How to Ruin Your Reputation in 10 Days (Ladies of Passion)

by Harmony Williams

  The woman, at least ten years older than me, if not twenty, nodded curtly. There was pride in the way she held herself, with her hands clasped in front of her and her shoulders thrust back. “I am.”

  “These grounds are magnificent.”

  The woman relaxed marginally. “Thank you, miss. I do my best to see that they’re properly tended.”

  “That must be difficult this year, given the dry weather we’ve been having.”

  The gardener nodded, resignation written on her face. “You have no idea, miss. Lady Wentworth just imported a few new additions to the garden, and I’m afraid if they don’t grow deep enough roots due to lack of moisture that they won’t survive the winter.”

  “New additions?” I stepped away from the trunk of the tree. Now that I was in the company of a servant, it didn’t matter if someone spotted me out here. If Pauline was considered a suitable enough chaperone, surely this woman counted as one as well. “What sort of new additions?”

  When the gardener frowned, I offered her a smile. I didn’t know what she thought of me, a baron’s daughter, asking about the plants, but my interest was genuine. Bored but polite small talk was for the ton. Of course, she might not know that we shared a common interest.

  “I keep a hothouse,” I added, neglecting to mention that it was technically my mother’s. “I have a wide collection of plants, not only flowers.”

  The older woman relaxed again. “I planted the azalea nearby, if you’d care to have a look.”

  An azalea? I didn’t think I had one of those in my collection. Did Mother?

  Nodding, I motioned for her to lead the way.

  I followed her along the path, paying a cursory inspection to the blooms and listing each genome and species in my head. When we reached a small bush with five-petal red-orange flowers, the gardener gestured toward it.

  “I planted it this past May.”

  For a specimen so recently planted, it seemed to have thrived. It clung to the shade of the tall hedge, making it difficult to make out, but the bush was full with leaves and flowers. Could that be…

  I dropped to my hands and knees for a closer look. The oblong, smooth-margined leaves alternated along the branch rather than growing directly opposite. The underbelly of the flowers shone a deeper shade of red than the petals. I leaned closer to smell their fragrance.

  Azaleas. More specifically, Rhododendron prunifolium, or the plum-leaf azalea. So far as I knew, it was native to the Americas.

  Mother would turn green with envy if I obtained a specimen before she did. I glanced up at the gardener. “It’s breathtaking. You’ve done a superb job of introducing it here. Did you have any trouble coaxing it to take root?”

  “Not as much as you might imagine, though it was rainier in May than it has been this past month. Lady Wentworth ordered a mature bush, potted when it came in, so transplanting it was a fairly simply affair.”

  Listening intently, I nodded along as she spoke. Once she finished, I asked, “Could I trouble you for a cutting? I’ll take one from the back of the bush, where no one will notice.”

  She hesitated. “Lady Wentworth…”

  I sighed and looked down. “What do most peers know about their own gardens? She probably wouldn’t be able to pick out an azalea if it was right in front of her.” Glumly, I started to get to my feet.

  “You’re right. It would be nice to know that a specimen like this is appreciated.” The gardener exhaled loudly and glanced over her shoulder. “Wait here. I’ll fetch some tools from the shed.”

  “No need to trouble yourself. I—”

  She was already gone. Oh, well. At least I would get that cutting!

  I always carried some form of equipment in case I uprooted a rare plant such as this one. If only I had my potting equipment… Unfortunately, I would have to make do with what was in my reticule. I pulled a small pair of shears and a handkerchief from the bag on my wrist. As long as I transplanted it soon, it should survive until I reached the hothouse. If I slipped the specimen into Mother’s hands, I would hasten our departure greatly.

  I leaned closer to the ground, choosing the best part of the plant from which to take my clipping. Could I snare part of the root without disturbing the front of the plant?

  A man coughed into his fist.

  “Why, Miss Annesley, if I had known you were waiting for me, I would have left the gathering sooner.”

  I jumped. My hair snagged on the azalea’s branches. I winced as I pulled free. Several tendrils of hair departed from my head.

