Page 27 of If a Lady Lingers

Baron and Baroness Hansen had opened their Belmont Square house tonight to all their friends and acquaintances—and seemingly another two hundred or so more people beyond that. All of them were curious to see the new renovations.

Daisy knew they wouldn’t be disappointed.

What they were seeing tonight was simply nothing that had been used in any of those rapidly built, identical boxes comprising the rest of the terraces in London’s West End. Everyone who stepped into this house knew it, too. Their necks craned to take a better look at the fireplace in the drawing room whose mantel of plasterwork grapevines and climbing roses seemed to grow right out of the half-circle end wall. Their mouths fell open when they stepped into the oval-shaped stair hall whose marble and ironwork stairs circled seemingly unsupported toward a stained glass doom above, now lit at night by a blaze of hidden lamps behind it.

But it was the dining room that took everyone’s breath away when they saw its amber window. A design of twining honeysuckle had been cut through the curving overlay that hid the long horizontal window gracing the top of the wall. During the day, warm sunlight filtered through the design and made the flowers come alive with an amber glow, while at night, hidden lamps and mirrors directed the light downward onto the built-in marble topped sideboard. Its single mahogany leg was deeply carved to look like the twisting wooden stems of a honeysuckle vine flowering in the window cover above.

“It is certainly a beautiful house. Doesn’t look like the same home at all.” Lady Gantry’s gaze searched the crowd around them. “And whereisMr. Daring? I wanted to personally congratulate him on his achievement.”

“I’m sorry to say that my father couldn’t be here this evening.” As the guest of honor, his absence was conspicuous, yet he hadn’t been feeling well enough to attend the party with its crush of people and all its heat and noise. So she’d come in his place, only to disappoint the guests when they asked for her father and were directed to her instead. “But if you have any questions, I could answer them for you.”

Lady Gantry patronizingly clucked her tongue. “Oh, but you know nothing about architecture, my dear!”

“Actually, I know a great deal.” But now wasn’t the time nor the place to argue. So she waved a gloved hand at the beautiful new garden room around them and explained instead, “I did all the interior decorations.”

“Ah, yes. Hmm.” She glanced dismissingly around the room and sniffed. “Lovely pillows and upholstery. But what your father’s done here with the walls and stairs—”

Daisy pulled in a deep breath but kept her smile firmly in place as Lady Gantry gushed praise upon her father’s work. Onherwork, rather. But neither the baroness nor anyone present—including Lord and Lady Hansen—had any idea of the truth.

Elias Daring had had no input at all in this house.

“Congratulations to your father,” another woman cooed when she approached Daisy and unceremoniously nudged Baroness Gantry away. “What beautiful work he’s done!”

Daisy was engulfed by guests as if she were part of a receiving line instead of what she was truly doing—hiding from the crowd in the corner. The compliments came in a well-meaning barrage, with the guests having no idea how much their words grated on her heart.

“Pure genius with the walls and windows!”

Daisy could only smile uncomfortably, assure the guests that she’d pass along their appreciation to her father, and regret that she couldn’t claim the credit herself. The most she could do was let everyone believe that her father had done the structural plans and that she’d done the decorations. He was the walls, she was the wallpaper. Yet every time she tried to focus their attention on the designs—

“What wonderful work Mr. Daring has done with the layout of these rooms!”

Her shoulders sagged. They wanted to see the man whom they believed had ingeniously restructured the public rooms of the piano nobile and magically found space for the addition of the new garden room on the property by painstakingly moving the service yard area into a newly extended basement. They weren’t interested in the woman who’d overseen the crafting of sconces made to look like tulips, who had spent hours designing the fireplace plasterwork and struggling over the unique dining room window.

But Whitby would have been.

Her chest squeezed. She missed him, more than she wanted to admit.

A month had passed since they’d fought. His house was almost finished now, with only a few last touches to complete before he and the boys could move in. But he’d stopped coming to visit at the Daring townhouse, not even to see her father and spend afternoons together as they used to.Not that Daisy would have agreed to see him anyway. She was still too hurt by what he’d done, still too embarrassed to forgive.

He’d violated her trust, and she wanted nothing more to do with him. Yet she couldn’t abandon the house project this far along, not when professionally she needed to see it through. And not when her family still desperately needed the money. Worse, they were indebted to Whitby because he’d paid her brothers’ tuition. It was no longer a simple matter of handing back what was left of the retainer and allowing another architect to finish it.

So she now drove the builders and craftsmen at breakneck speed to have it finished—and Hugh Whitby completely out of her life—as quickly as possible. All information about the house was sent via messenger to the Gatewell School rather than directly to Whitby, and she carefully planned each site visit to make certain she wouldn’t accidentally see him there, although when she’d casually asked after him, her lead builder had told her that Whitby hadn’t been to see the house since their visit.

Her only concession in her resolve to have nothing to do with him again had been a second visit she’d taken to the Gatewell School. She’d gone herself, even knowing full well that she might run into him there, to deliver a special gift. A doll bed she’d had specially made for little Martha—a miniature poster bed with a pink canopy edged in white lace. Daisy had wanted her to know that she hadn’t forgotten about her and what kind of bed she should have in the girls’ house, even if Daisy wouldn’t be the one who built it.

Whitby hadn’t been there.

Perhaps, though, that had been for the best. She had no idea how she’d react when she saw him again, or what she’d say. What he’d done still felt like an act of betrayal.

Baroness Hansen beamed her a bright smile as she weaved her way toward Daisy through the sea of guests, took her arm, and led her away to circle the room. “Congratulations, my dear. Your work is a grand success.”

“Thank you.” Daisy smiled tightly. “I’ll pass along your compliments to my father.”

“No.” She gracefully snatched two flutes of champagne from the tray of a passing footman and handed one to Daisy. “Not your father.” She gently tapped her glass against Daisy’s in an appreciative toast. “You.”

Her heart skipped with a painful jolt as panic shot through her. Did the baroness know that Daisy had been impersonating her father? Had she somehow learned from the contest judges what Daisy had been up to? “I—I don’t know what you mean…”

“Don’t play modest with me.” A knowing sparkle gleamed in the baroness’s eyes. “I know what you’ve done here.”