Page 28 of If a Lady Lingers

“Pardon?” she squeaked.

Lady Hansen leaned closer and lowered her voice so she wouldn’t be overheard by the guests lingering nearby. “My husband and I know how ill your father has been lately.”

“I see.” Daisy dropped her gaze to the rug—one she had specially chosen for this new room—and quickly gulped down half her champagne.

“And we know how difficult it must have been for you, not only to care for him and your two brothers but also to convey all the information to him from our townhouse so that he could continue with our renovations from your home.”

So the baroness didn’t know—thank God. Daisy fought not to let out a deep sigh of relief.

So far, she and Papa had managed to escape ruin. If any of the judges had spread word of her name being on the contest entry, she hadn’t heard rumors. None of their former clients had demanded any kind of explanations or assurances that Elias Daring had truly created their house or led their renovations.

No, business was exactly the same as before. Practically nonexistent.

Most likely, the judges had had a good laugh when they saw her name on the entry, then simply tossed it away, not giving her or her plans another thought. But then she’d also acted quickly to put a stop to any trouble before it could start by immediately writing to the committee to tell them that there had been a mistake. A friend with a very bad sense of humor had removed Elias’s name from the entry and put hers on it, thinking he was making a grand lark of it all. She assured them that her father had created the plans and that she had only assisted with the interior details whenever he’d needed a woman’s input. She’d assured them that she was nothing more than a secretary and a convenient female opinion, swallowing her pride to assure them that she would never dare to presume that she could be an architect equal to a man.

It had worked. Last week, she’d received another letter from King George, John Nash, and the committee. This time her entry was a finalist.

The news was bittersweet. She knew she deserved to be a finalist, that her plans deserved a chance to be seen. That the public recognition wasn’t what mattered and that she knew how worthy her talents were.

But lying to herself didn’t ease the pain.

“Please don’t misunderstand me.” Baroness Hansen patted Daisy’s arm as they continued their turn about the room. “While your father’s plans for the structural elements are wonderful, it’s your decorative touches that have transformed our home. The plasterwork, the fabrics, the patterns of flowers and vines—beautiful yet still comfortable and welcoming. And all because ofyourtalents, Miss Daring.”

Daisy blushed at that true compliment. This was the first time all evening that she’d been recognized for her hard work, and she couldn’t have asked for better praise.

“I hear that you’re working on a catalogue for your interior designs and decorations.”

“Yes, my lady. I took some of the ideas from it for your renovations.” With all the work she’d been putting in lately on Whitby’s house, she hadn’t been able to finish the catalogue as she’d hoped. But she would, and soon. After all, if she couldn’t be a true architect, then she’d be the next best thing—London’s most celebrated decorator.

Another lie to herself. She winced and took a sip of champagne.

“Then I’m honored to be able to spread word of your work, although everyone here seems to recognize your talents themselves and will undoubtedly help me in that regard.” She released Daisy’s arm. “Best be prepared, Miss Daring,” she warned as she walked away to rejoin her guests. “I foresee endless project requests in your future!”

Daisy sent up a prayer that the baroness was right.

She swept her gaze around the new garden room. It had been added to the rear of the townhouse to create a comfortable space where Lord Hansen could relax from his duties in Parliament and where Lady Hansen could recuperate from the many hours of charitable work she spent helping the poor. On the ground floor and separate from the more public spaces, this room was purposefully planned by Daisy to be a sanctuary where all tensions and stresses could melt away.

Oh, how Daisy loved this space! She lifted the champagne flute to her lips as she swept her eyes over the room. Overstuffed chairs and deep cushioned settees, a small pianoforte, delicate floral plasterwork perfectly matching the more—

Whitby.

She froze for a beat as her gaze landed on him. Then she tossed back the rest of her champagne with a single, gasping swallow.

He stood on the other side of the room near the open set of French doors that looked out into the new garden, most likely having just arrived and looking for the baroness to give his respects. Daisy couldn’t have missed him, not in that bright cornflower blue kerseymere jacket, apple red waistcoat, and dark blue cravat with its ruby pin that sparkled in the lamplight. Leave it to Whitby to stand out like a beacon among the crowd, tonight even more than usual.

But it was the woman he was with who snagged Daisy’s attention.

She was tall and beautiful with raven black hair, bright eyes, and full red lips that curled into an easy smile. Daisy had never seen her before, but the way she leaned in to speak into Whitby’s ear indicated a deep familiarity between them. So did the way he laughed at whatever she’d said, tossing his head back in that boisterous way he had which always left Daisy grinning. Apparently, he had the same effect on this other woman…whomever she was.

The prickling flash that sliced through Daisy couldn’t have been jealousy.Not at all. Not of the man who’d hurt her so badly. No, it was anger. That was it—anger that he was here on what should have been her night to celebrate the end of the house renovations and receive the baron and baroness’s gratitude. How dare he come here! Had he even been invited? Did he even know Baron and Baroness Hansen?

She groaned. Of course he knew them. He was the son of a baron himself, she kept forgetting. But who the devil wasthat woman, and why did she think she had the right to place her hand on his arm like that, as if they were bosom friends?

Daisy’s own hand tightened around her champagne flute. All right…perhaps shewasjust a tiny bit jealous. But blast it, she had a right to be after the way he’d kissed her and caressed her, after the way he’d told her how wonderful and special she was…and that he loved her.

She’d wanted to believe him, so very much! But how could she believe a man she couldn’t trust?

He looked up then and caught her staring. Surprise flashed across his face before he could hide his emotions, and for one painfully long moment, they held each other’s gaze across the room.