Page 107 of The Belle of Belgrave Square

“What else did you tell her?” he asked.

“Only that mother was beautiful. And that she had golden hair. And that you loved her better than anyone.”

Jasper sighed. “Daisy . . . What am I to do with you?”

“But it’s true, isn’t it?” Her brow puckered. “You loved mother best.”

“We don’t need to love anyone better than anyone else,” Jasper said. “Love is big enough to encompass everyone.”

It was something his father had used to say from the pulpit. A hypocritical statement, given the man’s treatment of his own family, but a statement that had stuck with Jasper, nonetheless.

“That includes your new stepmother,” he added.

Daisy’s expression turned sullen. “She’s very pretty.” It might almost have been an accusation.

“She’s kind,” Jasper replied. “Kindness is more important than prettiness.” He smoothed his hand over Daisy’s hair, giving an affectionate tug to her plait. “Much more important.”

“Is that why you married her?”

“It is,” he said. “When I went to London, I was determined to find the kindest, sweetest lady in all the world. And when I found her, I married her straightaway and brought her here to you.”

“She isn’t my mother.”

“No. But she’ll be a friend to you. And she’ll care for you very much if you let her. I believe she was made to care for people like you and me.”

Daisy appeared to cautiously take this in. Though raised by Jasper, with Beecham’s not inconsequential assistance, she was often as hesitant to trust people as her brothers were.

“Do you care for her?” she asked.

“I do. I’m exceedingly fond of her, just as I am of you. And I’m happy the two of you are going to get on so well together.”

Daisy’s lower lip wobbled. “She didn’t like me.”

And there it was. The crux of her fears.

Jasper drew her to him, enfolding her small body in the circle of his arms. She leaned against him, one tiny hand clutching at his waistcoat.

She wasn’t a handsome child, nor one of respectable pedigree. She was odd. An outcast, like the boys were. Indeed, on their rare trips into Hardholme, the female villagers had been more apt to look on Daisy with disdain than to pinch her cheeks and offer her a boiled sweet.

Jasper had done his best to make up for it. But he was only a man, and one who was as little welcomed in village society as the children were themselves.

What Daisy needed was a mother.

“Give her a chance,” he said into her ear. “That’s all I ask of you.”

Daisy’s reply was a muffled and very reluctant whisper. “I’ll try, Papa.”

Seated at the splintering oak table in Goldfinch Hall’s cavernous dining room, Julia applied herself to cutting the piece of mutton on her plate. The overcooked meat defied every effort.

“Permit me,” Jasper said from his chair beside her. Taking her plate, he quickly cut her mutton into bite-sized morsels, just as he’d done for Daisy at the beginning of their meal.

Julia murmured a polite word of thanks. He’d been excessively civil to her since she’d emerged from their chamber this evening. Almost too civil. As if he was wary of presuming too much. The result was a meal that was coldly formal.

The children’s presence did nothing to thaw the chilly atmosphere. Dressed in clean clothing, with freshly scrubbed faces, they sat quiet in their seats, focused entirely on their respective plates of mutton, potatoes, and boiled vegetables.

Was it Julia’s presence that had rendered them mute? Or were they always like this at meals?

She had nothing to compare it to. She’d never dined with children before. She didn’t know quite how to behave. It was all so strange and new. Even the dining room, with its water-stained paper hangings and smoking fireplace, left her feeling distinctly out of place.