Page 2 of If a Lady Lingers

At first, Daisy had simply served as his assistant, with Papa still capable of creating the plans himself. He still met with clients face-to-face, too, whenever he’d felt well enough. But on days when he was too ill to leave his room, she’d acted on his behalf to interview the clients and assure them that she would pass along their information to her father. She’d acted on his behalf the following mornings, too, when she sent out letters accepting their work on retainer to which she’d signed her father’s name. That left Papa free to focus all his energy on his building plans.

Soon, though, even that had become too difficult for him. He’d grown more fragile, capable only of giving direction to her from his chair while she sketched out the preliminary plans that he would end up finishing himself. But then he’d grown too weak to finish them. So the work had sat undone. The clients were demanding their retainers back, the bills were piling up—

That was when Daisy took it upon herself to finish the plans on her own.

Soon, though, she wasn’t just finishing them; she was creating them from the very beginning. Her own house renovation plans, her own interior designs—her own hands shaking as she presented them to clients under the pretense of being her father’s emissary. Oh, she didn’t dare admit she’d done them! They would have laughed themselves silly, then refused to accept them, just as others had done before. But when she scrawled her name across the bottom right corner—Daring, just the last name and no initials—it was as close to claiming them for her own as she ever could. They believed that her father had renovated their homes and were thrilled with the finished projects.

Whoever was waiting downstairs would believe the same.

Even though she’d managed to save her family—so far—the tiny bit of work she was able to do was barely enough to keep them from bankruptcy. Since he’d become housebound, few people remembered that Elias Daring existed, and commissions had dried up until they were now few and far between. Very few and very,veryfar. That’s what made this new client such an unexpected surprise. No—he was simply a godsend!

And one who shouldn’t be kept waiting. So she snatched up her sketch book and pencil and hurried downstairs. She paused outside the parlor to offer up a prayer, put a smile on her face, and swept into the room—

“Hulloo!”

She froze, startled mid step by the man who wheeled around to greet her. By the flame-red hair that sat tousled on his head except for one startling shock that fell right between his eyes. By the ruddy cheeks that stood out even more against the red hair. By the giant smile that seemed to engulf his face. And most of all, by the flamboyant lime-green waistcoat, brown trousers, and orange kerseymere jacket that stretched over his impossibly tall, slender body and made him resemble an orange tree.

Goodness. Apparently, God had a sense of humor about what he sent her way.

Bright blue eyes swept over her, from head to toe and back again. And yet again. Impossibly, his smile grew even wider.

“Apologies.” Surprise rang in his voice as he stared unabashedly at her. “I was expecting Mr. Daring.”

Finally, Daisy remembered to close her mouth and took a tentative step into the room.Thiswas her potential client? He looked as if a wagonload of Chinese silks had collided with a maypole.

“Of course.” She cleared her throat and forced a smile that struggled not to reveal her shock at his appearance. “Unfortunately, my father is indisposed at the moment and asked me to meet with you on his behalf.” She curtsied as he gave a low and far too formal bow. “I’m his daughter Daisy.”

“Daisy,” he repeated in an awed whisper that once more set his bright blue gaze sweeping over her. “Daisy Daring…oh, that’s fabulous! Absolutely lovely.” His smile quirked up at the left corner of his mouth. “Youare lovely.”

Startled by that wholly unexpected compliment, she choked out, “Pardon?”

His eyes blossomed into wide circles, matching theOthat formed at his lips. “Did I say that aloud? Deuces! My apologies. It’s just…” His grin returned as he clasped his hands behind his back and rocked back on his boot heels, teetering so much that she wondered how he didn’t fall over. “Well, youarelovely.”

Thatmade her mouth fall open again. Doing her best to ignore both her shock and the flush rising in her cheeks, she prompted, “And you are…?”

“Not so lovely.” He laughed at himself, such a good-natured and self-effacing laugh that she couldn’t help but smile back. “I’m Hugh Whitby. I certainly hope you haven’t heard of me.” He lowered his voice earnestly. “I have a bit of a…” He waggled his brows at her. “Arakishreputation.”

“Do you?” She bit her inner cheek to keep from laughing as she cast another glance over him. “No, I’ve never heard of it.”

“Thank goodness!” His narrow shoulders sank under his visible relief. “I wouldn’t want Mr. Daring to refuse to work with me.”

No chance of that! He could have dressed like a harlequin—although he seemed close even now—and been as scandalous as the royal dukes themselves, and she wouldn’t have turned him out. She and her father needed him…however peculiar he was.

“You see, Miss Daring, I have quite the project planned.”

Relief warmed up from her toes. “Then you’ve come to the right place.”

She gestured at the settee for him to sit, then took her own chair on the opposite side of the tea table. She placed her sketch book on her knees and busied herself with opening it as he perched himself on the edge of the cushion and leaned eagerly forward.

“I apologize that my father couldn’t be here to welcome you personally. I know you were expecting him,” she explained. “But he’s asked me to act as his proxy for this meeting, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all! I was told to expect an elderly man with a beard and a cane, but when you came into the room, golly, I had to blink to clear my mind.” His eyes sparkled apologetically at the idea of mistaking her for her father. “For a moment there, I’d imagined you in a beard.”

“Yes…well.” Amostpeculiar man.

He glanced back at the door, as if expecting another person to enter. “Your mother doesn’t involve herself with clients?”

“No.” She looked down at her sketch book. “My mother passed away several years ago.”