Page 26 of If a Lady Lingers

“But youarea serious architect.” His eyes scanned over the letter. “You’ve studied under your father. Elias Daring is one of the best architects England has produced in the last fifty years.”

“I know, but—”

She froze. Shedidknow that. That was part of the reason she’d signed her father’s name to the plans, why she’d carefully crafted the application letter to make herself seem like nothing more than his assistant and interior designer. With her head spinning in confusion, she took the letter back from him and read it again, carefully absorbing each word.

“This letter is addressed only to me, not to Papa,” she murmured. “If they didn’t want women to assist the architect, they would have sent this to him and told him that. But they didn’t. They sent it to me. They never mentioned him at all.”

The only way they would have known that she’d created the house plans was if…

She looked up at Whitby. When she read the guilt on his face, a horrible realization flooded through her. It felt like ice water freezing in her veins. She knew…

“What did you do?” she whispered, barely louder than a breath.

“I only wanted to help you.” He reached for her shoulder again. “To show everyone how amazing of an architect you are.”

She batted his hand away. “What didyou do, Whitby?”

He dropped his gaze to the letter. “I removed Elias’s name from the entry and attached yours,” he admitted quietly. “But I only did it because I wanted you to have all the recognition for—”

“And ruin me!” She scrambled to her feet, clenching the letter in her fist. She shook it as her humiliation turned into anger. “Everyone will know now that I’ve been creating house plans—I’ll never be able to build a house again in Papa’s name without being suspected. All of our current clients—Baron Hansen and his wife, Mr. Shockley, Mrs. Bean—they’re all going to demand proof now that it was Elias Daring that created their plans and not his daughter. And how do I prove that to them when he didn’t?”

He stood and reached to take her shoulders in his hands, but the last person she wanted to touch her at that moment was him. The man who had just ended her world. “It won’t be like that. Your clients won’t care if—”

She laughed bitterly. “You know society better than that! Names matter to them. Reputations matter more than actual skill.” She stepped back because if he reached for her again she would scream! Unable to stand still, she began to pace, and with every step her heart pounded brutally in her ears. “They’re all going to ask for their money back at best. At worst, they’ll sue us for fraud. Everything my father has worked his entire life to build will be destroyed.” She dropped her hand to her side as powerlessness and dread coiled into a knot in her belly. A terrible whisper fell from her lips, barely louder than a breath, “We’ll be penniless…homeless. Destroyed.”

Mrs. Jones paled. Not saying a word, she slipped off the chair and hurried from the room.

“Daisy, I promise you—I won’t let that happen.”

“It’s too late to stop it!” A sob tore through her as the first tear fell down her cheek. “Do you think Nash and the others on the committee are going to keep silent about this? You think they won’t take this chance to destroy a man who has been one of their staunchest critics and competitors for the past three decades?” With a sound of anger and anguish, she threw the crumpled letter at him. “It’s all your fault!”

He let the paper smack him in the chest, not moving to dodge it, not looking away. A dark look of grief and regret gripped his face, and for once, there was no trace of grins or laughter visible anywhere in him.

“You have exposed my deepest secret to the world, and they—” She choked, forced to swallow down the knot of emotion in her throat as she struggled to keep from letting the mounting sobs overtake her. “They laughed at me.”

The tears came freely now, sliding down her cheeks in rapid succession. She swiped at them in anger and was unable to stop the feelings of betrayal from overwhelming her. “Itrustedyou, and I thought…I thought you cared about me.”

“I do.” Pain poured from him so intensely that he shook, and a wounded expression darkened his face. “Daisy, I love you.”

The confession shattered something deep inside her. “If you loved me,” she countered, biting back her anguish, “you wouldn’t have done this. Even if Papa’s reputation somehow survives this, even if we don’t fall into the poorhouse—mydream is over.”

“No, it’s not. Listen to me. We can—”

“I’ll never be taken seriously as an architect now. I’ll never be able to plan another house or—” She broke off to battle down the scream that rose up at the back of her throat. Keeping careful control, she sucked in a deep and ragged breath that shuddered through her. “I don’t ever want to see you again.”

He staggered a step back in surprise as if she’d physically struck him. “You don’t mean that,” he whispered.

“I do.” She nodded jerkily and scooped up her notebook, cradling it against her bosom like a baby. Or a shield. “Neveragain.”

5

Month Five

“What a magnificent job Elias Daring did on these rooms!”

Daisy smiled at Lady Gantry as the woman approached, clutching a glass of champagne in one hand and her full, old-fashioned skirt in the other. “Thank you, my lady.” She bobbed a shallow curtsy. “It was a great deal of work but worth every minute.”

The baroness didn’t mean the compliment to be for her, yet Daisy glanced around the room with pride. The newly built garden room shined in the lamplight, every inch of it freshly bright and decorated with the finest décor—every inch deserving of the appreciative murmurs and compliments of the guests.