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“Gossip would spread like wildfire, and believe me, everyone would suspect that the child was yours. It’s your future or hers, and she is not my daughter.”

“I understand, but—”

Lady Wharton surged to her feet again. “Do you have any idea how mortifying this is for me? You dare ask me to nurture evidence of my husband’s betrayal?”

Daisy held her mother’s gaze; not for nothing had she grown up in the shadow of a woman strong enough to exile her own spouse. “I can only imagine, and I’m so sorry. However, that doesn’t change my opinion regarding Belle.”

“This is not merely a matter of your reputation, but my well-being. I have had enough affronts for one lifetime. Do you dare to think that I should have raised my husband’s bastards? Lived with daily evidence of his infidelity, his lack of respect for me, his poor moral fiber?”

Daisy rocked Belle back and forth, watching her eyelashes flutter. “I’m so sorry that Father neglects his responsibilities.”

“I have been sorry for years,” her mother said, falling back into her chair. “My regrets don’t change reality.”

“Moo,” the baby said sleepily. Her eyelashes lay on her cheeks like tiny fans.

“I cannot give her away,” Daisy said desperately. “I cannot.”

“You must. Thankfully, Tangle is both experienced and discreet. He will deliver her himself, rather than trust a groom. He will make certain that the Chelsea Orphanage understands that she is to be well cared for.”

“Children are often hungry and cold, even in the best orphanages,” Daisy insisted. “No one plays with them or even speaks to them. They are left in cribs for the whole day. When they are older, they are put to work for hours, sometimes in the sleet and snow.”

“Not in the Chelsea Orphanage. She will grow up surrounded by children who also have noble blood, albeit diluted. It is the best such establishment in the city, one where young ladies of quality volunteer, obviously without having any idea that they might be related to one of the orphans.”

“But you never allowed me—” Daisy broke off.

Her mother nodded. “How could I allow you to volunteer with other girls, given that your father’s bastards resemble you so closely? I made up a story about Livie’s mother not approving of the activity, as if that woman cared a fig for what her daughter did from day to day!”

Daisy felt dangerously close to tears. “I see.”

“Your hair is so unusual, as is that child’s,” Lady Wharton said. “If you want to blame someone, blame your father.”

“But—”

“I don’t mean to be unkind, but it is time to grow up,” she interrupted, hoisting herself out of the chair as if she were an arthritic old woman. “Your girlhood is over.”

“I—” Daisy began, but her mother cut her off again.

“Your father has never accepted the fact that what people think matters.” Her lips twisted. “He goes his sweet way, regardless of the consequences for others. I refuse to allow you to resemble him in that. I have built a life, a life that matters, by respecting the consequences of my actions. Do you understand?”

Daisy couldn’t stop looking at Belle’s face. Given the delicacy of her bone structure, her mother must be incredibly beautiful.

“I had to talk Lady Castlereigh around to forgiving me for my brother’s criminality. Without her approval, you would have no suitors at all. None. My position in society was rocked by Sir Tyron’s criminal actions, but not destroyed. But you? My own daughter? If you are suspected of behaving like a hussy, I will have no further place in society.”

Daisy’s heart sank like a stone.

“You have been testing me since you turned thirteen years of age,” her mother said flatly. “You made your disrespect obvious every time you stole out of this house unaccompanied by a maid.”

A sharp pain twisted in Daisy’s chest. “I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.”

“Do you think that I was unaware that you and your cousin were galloping in Hyde Park last year? That somehow she met Major FitzRoy, though they were never introduced in my presence?” She snorted. “You have a mutinous strain, likely inherited from your wretched father. I am willing to accept that you can’t help yourself, but you cannot ruin my life!”

Daisy swallowed hard and whispered, “I can’t send Belle to that place.” A sob struggled up her throat.

Lady Wharton’s frown deepened. “Do you think I allowed myself to cry when I discovered that baby on my doorstep when you were first born? Or when my brother’s wife birthed a child in his absence?”

“No?”

“Grow up, Daisy!” she repeated. “No whining. No malingering. I rescued Livie. I paid for the other children, and I continue to pay for them. We do what we can.”