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“You continue to be friends with Rothingale!” Lady Wharton screeched. “The rogue very nearly eloped with your own sister, Clementine. ‘Tis a miracle that she’s now betrothed.” Her lip curled. “If men of Clementine’s own family are not interested in defending her virtue, the least they could do would be to give the reprobate the cut direct. But you? You continue to consort with him!”
She wasn’t saying anything that Miles hadn’t considered. “What if I mend my reputation? I take your point about Rothingale.”
“Don’t do it for Daisy’s sake,” she said acidly. “I will never marry my daughter to a man as old as you are.”
That was a facer. “I’m not yet thirty, and my understanding is that Daisy is in her twenties as well.”
“Daisy will marry a man who’s not yet twenty-five.” The lady’s cheeks were marked with red slashes. “Regardless, you should feel an avuncular sentiment for her, if anything! After all, you are partially responsible for the lack of an uncle in her life.”
Fury was creeping up Miles’s spine. He was not old. Neither was he dissolute.
“Don’t you dare think of trying to elope with Daisy, the way that wastrel tried to do with your sister,” Lady Wharton shrilled, getting to her feet. “Disgusting old men who seduce young ladies will never be sanctioned by me!”
Miles rose to his feet. He had never met Lady Wharton’s husband, but he understood the gentleman to be some twenty years older than his wife. He was beginning to think that their marriage began with a rash elopement.
“I’ll have your vow on that front!” she demanded.
Right.
Well, he hadn’t been entirely convinced that he wished to marry Daisy anyway.
“I will not elope with your daughter,” he stated. “If you’ll excuse me, Lady Wharton, I’ll be on my way.”
“You’re taking this suspiciously well,” she spat.
“I witnessed the catastrophe of Miss Wharton’s gown. In the process of saving her reputation, I glimpsed her in a state of dishabille. My honor and hers demanded that I offer my hand.”
Lady Wharton’s countenance cleared. “You must forgive me, Lord Devin.”
He blinked at her toothy smile. “Pardon me?”
“My vehement rejection of your proposal was inappropriate. I’ve noticed that men do have a tendency to fall in love with Daisy, due to her vivacious mannerisms—I am determined to guide her into more subdued behavior this Season, mind you—but now I understand that is not the case here.”
Miles hated the idea of a “subdued” Daisy as much as he hated that blasted dress that looked like a pillar of salt, but it was not his business.
Lady Wharton came closer and patted his arm. “Your reputation may be less than sterling, but you are a gentleman, so of course you were compelled to propose after that unfortunate mishap. I expect you are deeply relieved to receive my response. I imagine that you feel my daughter is far too impulsive and silly for you. I would have said as much myself.”
He cleared his throat. “I consider Miss Wharton entirely suitable.” He stepped back and bowed. “I do thank you for reminding me that boyhood friendship is no reason to acknowledge Lord Rothingale. I shall eschew his company from now on.”
“Excellent!” her ladyship said, starting toward the drawing room door in her hurry to see the back of him.
“Good day,” Miles said at the door.
“What a shock that was,” Lady Wharton chattered. “I believe I must lie down. We shall see you tonight at dinner—” she narrowed her eyes “—where you will make it quite clear to Daisy that you have no interest in her beyond friendly concern stemming from her disturbing experience.”
Miles was beginning to feel like a marionette, but he bowed yet again. “As you wish.”
* * *
That evening Daisy maddened her mother by refusing to wear one of her new gowns, the ones that swathed her in fabric.
Instead she chose a slightly-out-of-date dress made of amber-colored silk with turquoise spangled trim. The fabric floated around her hips and flirted with her ankles. Her curves were enhanced by short stays, but not compressed by them, and the trimming turned her eyes cornflower blue.
“I suppose it’s acceptable for dinner,” Lady Wharton finally said, giving up. “I doubt that any marriageable young men are invited.”
“Lord Devin will be there,” Daisy said, turning around before the mirror and tugging on the back of her gown, just in case. It was firmly sewn in place.
Did she look delectable? Hopefully. Her hair was caught up with amber silk ribbons, with one thick coil placed just so over her shoulder.