  Considering that the alternative was to keep my back turned to the abominable Sir Scandent, losing a few strands of hair was preferable. I’d happily turn bald if that was what it took to transplant myself from his company.

  As I pushed myself up from my hands and knees, I caught him ogling my bottom. A tight, unpleasant knot formed in my chest.

  How far away was the gardener? Would someone hear me if I screamed? If I did, they might not believe I didn’t court the attention.

  Scandent stepped forward. “My dear, how utterly alone you are out here. ’Tis not proper.”

  His leer indicated just how improper he would prefer to make the moment.

  “I would prefer you call me Miss Annesley.” No amount of rigid manners would wash me clean of his lewd stare.

  I stepped back, squarely into the azalea bush. Its prickly branches snagged my skirts and clawed at my stocking-clad legs. The scratches smarted. I winced. I tried tugging myself free.

  Scandent approached me.

  Without thinking, I stumbled back. My skirts tried to root me in place. Then, all at once, they relinquished their hold on me. A rent ripped through the air as the fabric tore. As I stumbled back, the tear crawled farther up my leg.

  I froze, gawking at the ruin of my dress. Even Pauline couldn’t save it now, not with a fissure up to my knee. The bulge of my stocking-clad kneecap kissed the open air.

  Scandent’s amorous gaze raked over my hip to the rip exposing my leg. The corners of his mouth twitched in a satisfied smile. “Your wardrobe appears to be in dire straits. Perhaps I should escort you to someplace you won’t be seen.”

  “Indeed not.” My chin wobbled as I gave the pronouncement, but I held my ground.

  Scandent stepped closer still. His nearness conjured up memories of the passionate encounters I’d shared with Julian. But this time, longing didn’t charge the air, at least not on my part. Panic quickened the beat of my heart. I buried my fists in my skirts in revulsion.

  Was I quick enough to outrun him? Anywhere would be better than here, alone and unchaperoned.

  “Ah, I see you’ve found her.” Julian’s voice penetrated the air, loud and falsely jovial. Beneath the cordiality of his words was a blade-like edge.

  He appeared behind Scandent, sauntering until he came abreast of the other man. Although his lips stretched in a smile, it was far from friendly. His eyes glittered like ice.

  “Francine, I feared you’d gone astray again.” Although Julian directed his words to me, he didn’t lift his gaze from Scandent’s person.

  Scandent lifted his lip in a sneer seconds before he recovered. But his mask was just as inhospitable as Julian’s. The two men stared each other down.

  “I’ll escort her back,” Julian said, his tone thorny.

  “No need,” Scandent gritted back. “I have the matter well in hand.”

  Although the two men were near in height, Scandent carried at least two stone on Julian. He loomed forward, so close he had to look up an inch into Julian’s eyes. The threat didn’t sway Julian in the least. He held firm, his expression as hard as diamond.

  “Forgive me,” he said. “Did I phrase that as a question? Let me try again: I will escort Francine to the gathering. Alone.”

  Scandent bristled. Julian straightened his spine another inch, to gain as much height on the man as possible. Would this come to blows?

  “I trust we don’t have to meet over this at dawn.”


  My breath caught. Was Julian suggesting a duel? Over me? I’d just as soon rejoin the party on my own. I’d traipse around naked rather than witness him put his life in danger.

  Scandent held his gaze another minute, then spat on the ground. “Escort her, for all she’s worth.” He turned on his heel and stormed down the path.

  I hadn’t attributed him with so much sense or self-preservation. I shook as I watched him go. At any moment, I feared he would change his mind and take Julian up on his offer of a duel.

  Julian crossed to me. When I shivered, he rubbed his hands over my shoulders. I tore my gaze away from the walkway where Scandent had disappeared. Julian’s touch eased some of the tension from my shoulders. I was safe now, and so was he.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  His expression was tight. With disapproval or worry? I couldn’t tell. I nodded, mute.

  Dropping his hands, he turned and offered me his arm. “I think we should return to the party, don’t you think?”

  I nodded again then studied my ripped skirt. Irreparable. His gaze followed mine.

