Page 12 of If a Lady Lingers

So, he was on a first-name basis with her father. And the two had been talking about her.Wonderful. “Oh?”

“He says that you’ve barely gone to any soirees or events in the past few years, that you’re all work and no play.”

“That is not—”

“One.”

She stopped in mid sentence and blinked. “One what?”

“Tell me about one event in the past month that you’ve gone to that’s been purely for fun and not related to your father’s architecture. Just one, and then I’ll let the subject drop.”

Oh, she sincerely doubted that! The man was like a dog with a bone once he’d latched onto an idea. “I’ve attended several, actually.”

“Should be easy then. Pick one.”

“All right.” She obstinately lifted her chin. “Well, there was the…” Her mind blanked, and she covered it with a wave of her hand in the general direction of Mayfair. “And just a few weeks ago I went to…” No, no luck there either. Drat him! Then inspiration struck—“I had tea in Lady Hansen’s garden.”

“Because Elias had been hired to renovate their piano nobile.”

Her shoulders sank. Double drat him! He was right. Every event that came to mind was connected to her father’s work—toherwork. Had she truly let the business and her father’s illness take over her life?

“See? Point proven. You’ve not let yourself have any fun lately,” he insisted, circling around the table to her. “I believe it, too, given all the hours you’ve put into my house. A person might think that you were the architect and not your father.”

An electric jolt jarred through her. “That’s…that’s…” She forced a laugh and turned away before he could read the truth on her face, that she longed for exactly that more than anything else in the world. “Me—an architect! What a silly thought.”

“You need to let yourself have fun and enjoy the world, Daisy. You’ll lose your creative spark otherwise.” He puffed out his chest. “Trust me, I know.”

Letting that pass without comment upon his complete lack of artistic abilities, she gestured at the drafting table. While there were no plans for other houses or commissioned renovations, she’d taken it upon herself to create a series of interior designs that she planned on putting into a catalogue and distributing among theton.The collection would serve as bait to lure in wives who’d grown bored with their current houses and wanted to freshen the rooms without embarking on full-scale renovations. Just as Chippendale had done for his furniture, she’d have them printed up and sent out, with personal notes expressing how excited she’d be to bring unique new flare and style to their homes. She couldn’t do that until Whitby’s project was finished and she had the money for the printing, of course, but she wanted to have a full set of designs ready to go. And she couldn’t dothatby attending soirees.

“So you want me to simply put all my work aside and just go out and play?” she asked, unable to keep the frustration from her voice.

“Yes.” He stepped in front of her and grinned. “Starting right now.”

Before she could stop him, he grabbed her by the hand and pulled her toward the stairway landing, slowing only to snatch her bonnet off its hook beside the door. Then he’d whisked her down through the house and outside, to run with her toward the park and laugh with her at their silliness the entire way.

Whitby held up what little was left of his lemon ice and watched the sunlight reflect off the tiny slithers of snow left in the little bowl. “Isn’t this marvelous?”

From the other side of the picnic blanket, Daisy stirred the little spoon through her lemony slush and agreed, “It’s delicious.”

“Not the taste, although that’s grand.” He sat up from where he’d been lying after devouring most of their impromptu picnic that they’d cobbled together from the row of market stalls along the edge of the park. “I mean the ice itself. It’s marvelous.” He tapped his spoon against the side of her bowl. “Just think about it—ice! We’re sitting here, eatingicethat’s been harvested from the far north last winter—or even as far away as America—and brought all the way here across vast oceans and expanses of land without melting. Then it’s stored for months in simple sawdust and finally served now, during the hottest month of the year on one of the warmest days of the summer.”

“Well, when you put it that way…” Daisy smiled at him from behind the wide brim of her bonnet. “It’sverydelicious.”

He shot her a sideways grin but kept the conversation focused on the ice. “But that’s only half of it. Then, this miraculous substance is flavored with lemons and oranges. Tropical fruits grown in orangeries in England! This concoction shouldn’t exist at all. Don’t you see? Its very existence is— Why, it’s simply miraculous!”

A smile tugged at her lips. She hid it by taking a quick bite of ice, but he’d seen it. He loved that he’d made her smile.

He could barely fathom how perfectly lovely she was, sitting there on the blanket with the sun shining on her slender shoulders. Her straw hat with its wide, blue ribbons that dangled loosely across her bodice couldn’t completely hide her golden hair. The cold of the ice had turned her lips invitingly pink and wet, and he wanted nothing more at that moment than to kiss her. Would her lips taste lemony-orangey like the sweet ice? Would they be cold, or would the coolness be like her—only on the surface while pulsing warm beneath?

Quashing the urge to kiss her, he scooped up the last of his ice and shoveled it into his mouth.

Around them, the afternoon was bright, and the park was flooded both with people out enjoying the fine weather and with golden sunshine. A warm breeze stirred across the grass and over them at the edge of the water where they’d staked out their picnic after exploring the wilds.

Explored it? La! They’dconqueredit.

He’d made certain of that, wanting to impress Daisy by giving her a grand time with him. They’d first explored the park on foot, past the ponds and down paths that meandered through the trees. Then he’d rented horses for them at a nearby mews so they could trot along Rotten Row.Thathadn’t gone so well. Who knew Daisy was afraid of horses even as small as Shetland ponies? But then they’d played with a group of children who were racing sailboats across one of the ponds, and the terror of the ponies was forgotten. He’d even regaled her with stories about how grandly the park had been decorated for the reenactment of the Battle of Waterloo and then the king’s coronation a few years later, when there had been fireworks, symphonies, and a hot air balloon.

Their adventure in the park this afternoon had been exactly what both of them needed. Daisy had needed to step away from her work for a few hours and have fun, and he’d needed to be closer to Daisy. Today had given them a wonderful opportunity to have just that.