It had been a momentous day. Daisy had kissed the viscount.
Twice
. And now she was pretending to be engaged to him. He’d also captured an escaped lamb, who’d been bleating for its mother high on a rocky hillock Joe couldn’t possibly climb. It was a minor feat of heroism for which she’d longed to kiss Lord Lumley again but didn’t dare.
Hester had called everything a “shocking turn of events” even before Daisy had whispered in her ear that the engagement was a ruse.
After
she’d learned the truth, Hester had amended her description to a “shocking, scandalous turn of events.”
And it had been scandalous!
All afternoon and early evening, Daisy couldn’t help thinking back to her initial conversation with the viscount, to how she’d slapped away his hand, exchanged bold words with him, and been pulled into his arms. Of course, the next thing she knew, they’d shared that first kiss.
It had been short and sweet, even more delicious and unexpected than turning a corner and seeing a rainbow ahead. Or waking up, sliding into your chair at the breakfast table, and seeing a lovely cup of chocolate when all you thought you had in the house was tea.
The second kiss defied description. Thinking about it brought on shortness of breath.
Now it was dinner, and Daisy gathered her courage. She must face the viscount and decide exactly what to do with him—other than kiss him, that is.
The gown she wore, a castoff from Cassandra, wasn’t the prettiest in the world, but she’d added a bit of lace trim to the sleeves and neckline that gave her an extra boost of confidence.
“I don’t know why I feel the need to impress him,” she whispered to Hester, while the servant laced up the back of her dress. “But I do.”
“It’s because he’s so handsome,” Hester said, adjusting Daisy’s curls. “Even though he’s got Sassenach blood, he’s the Golden Prince, all right. It’s uncanny.” She took Daisy by the shoulders and turned her toward the looking glass. “And you’re the Golden Girl.”
Daisy blushed. “His being handsome has naught to do with it,” she tried to convince herself. “I must impress him for practical reasons. That’s why. He’s the key to keeping Castle Vandemere.”
But she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to be held in his arms again and kissed once more, without interruption.
Hester made an impatient noise. “We’ll have none of that talk. Ye’re going to enjoy yourself tonight.” She draped the bold family tartan sash over one of Daisy’s shoulders. “Don’t ye be worryin’ about the
feu
duty. Not this evening.”
Daisy stroked her hand over the sash that had belonged to her mother. “Yes. Who knows when I’ll ever be engaged in truth? I’ll do my best to enjoy it. And at the very least, if the viscount can help us keep possession of the castle, then I’ll be happy.”
Hester sighed. “Happy? How can we be with the Furies in residence?”
“We must endure them,” Daisy said. “Perhaps they’ll grow tired of Scotland and leave. They hate it so.”
“I wish they would.”
“Until they do, we’ll work around them,” Daisy said.
Mama had taught her that. In the old days, she’d brought Daisy with her to her little bungalow that Papa had built her, to sit at her feet while she painted.
“You have to work with the paint,”
she’d told Daisy,
“and work with whatever the day brings you. If it’s a wee bit dreary out, you paint it. But paint it so it makes you glad to be inside near a cozy fire.”
“Just think how much better our nightly chats in the kitchen are because we know the Furies are too lazy and rude to join us,” Daisy said.
“True,” the housekeeper replied with a sigh.
Daisy grinned. “I vow if they weren’t appallingly close, the shortbread and milk wouldn’t taste half so fine. Nor would our jokes be as entertaining.”
“I never thought of it that way.” Hester patted Daisy’s rear. “There must be enduring,” she said, “but there must also be true
living
. Which includes men and women falling in love.”
“Hester.” Daisy felt her cheeks pinken. “You speak much too hastily.”
Hester chuckled. “I dinnae say falling in love right away, although it can happen. I meant when the time is right, lass.”
It won’t ever be right,
Daisy reminded herself.
And then went back to thinking about the viscount’s mouth. When he spoke, his lips appeared hard and firm with a cynical curl to the upper edge of them. But when he’d kissed her, they’d turned soft and teasing.
His hand about her waist had been possessive, yes, which had almost riled her, but she’d also experienced the wonderful sensation of being held close as if she mattered.
As if she mattered
.
She’d no idea how Lord Lumley had managed that, especially as the act had seemed rather selfish and immature.
But during both kisses, she felt as if he’d never let her go. And when they’d parted, he’d had a gleam in his eye that made her breathless.
Before today, she’d never kissed a man. In the old days in Glen Dewey, there’d been many a fine, strapping lad, Hester had told her, but many of them had emigrated or been killed in the Wars. The few that were left were friendly, but none made Daisy’s heart race. None made her shy to look at them.
Earlier, when she’d brought the tea tray into the drawing room after the lamb-saving incident, she’d not wanted to meet Lord Lumley’s gaze. She wasn’t sure why, especially when she’d spoken so bluntly to him, shared kisses with him, and seen a piece of his flesh through a hole in the back of his filthy, travel-worn breeches when he was climbing that hillock.
He’d not been wearing drawers
—
But perhaps she’d felt shy because around her stepmother and stepsisters, he’d seemed somehow different. He’d made an effort to be charming. Less brusque. As if he were giving Mona a chance to redeem herself. She didn’t deserve it, but Daisy supposed that was the gentlemanly thing to do.
Mona had responded beautifully, not asking him any difficult questions the way Daisy had. And after tea, he’d taken a walk about the estate with Cassandra, of all people, who usually hated traipsing out-of-doors. While they’d been gone, Daisy had carried hot water to the byre, refusing to let Joe and Hester bear the burden.