  A scowl cut across his expression. “Did he do that to you?”

  I shook my head. “I caught it on the—on the azalea bush!” The chills from my recent encounter with Scandent evaporated. To Julian, I said, “Wait one moment. I need a cutting from this plant.”

  I dropped to my hands and knees. My shears rested on the ground with my handkerchief where I’d dropped them when I’d risen earlier. I leaned closer to the root of the plant, examining for the best angle.

  Behind me, Julian groaned. “That isn’t the most proper or ladylike position.”

  “Then turn away. Mother will swell with envy when she sees I have this cutting.”

  Leaning forward on my forearms, I snipped at the plant and carefully extracted a sample. I wrapped it delicately in my handkerchief and returned the shears to my reticule. I kept the sample in my hand, not trusting that it wouldn’t get squished if I tucked it away.

  I stood with a triumphant smile and hoisted my prize. “There. We can go now.”

  Julian shook his head ruefully. He fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and stepped closer. With careful sweeps of his hand, he daubed my cheek.

  “Blast,” he muttered under his breath. “You’ve got dirt on your cheek. It won’t come off.”

  I raised my free hand to brush at my skin. “Are you sure it isn’t my freckles you’re seeing?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Yes. I think I can tell the difference.”

  I scrubbed at my cheek. “Better?”

  He offered a stiff smile. “Much,” he said, but I suspected he lied to me. He glanced down at my skirts. With a shake of his head, he said, “You can’t attend the party like that.”

  I pursed my lips. “But we’ll have to cut through the gathering to make it to the front, where Henry’s waiting with the landau.”

  Julian’s expression grew tight. “Follow me closely,” he said. “With luck, I’ll be able to shelter you from view.”

  That I doubted very much, but it was my biggest hope.

  We started out at a quick, demanding pace. When my ankle protested, Julian slowed somewhat. He crossed to every juncture of the path to search that the way was clear before signaling me forward.

  As we approached the looming shade of the oak tree, he risked a glance at me. “I heard there’s a rumor about us on Rotten Row.”

  Actually, I hadn’t heard that he had been mentioned in specific, but I held my tongue.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to tarnish your reputation.”

  He sounded so contrite, I couldn’t help but smile. I held my hand to stall him from continuing to walk while I rested against the broad trunk of the oak tree, out of sight. The final strains of distant music ended on a flourish. No doubt the guests would fan out and mingle soon. We didn’t have much more time alone.

  “Don’t be sorry,” I said with false bravado. “Rose is spinning the rumor to my advantage as we speak.”

  He raised one eyebrow in a dubious expression.

  “It’s true.” I forced all the optimism, all the faith I had in my dear friend, into my voice, hoping to convince him. “According to her, I’ll have suitors now, all because of you. Your attention proved I am desirable. Suitable.” I smiled to myself. “Only a few short days ago, I would have thought that impossible.”

  “Impossible?”

  He scowled. A deep, dark frown. I didn’t attempt to decipher the emotions fueling it.

  “Never once have I considered you undesirable or unmarriageable. Why would you entertain such a notion?”

  Not even when I was an ungainly child? I laughed to myself. “Because it is the truth. I’m no great beauty.”

  “According to who?”

  I spread my arms. “The ton at large. I’m not blond or tall or thin.”

  “It sounds to me as though the creators of these unwritten rules of beauty had tall, blond daughters.”

  I pressed my lips together to hide a chuckle. The mirth emerged in my voice nonetheless. “Maybe so, but even without those detriments to my form, no one could ever overlook my freckles. They—”

  “Are charming.”

  Given the terse, matter-of-fact statement, I almost believed him.

  “I was going to say they are as abundant as dandelions, but I’ll accept your answer.” At least for the moment. As soon as I marched back into the gathering, I would know the truth. Every single spot marred my complexion.

  “You are more than the spots on your chin, Francine.”

  When he said it with such vehemence, I almost believed him.

  “You have enough wit and charm to light up the room like a sun.”

