Page 31 of If a Lady Lingers

A smile curled at her red lips as she reached for the perfume. “You’re the wonderful Miss Daisy Daring. He’s talked about little else but you for the past five months.” She lifted the glass stopper and sniffed the delicate scent. “He loves you, you know.”

Her breath strangled around the knot in her throat. “Hugh Whitby is in love with the world,” she rasped out, unable to keep the emotion from her voice. “His heart is that big and generous. He loves everything and everyone.”

“No, actually, he doesn’t. There are quite a few things he doesn’t like.”

Daisy’s gaze shot up in surprise to meet the woman’s in the mirror.

She shrugged and touched the stopper to her wrist. “He simply never comments on what he doesn’t like.”

The truth of that soaked through Daisy like a cold rain. How had she not noticed that about him before?

Because she’d been too struck by his eccentricity. Because she’d done exactly what she’d accused those three women of doing—not seeing beyond the surface. Remorse ached down to her bones.

The woman set down the perfume. “Someone might look at you and think you care for him, as well.” She arched a brow as she slowly rubbed her wrists together. “They might even say it’s love.”

Love…Daisy couldn’t deny it. Somehow amid all the picnics and school visits, the hours spent pouring over house plans and sharing their dreams, she’d fallen in love with Hugh Whitby.

But she wasn’t some silly goose who saw the world as a fairy tale waiting to come true.

Whitby had broken her trust once and jeopardized all she’d worked so hard to achieve, putting at risk not just her family but also her dream. How could she trust him not to do it again, this man who always spoke without thinking and acted so impulsively? The fact that he’d entered her drawings into the contest because he cared about her made the act no less perilous for her.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” Daisy assured her as she slipped off the stool and walked toward the door, somehow managing to keep her back straight and her tears at bay. “Whatever Whitby and I shared is over, and I won’t interfere between you.”

The woman gave an awkward, embarrassed laugh, as if Daisy could never compete with her for Whitby’s affections. “You mis—”

“I need to return to the party.” If she didn’t leave now, at this very moment, she would break into tears! Her shaking hand fumbled as she reached for the door. “I wish you—” she choked on the words. “I wish you both the best of luck.”

Daisy fled. Blinking hard, she hurried through the house as fast as she could for the front door, and with every step, her heart pounded brutally. Each thud echoed against her ribs and declared what a fool she was. Desperation threatened to consume her with the need to seek comfort outside in the cool air and darkness where no one could see her pain.

She stopped only when she reached the iron fence that encircled the square fronting the house, when she couldn’t run any farther. Gasping for breath, she sagged against the railing. Her hands gripped the metal, and she pressed her face between the bars as hot tears of grief broke free…for Whitby, for her dream of being an architect…for all that she could never have.

6

Month Six

Daisy took deep, controlled breaths and fought to keep from pinching herself to prove that tonight was truly happening.

The state rooms of St James’s Palace glowed. What seemed like hundreds of beeswax candles beamed from the crystal chandeliers and competed with the shine from the jewels and satins decorating the crowd of attendees who filled the red carpeted reception hall, with white ostrich plumes donned by all the women and stark white stockings by the men. An army of footmen in immaculate palace livery and old-fashioned powdered wigs carried an endless supply of drinks through the crowd on large silver trays, and a quartet of musicians played quietly in the corner. The entire spectacle shimmered and mesmerized with its uncompromising grandeur.

Daisy couldn’t help but stare in awe, not knowing where to look first. She’d never been to the palace before, never been to any kind of royal function. If anyone had told her six months ago that she would be here because of her architectural designs, she would have laughed right in his face. But then, six months ago, she never would have attended even if she’d been invited. She would have been too ashamed of not being able to measure up to the fine gowns worn by the other ladies who had spent a small fortune on their satins, jewels, and decorations. But that was before she’d stopped caring about what people wore or how plain her gown looked with only her mother’s string of pearls to decorate it and a single ostrich plume for her hair. Being with Whitby had taught her that.

Tonight, she simply delighted in being here.

What delighted her most of all, though, was that the house plans from all six finalists had been mounted on boards and placed on easels throughout the reception room. All the guests could see how grand the plans were and judge for themselves which architect had presented the best plans.

As if reading her mind, her father leaned over to speak quietly into her ear, “Your drawings are the best of all.”

She lifted her glass of champagne to her lips to hide her pleased blush. Elias Daring was never generous with compliments. Not even for his children.

“Ourdrawings.” Her smile didn’t fade as she reached over to squeeze his hand.Our…exactly as it should have been. After all, she might have created the plans, but he had laid the foundations. Everything she knew about architecture and design had been learned at his knee, then broadened as her experience and skills grew. He deserved to share in this evening.

And what an evening! The night felt like a fairy tale, right down to the royal coach that had been sent to their townhouse to bring them to the palace. From the moment they’d arrived, they’d been waited upon by kind palace staff who had shepherded them into the rooms and whose only purpose in life seemed to be making certain that the champagne in their glasses never dropped below half full.

A buzz of electricity hung over the room because the king himself was due to arrive this evening and give his congratulations to all the finalists and the winner. But the man Daisy most looked forward to meeting was the great John Nash, the brilliant architectural mind behind the king’s most ambitious building projects. The men who had once studied with him and gone on to have celebrated careers of their own lingered tonight among the crowd. She’d glimpsed Anthony Salvin, John Repton and his brother George, James Morgan, and the great Robert Smirke, who had managed to shine nearly as brightly as his mentor John Soane, although Daisy thought his Greco-Roman inspired designs were old-fashioned. Her father knew all of them and had given her introductions. Embarrassingly, she didn’t think she’d been successful in tamping down her obvious admiration for them. Or her jealousy.

She wanted to be just like them, with the opportunity to create grand buildings that would stand for generations and make a lasting mark on the world.

But while they’d all been polite to her when Papa introduced her, none of them wanted to discuss architecture with her. They’d only smiled patronizingly and directed the conversation back to her father.