Now, at dinner, Lord Lumley was bathed, rested, and apparently recovered from his sore head, although his black eye gleamed blue in the candlelight.
Mona presided over the head of the table. The viscount was in the place of honor to her right. Cassandra sat next to him, and Perdita sat across from them.
Even though she was now supposed to be his fiancée, Daisy was relegated to the bottom of the table. A large epergne filled with gorgeous red velvet rose blossoms in the middle made it impossible for her to see any further than Perdita’s elbow on her left or Cassandra’s top knot on her right. As for the viscount and Mona, they might as well have been invisible.
Daisy was sure they couldn’t see her, either.
Mona had seated her this way at dinner ever since Papa had died, and it was laughable, really. Like something out of a farce, especially as Daisy was tasked with gathering all the flowers and greenery with which to hide her presence.
Hester thought it comical, too, usually.
But tonight was different. When Hester entered the room carrying the trout and potatoes, she made eye contact with Daisy—and Hester’s were not dancing with their usual mirth but gleamed with frustration.
Daisy allowed herself to feel the pang she’d been suppressing: finally, she was missing something worthwhile. She wanted to see the viscount, to be part of the party! She was pretending to be engaged to him, after all!
You want to be the belle of the ball, the way your father intended you to be,
a voice in her head said frankly.
But you can’t. And even more, you shouldn’t be.
The truth wasn’t easy to bear. Her heart knocked against her chest, so to recover her equilibrium, she pretended to look under the table for a missing hairpin—
And saw Cassandra putting her hand on the viscount’s leg.
Then witnessed him just as quickly moving his leg out of reach.
When Daisy sat up again, she was almost glad no one could see her. She knew her eyes would be wide with shock and, if she were honest with herself, a bit of amusement.
Cassandra was not only devious and disloyal. She was acting like a tart. Daisy always knew she would if given half the chance.
The viscount immediately went up a notch in Daisy’s estimation.
“So, my lord,” Cassandra was saying now, as if the under-the-table maneuvers had never taken place, “you look comfortable in my late stepfather’s clothing.”
“I am, thank you,” Daisy heard him say in equally smooth tones. “I’m very grateful to you all for providing me with them.”
Daisy took a sip of wine. She’d caught a glimpse of him as she’d walked in. He’d cut a fine figure in her father’s coat—although it was a trifle tight across the shoulders. She’d felt a brief combination of sorrow and happiness at seeing the garment, curious to get closer to it—to the viscount—to suss out whether he deserved to wear it. She wasn’t sure anyone did.
Yet Mona had kept Lord Lumley trapped in conversation, so she hadn’t been able to talk to him.
And now …
Now it was as if she didn’t exist.
“You look like the Golden Prince,” Perdita said.
Lord Lumley laid down his fork. “Why, thank you—I think. Who is he?”
Perdita was so overcome by his direct gaze, her lips clamped tight. She was holding her breath, Daisy knew.
“There’s a legend that the owner of Castle Vandemere will find true love at the ball held on the final night of the great hunt,” she explained on her stepsister’s behalf.
The viscount swiveled to look at Daisy, and she heard Perdita release a great huff of air. Lord Lumley didn’t even flinch. Instead, he leaned over, presumably to see Daisy better around Cassandra.
“Can you tell me more?” he asked her politely.
She could see only the right side of his face as Cassandra was blocking most of him. “Did you see that stained-glass window in the drawing room?”
She knew, of course, that he had. He’d kissed her right below it. He couldn’t have missed it.
“Indeed, I did,” he answered her.
She saw a spark of something flash in his eye. Was he remembering that kiss?
“That’s the Golden Prince,” Daisy explained, “holding hands with the Golden Girl. They’re the first pair of many lovers who supposedly declared themselves here at the castle on the night of the hunt ball.”
“But they no longer have a great hunt around here,” Cassandra interrupted rudely, “or balls, or any eligible men, for that matter. It’s dull as dishwater.”
“It’s a perfectly charming legend,” Lord Lumley said helpfully.
“But legends are for dreamers,” Mona said.
“Idiots, more like,” Perdita added with a snort of laughter.
Mona cackled with her. Cassandra smiled into her wine.
Daisy felt a stab of hurt on behalf of her parents, who’d treasured the legend and the bit of stained glass that preserved it.
“Legends become legends for a reason,” she said. “There
is
something special about Castle Vandemere. I feel it every time I look at the Golden Prince and the Golden Girl.”
The laughter immediately ceased, and there was another uncomfortable silence. Daisy was grateful for the epergne. She could sense the disapproval emanating from the other three women.
The viscount’s face—what she could see of it—wore an inscrutable expression. “Excuse me, Mrs. Montgomery,” he said, “but I can’t see all the members of our party. Might we move the centerpiece, as attractive as it is?”
Daisy’s heart almost stopped.
She
was the only one he couldn’t see!
Why would he want to see
me? was her first thought. But then told herself—because Hester would be angry at her for thinking otherwise—that she was well worth seeing, even though she didn’t believe it and her stepmother and stepsisters didn’t believe it, either.
Of course, she must remember she was the viscount’s supposed fiancée, as well. That should count for something.
“Perhaps we could move the thing,” Mona said in desultory fashion. “Daisy, you take care of it. The old man, wherever he is at the moment, is useless. He might as well be dead for all the good he does us.”
“His name is Joe, Stepmother,” Daisy said through gritted teeth. “And he may be old, but please don’t suggest he’s better off dead. I care very much about him.”