“And,” Ben continued cheerfully, but with that hint of mischief that warned Gavin he’d better listen well, “you have set tongues wagging all over London. I heard your name in the halls of Whitehall today and on the street on my way home. I am also certain you have been the topic of conversation at every dinner party this evening and every soiree.”
“Because I missed the vote?”
“No, because you have taken a mistress.”
Gavin put down his drink.
“From what I hear,” Ben continued, “she isn’t just any woman. She is the one every man in London wants—including Rovington. Is it true he issued a challenge?”
“Aye. May I count on you to be my second?”
“Proudly.”
“Be prepared. Rov is out for blood. His pride is on the line. He’d wagered a fortune that he would bed her, a fortune he can’t pay if he loses.”
“That is what I’ve heard. Bad business. He was very vocal about you before the vote today. He claims you betrayed him.”
“I put him in his place.”
“Meanwhile, the men who had bet against him had their hands out. He is in a devil of a fix. He also made a point of letting me know that the prime minister will be waiting a good long while for his Money Bill to come out of the Commons.”
“The bastard. It is one thing to have an argument with me to but to keep that money from our generals is a different matter.”
“Exactly. Liverpool is not happy.”
“I can’t imagine so.”
“He asked me to give you a message.”
“And that is?” Gavin asked, expecting it to be a rebuke for Rov’s threats.
“He told me to tell you to ‘put a hole in the man.’”
“I will,” Gavin answered grimly. “I will.”
Chapter Eleven
Sarah surprised herself by going back to bed and sleeping long and hard in spite of the earlier nap.
This time, her sleep was filled with dreams. She dreamed of her mother and summer days when Sarah had been sent into the garden to play.
“Don’t come into the house until I call for you,” her mother said in her dreams, words Sarah had come to understand meant she was to disappear, to pretend not to exist. Her mother’s gentlemen were far more important to her than a daughter.
“Give us a few moments, my little love.”
“Leave us be while you play with your doll, precious.”
“Do not interrupt Mother when she is with her friend.”
“Do not knock on my door—”
The sound of someone knocking on the door woke Sarah. They had apparently been doing so for some time because a male voice—Mr. Talbert’s—said impatiently, “Mrs. Pettijohn? Mrs. Pettijohn.”
Sarah stretched, blinking and trying to regain her bearings. The sunlight in the sitting room told her it was early morning. She was still naked and wrapped up in the coverlet.
The knock at the door was turning into pounding. “Mrs. Pettijohn, we have many tasks today and I have a dressmaker with me.”
Dressmaker? Sarah unwrapped herself from the bedclothes and stood. Her ruined forest-green dress was where she’d placed it over a chair. Yes, a dressmaker was in great demand.
