“And I am the patron and part owner,” the duchess said. “It is mine, Langford. It always has been.”
He quickly built a mental wall around the string of curses shouting in his head.
“How interesting. Don’t you think that is interesting, Stratton? Such an admirable accomplishment.”
Stratton, who knew him very, very well, looked on warily.
“I wanted you to know because soon it will be public,” the duchess said. “The next issue will be out in several weeks, and my name will be in it as publisher.”
The ladies waited for his reaction. He gave them none.
“If there is anything you want to say—” the duchess began.
“There is much I want to say, to you in particular and to Mrs. Galbreath, as owners. I am at a disadvantage, however. Being a gentleman, I must swallow my words.”
His tone had all the ladies glancing at each other.
“My words are mine alone, so direct your ire at me if you must,” Lady Farnsworth said from where she stood near a window.
“The editor and publisher chose to put those words into print,” he said. “But do not worry—I have plenty of ire for everyone.”
Lady Farnsworth did not reply. He glanced over to see her suddenly distracted, peering hard out that window.
“We are sorry you are angry,” Mrs. Galbreath said. “We do not censor our writers unless we believe they have written inaccuracies, or very inflammatory prose.”
“Suddenly I do not care if you damn us all for that essay,” Lady Farnsworth said in a voice that could cut steel. “In fact, I regret holding back on some of my more creative sentences.”
“Dorothy, this is hardly helping,” the duchess said. “Your anger is uncalled for.”
“It is most called for.” She strode toward them all. Considering her angel-of-vengeance expression, Gabriel guessed her final destination. “Scoundrel! Lothario! Devil! Are not half the wives in the ton enough for you? You needed to seduce poor Miss Waverly and lead her into perdition too?” She eyed the irons at the fireplace in an alarming manner while she passed them.
“Dorothy,please.” Exasperated, the duchess held up her hand, demanding silence from that direction. “What a bizarre accusation. Langford will be justified in concluding you are half mad.”
“Mad, am I? I just saw Miss Waverly entering a little wilderness at the back of his garden.” She pointed to the window.
Gabriel glanced at the window. It indeed looked over the garden. Damnation.
“I am sure it was she. She even wore a dress remade from one of my gowns.” She glared at Gabriel. “If I were a man, I would call you out at once for the coward you are. It was revenge against me, wasn’t it? Only Miss Waverly pays the price.”
The duchess stared wide-eyed, from Lady Farnsworth to him, then back again. Then accusatory lights replaced astonished ones. Her glare bored through him. “Is this true?”
Since there was no good answer, he sat there mute.
“That is disgraceful, Langford,” the duchess exclaimed. “And she is here? Now? Oh my, is she—is sheliving here?”
“She is a guest.”
Not a one of them believed she was only a guest. Six eyes full of female condemnation glowered at him.
So much for Stratton’s stupid idea that the duchess would take the affair in stride, without judgment. Gabriel thought surviving the next half hour was at best an even bet.
Stratton leapt into the middle of it all, positioning himself between Gabriel and the women. “Let us take our leave, Langford. Is there brandy in your study? I could use some.”
Gabriel stood, keeping one eye on Lady Farnsworth lest she charge. “Ladies. I am so honored that you called.” He quickly bowed to each, then beat a hasty retreat with Stratton in his wake.
“I am going to kill half of you, Stratton. The French half that advised I let your wife know about this affair.”
“I am shocked, to be honest. They are all so open-minded. I mean, that journal—”
