the man. Daring him to step out of line again.
Lord Pomphret wasn’t saying much, just downing glass after glass with a brooding air. The friends he’d arrived with were now nowhere to be seen.
“Don’t look so anxious. I think it’s going to be all right,” Clarissa whispered.
Izzy shook her head. “I’m not so sure.” She didn’t trust Lord Pomphret an inch.
After a few minutes a drab-looking lady appeared and took Lord Pomphret’s arm. His wife? He shook her off, then grabbed her hard by the wrist. He said something over his shoulder to Lord Salcott—Izzy couldn’t hear what—and towed his wife unsteadily from the room.
He’d gone. Izzy felt suddenly hollow. And exhausted.
She gazed across the room at Lord Salcott.
She couldn’t believe how he had stepped up to defend her reputation. Publicly and unequivocally. After telling her again and again that she wasn’t acceptable to the ton.
Putting his own reputation on the line to save hers. And Clarissa’s.
Being prepared to risk his own life in a duel—to defend a lie, to save Izzy.
The foolish, gallant man. Whatever had possessed him?
***
How do you think it’s going?” Leo asked Race. His friend had been subtly circulating among the guests at the ball, picking up snippets of conversation here and there, gauging the crowd’s reaction to Lord Pomphret’s accusation and Leo’s response.
“It’s early days yet—people are still sorting out what they think,” his friend told him. “But overall, I think the indications are positive. Apparently Pomphret’s been making an arse of himself in other quarters as well, which is in our favor.”
Leo raised a brow, and Race added in a low voice, “Word is he’s drowning in debt. Lost a bundle tonight at the tables and by all accounts was damned unpleasant about it. Accused a fellow of cheating, but it didn’t wash. Got quite nasty I heard. Members who witnessed it were so seriously unimpressed; there’s talk he’ll have his club membership withdrawn.”
Leo’s brows rose. “That is serious. Might explain why he was so anxious to leave London tonight. Not a good night tobe on the road, though. No moon at all.” He shook his head. He had no interest in Pomphret’s traveling arrangements. “What are people saying about Miss Isobel?”
Race grimaced. “Mixed. Some are saying they always knew there was something about Isobel Studley—but they’re the usual sort who seize on any little piece of scandal and wallow in it. But a surprising number seem to have dismissed it,” Race said. “Partly a reaction to Pomphret’s bad manners in casting a public slur on a popular young lady, and ruining Lady Arden’s ball.” He chuckled. “Though if I know the ton, Pomphret’s outburst will have added a certain cachet to the ball. Everyone will be talking about it.”
“Damn,” Leo muttered. The gossip wouldn’t help Isobel’s situation at all.
“I wouldn’t worry about it. I heard one woman telling her friends that Studley was so toplofty that he never once brought his wife to London because, according to him, she ‘smelled of the shop.’ Even though she was an heiress. So nobody can imagine him raising one of his by-blows in the same house as his legitimate daughter.”
Leo nodded. That would help.
“And a lot of people seem quite impressed by the way the Studley sisters responded to Pomphret’s allegation—not just Miss Isobel’s dignity, which was in sharp contrast to Pomphret’s drunken abuse, but also the way Miss Studley raced to her sister’s side. It was a clear public declaration of support. That kind of loyalty...” Race shook his head in wonder. “Priceless.”
“Impressive, isn’t it?” He’d been so proud of the girls’ reaction.
Race eyed him thoughtfully. “Speaking of impressive loyalty, you didn’t do so badly yourself. No, don’t dismiss it,” he added when Leo waved that off. “Your firm repudiation convinced many.”
Leo hadn’t planned his reaction at all. But when that louthad called IsobelBart Studley’s little bastard bitch—in front of half the ton—he’d seen red. Isobel hurt nobody by her presence in the ton: in fact she only added to it with her charm and sprightliness. And the obvious love of the two sisters for each other was something to be admired.
“One thing has me stumped, though,” Race added.
