They put it down to rivalry against a poor little country girl half Leonore's age. As a result they were willing to overlook the amount of time she began to spend with her cousins Adam and Oliver, and Philip Marshall.
They were one or the other of them ever present when she was paying calls, and the bookmakers at Boodle's began to bet on which one would wed her. Or bed her.
Only a fool would have taken the long odds offered that Blake was going to get her himself. It would take a far more glamorous man than he to win the lovely and wealthy young lady, they were sure.
Arabella sighed. Another day out trying to drum up financial support for the clinic, she thought with a sigh as she checked her russet gown in the mirror one last time, and greeted Mr. Marshall and Mrs. Evans with a shake of the hand each.
Philip had been a huge help. Adam and Oliver were nice enough, but they did not seem to think much of her efforts, and had only put down a couple of guineas apiece. Philip had given her unstinting support, and had been most gentlemanly always.
Blake tried to remain aloof, watching from his upstairs window as the trio left the house. He kept telling himself that he was giving her a fair chance to meet the man of her dreams. He had taken her to several evening occasions so she could see and be seen. It was hard being with her, still harder being without her. But he simply had to do something to make sure that no one suspected there was a single word of truth to the rumor that Leonore had been spreading.
He longed for Arabella passionately, but Peter would never forgive him for sullying his beloved step-sister. Nor would he ever forgive himself...
After another fortnight in London, Arabella's charity drive had borne some real fruit.
"Very good," he praised, looking over her account book, in which she had tallied all of the pledges she had tirelessly secured for the clinic, never suspecting for a moment the evil things which had been said about them both. "Lady Cavendish's tonight should be an excellent success for you."
"I hope so," she said wistfully, looking forward to his eyes lighting on her with such warmth again.
"I know so."
"Thank you for having such faith in me."
"Not at all. It has certainly been fully justified, has it not." He smiled back at her. "Now, can you please wear your sprigged muslin with the purple? It goes so well with your eyes."
Once again he appeared in a cravat which complimented her ensemble perfectly, but when she mentioned it, he actually seemed surprised, and shrugged. He scolded himself for thinking of her as his…
Adam and Oliver Neville were making no secret of their intentions. Even if they did not stay the course, there was Philip, Matthew, and also Randall Avenel. The trouble was they were all rakes, even if they were Rakehells.
Alistair Grant had also been seen in company a bit more than usual, and Blake couldn't help but wonder if Arabella had succeeded in turning the head of his most sedate and illustrious barrister friend. Perhaps Alistair... He was a good man, but the thought nearly suffocated Blake. He gathered her by the elbow, helped her don her outerwear, and swept her out the door of the house with barely a pause, so eager was he for some fresh air.
Blake had hoped that Lady Cavendish's would be a triumph for his ward's charitable efforts. But upon their arrival, he soon sensed a new kind of trouble brewing. He felt uncomfortable from the moment he entered the drawing room and found several of his old female acquaintances there, not least of whom were both Rosalie and Leonore.
If they had wanted to embarrass him by putting every single woman he had ever had private dealings with in one room, well, here they all were.
How could they be so vindictive? he wondered as he tried to avoid the cat-like gleams directed at him as he strode through the room with Arabella. He had not thought Lady Cavendish disliked him so…
Unless someone else had suggested the guest list? But who?
No matter how Blake, Philip, and even tall, slender, silver-haired Alistair tried to shield Arabella from the gossip flying about the room, she was given the decided impression from snippets of broken-off conversation that she heard as she mingled that Blake was as much of a rake as Philip was said to be.
She felt sick with apprehension. To think she had ever imagined she was in love with Blake…
She tried to concentrate on what Alistair was saying about slander and defamation of character as being legally punishable offences, when the barrister moved slightly to take a glass of refreshment for each of them.
She caught Leonore and Rosalie shooting looks of triumph her way. Then she knew in an instant that it had all been deliberate. They had been trying to damage Blake in her eyes.