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“I vaguely remember the name … but no,” Miles said. Of course he wasn’t wooing Daisy. On the other hand, he didn’t like thinking of other men doing so, and he’d be damned if she married Frederick.

“One of the Arch Rogues, so-called. Supposedly, he’s pledged to find a wife in order to win a bet, an unwholesome reason. Plus he has a reputation as a ne’er-do-well. No dancing or following him into the shrubbery,” Frederick said to Daisy, sounding like a hectoring older brother.

“I can’t afford to refuse to dance with one of the few men who’s requested my hand,” Daisy said, sounding like an irritated little sister.

Of course, Miles could introduce her to eligible gentlemen.

But for some reason … he didn’t want to.

EPISODE NINETY THREE

THE PILLAR OF SALT

“If your gown didn’t graze your collarbone, you’d have flocks of men around you,” Frederick said, pulling the flask from his pocket again. “Wait until they see you in a garment that flatters your curves rather than swaddles them.”

Daisy wrinkled her nose. “I told my mother that I look like an Egyptian mummy.”

Lord Devin didn’t glance at her, of course. He was the most proper man she’d ever met. Other men ogled her body, especially her breasts, but his attention never dipped below her chin. It brought out all her worst tendencies. She wanted to make him look.

Which was absurd.

She couldn’t imagine why he was standing around talking to her and Frederick.

People might assume he was courting her, which he would obviously loathe. Though she’d masked it with a smile, the shocked look on his face when she referred to him as a suitor was one of the more humiliating moments in her life, right up there with Lady Regina calling her fat.

Unfortunately, Lord Devin always chanced across her at the worst moments, as at the Rothingale masquerade, which had been—she could admit it—a huge mistake. Her mother would have had an apoplexy if she had discovered that Daisy and her cousin had crept out of the house to attend such a sordid event.

As a matter of conscience, Daisy had made up her mind to stop courting scandal. No more rebellion. Lady Wharton’s heart couldn’t take it; she was already suffering from palpitations multiple times a day.

Unlike Lord Devin, Frederick readily eyed her up and down. “You resemble a pillar of salt. A biblical look but not enticing, if you’ll forgive the slur.”

“I’m not a scholar,” Daisy said. “What’s a pillar of salt?”

“Surely you’ve heard the story,” Frederick answered, taking a hearty swig of whiskey. “I was under the impression that ladies regularly flaunt their virtue by warming the pews.”

For a moment Daisy thought of fibbing. Yet did she really care what Lord Devin thought of her? Some secret part of her insisted that she did, but she crushed it and chose the truth.

“I fancy you won’t be terribly surprised to learn that I prefer to stay at home on the couch reading a novel with no improving content,” she replied.

“‘Twas the fate of Lot’s wife,” Lord Devin said. “She and her husband were fleeing the wicked cities of Sodom and Gomorrah. Angels had told her not to look back, but she did, so she was turned to a pillar of salt for her disobedience.”

“Oh, now I remember the story,” Daisy said unenthusiastically. “Mrs. Lot’s skirts were probably dragging in the sand, so she turned back to give them a shake. She was reduced to a pile of salt as punishment for a fallen hem.”

“If you don’t mind a sartorial suggestion,” Frederick said, “your skirts are dragging on the floor. I almost tripped over them during that Polonaise.”

Daisy twitched her gown away from his feet. “That would be because you missed the steps so often.”

Frederick shrugged.

“My mother does not care for the current fashion of skirts that float above the ankles,” she added.

To her horror, Lady Regina suddenly appeared at Frederick’s side. The lady was—of course—dripping with diamonds, as well as being slim and tall, her hair true gold, which perfectly set off eyes as blue as a lake.

One of those arctic lakes, the ones that are icy year-round.

“Good evening!” she cried. “I feel that societal standards have grown too, too rigid, so I am eager to greet Miss Wharton, as her … unconventional perspective is newly returned to us.” She dropped a shallow curtsy.

Very Regina-esque: a greeting accompanied by a reminder of family disgrace.