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Daisy was smiling at Frederick as if she …
People might misinterpret their friendship based on her expression. He’d seen it happen; his friend Jonah had been obligated to marry after he was compromised.
No, that wasn’t true. Jonah married because he was desperately in love with Bea. Daisy couldn’t possibly feel that for Frederick.
“I know you formed a friendship during the last year, but you shouldn’t address each other by your given names in public,” he said before he thought better. “It might be misunderstood.”
Frederick elbowed Daisy. “Lord Devin is worried for your reputation. Isn’t that sweet of him? Don’t worry. I’ll marry you no matter how scandalous you become. I intend to limit my prospects to wallflowers anyway, so my spouse and I can huddle together and gossip.”
“You plan to form a jester’s corner with your wife?” Miles asked. Oddly, it sounded … rather fun. More enjoyable than pacing around the dance floor discussing the habitats of snowy owls, as he had done earlier in the evening when Miss Appleton treated him to a lecture.
“What’s a jester’s corner?” Daisy asked.
“You do know that British kings had official jesters?”
She nodded.
“When a jester wasn’t actively mocking the crown, he retreated to the corner of the throne room and mocked society at large,” Miles explained.
“That would suit me,” Frederick said. “I need to find a wife who doesn’t mind wearing a cap with bells. Perhaps if I adorned the cap with diamonds I could entice someone to my corner. Daisy?”
“Even given that suitors are thin on the ground, I have to refuse your proposal,” she said. “A jester’s hat would never fit over my hair.”
“You do seem to have an outsized pile on your head,” Frederick commented. “I’ll introduce you to a few of my pals. You’ll have more tipsy men at your feet than you can count.”
“Miss Wharton doesn’t wish to marry an inebriate,” Miles growled.
“I don’t have any particular dislike of drunks,” Daisy said. “One wants one’s husband to be occupied, and cheroots have such a terrible odor. Drinking is better than smoking.”
“I already have an occupation as court jester,” Frederick pointed out.
“I suppose ‘old maid’ will be mine,” Daisy said cheerfully.
She was the farthest thing from an old maid that Miles had ever seen. If she didn’t have suitors, it was because they hadn’t yet met her. Heard her laughter. Seen her laughing.
Even her chortle was sensual. When her lips curled, when she teased, he felt it in every part of his body—some places more than others.
A gentleman didn’t marry a woman he wanted to throw up against a wall. You’d have to be mad to court a woman who joked about adultery, who was obviously brimming with passion.
“Both of my suitors are kindness personified,” Daisy said, smiling at the two of them.
Before he caught himself, Miles choked. True, he had stood talking to her for longer than he had any other woman, but …
Daisy burst into a throaty laugh. “I misspoke! I gather, Lord Devin, that you’re no suitor of mine.”
Frederick squinted at him. “Revealed your terror, did you? Not very flattering, old chap. You have to learn to disguise your expressions. You looked ready to expire from boredom while dancing with Miss Appleton. You’ll never find a wife that way.”
Miles cleared his throat. “I would be honored to marry Miss Wharton. Of course.”
Thankfully, Daisy showed no signs of being insulted. “It was a reasonable assumption on my part—you did ask me to dance—but not to worry. I shan’t hold you to it.”
“Every man who asks you to dance is not a suitor,” Frederick pointed out. “The royal dukes, for example. Certain to ask, given your bosom, but unavailable for marriage.”
Daisy patted Miles on the arm. “Only desperate women like me engage in such sad arithmetic. You are free to court where you will.”
Horrifyingly, that light touch sent a stunning feeling down his arm, like a burn. Burns are bad, he informed his unruly body, which seemed determined to move closer to the fire.
“You do have two suitors, since you also have Jeremiah Hemlock at your beck and call,” Frederick said. “Do you know him, Devin?”