  I grinned. “I think that’s the closest a man has ever come to writing poetry about me.”

  He shuddered. “Promise you won’t tell my sister. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

  I bit my tongue to suppress a giggle.

  He beckoned me closer with a wave of his arm. “Come. Everyone appears engaged with helping themselves to the food. We have a lull.”

  I straightened from the tree and slipped closer to his form. He angled himself to shield my legs. He started off at a quick pace.

  At such a pace, I needed most of my concentration to ensure I didn’t stumble. But I hadn’t finished with the conversation. I lowered my voice and said, “’Tis not you or Rose or I who decides I am unsuitable. It is them.”

  “Them?” His voice was dismissive, as if he only listened with half an ear.

  “The men,” I answered without pause.

  He halted as we reached the corner of the manse. I collided with his form. He turned to lift an eyebrow at me. My cheeks heated, but I refused to break eye contact.

  “I recall you telling me you weren’t one of those long-suffering females.” His sardonic expression reminded me of how bizarre I must have seemed when he’d encountered me with Mary.

  “I’m not,” I snapped. “But I never claimed not to be friends with one.” My predicament would have been so much simpler if I were more like Mary. If I eschewed all men, I wouldn’t find myself desperate to find one suitable enough to marry.

  Julian opened his mouth, no doubt to deliver a sarcastic reply. I cut him off.

  “In this case, suffering has nothing to do with men determining the desirability of women. I am merely stating a fact. There are much prettier plums to pick. Younger ones, too.”

  Come to think of it, it would be better still for my future if people were more like plants. Many plants didn’t need the spores of the opposite gender to procreate or feel fulfilled. I’d like to think I didn’t, either, but Society felt differently.

  Julian frowned. “I did not know it was a man’s decision as to whether a woman was eligible or not.”

  “Of course it is a man’s decision,” I declaimed. “No doubt they are all too thick to know it. They think only in terms of furthering their own ends and do not realize at all.
Every time they fail to ask a maiden to dance, it reflects poorly upon her.”

  “I do believe I have been insulted.”

  I laughed. “You’ve weathered worse.”

  “All doled out by none other than yourself. You wound a poor man’s pride.” He gestured for us to continue.

  I scowled.

  “You look adorable when you frown.”

  I nearly erupted in giggles. Somehow, between pinching my arm and pressing my lips so hard they threatened to merge together, I resisted the urge to laugh. “I don’t think a man has ever said that to a woman before. Aren’t most men afraid of a woman’s displeasure?”

  “Clearly they have never had the honor of your presence.”

  As he turned his back and continued walking, I shook my head. He joked too much, but this was not a laughing matter. Not when it came to my future.

  “Ready?” Julian asked. He spared a glance over his shoulder, meeting my eyes.

  I grimaced. “As ready as I can be.”

  “Then you’d best not look as though my presence has forced a lemon down your throat.”

  I laughed. How could he joke at a time like this? But it helped to relieve the levity of the situation somewhat.

  “Better,” he said. “Stay behind me. I’ll forge a path to the door.” He pointed to the French doors opening into the hall I’d taken to reach the lawn.

  With a smile on his face, he stepped leisurely into the yard. His gait and posture were nonchalant. I emulated him as my heart beat with frantic vigor.

  He steered me along the edge of those gathered, but in the way of the bon ton, my peers sniffed out my weakness. Those out of earshot spurred me past with glares and frosty whispers. Although their words didn’t carry to my ears, I withered beneath their callous intent. Propriety dictated for those I crossed paths with to simper and say hello, but that was in many ways worse. I knew they, too, wished me to drown in the depths of the Atlantic Ocean.

  Julian and I took no more than a pair of steps when a man stepped into our path. “Miss Annesley, this is the first I’ve seen of you this afternoon. I thought you hadn’t come.”

  I bared my teeth at Lord Panicle, though it was far from a smile. He had been the only man to peg me for a woman at the lecture—or, at the very least, the only man to openly confront me about it. If anyone had bandied about the rumor that had led to the Infamy Illustrator depicting me in the scandal rag today, it was him.