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“Then let me convince you,” Agnes said. She crossed the room to join him and reached up to cup his cheeks. “If you and I had not married, I would be a poor and lonely widow still. My poor Bertha would be without a father, and Daisy would be an only child, likely even more wilful than she is now. Help her to see that marriage is her only option. Let her see that she could be as happy as you have been in marriage if she would only give it a chance.”
She continued to hold his face, allowing her gaze to lock with his as she added, “Do this for us, George, or I shall never forgive you.”
Her words cut him like a knife, not only because he wished for a simple and easy life in which all the women under his roof were happy but also because some of him knew that his wife was right. Though he was not head over heels in love with her, he was content in his life, in the knowledge that everything had a rhyme and a reason.That is all I wish for my Daisy,he realised.
Reaching up, he gripped hold of his wife’s slender, long-fingered hands and pulled them away from his face. Holding them tightly, he smiled down at her and kissed her knuckles before he promised, “I will try my best to see things are set right.”
“Good.” Agnes smiled for the first time since they entered the library and squeezed his hands in return before removing his fingers from her grip. She straightened the skirts of her dress, smoothing her hands down the front of her bodice before looking at him again to add, “The Chester Ball is due to be held in a few days’ time. Perhaps it will be the perfect time for you to find her a match.”
A lump formed in George’s throat at the mention of the ball. Of course, the Chester Ball was the perfect place for him to find a match for his daughter. All of high society would attend, and young unmarried men would practically be lining up to find themselves a worthy wife.
Yet George knew all too well what it felt like to be paraded around like a prized peacock, to be forced to sell himself to all and sundry to find himself a match. Though he was twice the age he had been then, he was still well aware of the stress placed upon the younger generations. He had always promised himself that he would not put that kind of pressure on his children, regardless of their gender.
Daisy leaves me with little choice,he realised, remembering once more how he had found her sitting in the grounds of Oxford University, her face turned up towards the sky, her face twisted so that her ears were pointed towards the open window above her head. To a stranger, she might have looked as though she was merely enjoying the sunshine on a beautiful summer’s morning.
But he was her father and knew her much better than that. She would have sat there all day if he had not come to drag her away. She would have listened to every single lecture and then spent another hour or so thinking about what she had heard before finally returning home with the grand notion of yet again asking him to be allowed to finally sit inside the classrooms.
This time he was lucky that the university head had not come across her and sent word to him. He had managed to find her room empty and gone to collect her long before that happened, at least today. Though it had happened several times previously. Every time it happened, they grew closer and closer to the awkward questions, to Daisy being utterly un-marriageable.
Oh, Daisy, my sweetheart. What am I to do with you?
Chapter 4
The Chester ball was held at the country residence of the Duke and Duchess of Chester. Chester Abbey was by far one of the largest country residences that Daisy had ever laid eyes upon. The architecture of fine sandstone archways, large windows, and sprawling lawns was likely beautiful during the day, but beneath the moon, and with lanterns dotted all about the place, it was truly transcendent.
Daisy would have liked to have spent the evening outside in the gardens, looking at the beautiful house’s outer shell rather than spending hours and hours on end inside the ballroom that had likely grown stuffy thanks to all the bodies.
Even before their carriage pulled into the forecourt, Daisy would have liked to turn it around and head right back home. She could think of nothing worse than having to make small talk and listen to all the latest gossip.
Though she would have liked to join in the gentlemanly conversation of the evening, talking business and politics and all other such subjects, she was in no doubt as to the fact she would be forced to remain with the young ladies, looking pretty and keeping quiet on every subject that truly mattered.
“Now, remember Daisy, sweetheart, we must be on our best behaviour this evening,” Lady Balfour said sweetly as she sat beside Daisy, offering Lord Balfour a smile where he sat on the carriage bench opposite them. Though her words and tone were that of any mother, Daisy could hear the undertone of disgust, the reminder that she was not, in fact, Daisy’s mother but her stepmother and would likely have wished that she had no stepdaughter at all.
Do not call me sweetheart! Only Papa calls me sweetheart! She wanted to scream at the horrid woman, knowing she only used her father’s pet name for her because it irritated her. Daisy was under no illusions as to the fact that Agnes Lockhart disliked her. Nor did she believe that the woman would ever truly be happy to have her as part of the family, yet Daisy was all too pleased to stand in the way of the woman having her father all to herself.
The only person in the entire situation she felt sorry for was Bertha, her stepsister, the youngest of them all, who always found herself caught in the middle. She sat quietly beside Lord Balfour, her gaze glistening with excitement. Bertha was in her element at balls, always flourishing, dancing, and laughing at the jests of every gentleman. Many would call her the bell of the ball, and Daisy often wished that she could simply turn off and be as Bertha so often did.
“Am I not always, Stepmother?” Daisy asked, trying to hide the sarcasm from her voice as best she could. She fluttered her eyelashes and smiled. The stern look that followed from her stepmother told her all she needed to know.
“Your mother is right, Daisy,” her father insisted, and Daisy struggled to hide the way she cringed.She is not my mother!She wanted to scream as her father continued, “This ball might well be one of the most important of the year.”
Daisy’s disgust at her father’s calling Lady Balfour her mother was quickly overtaken by one other thought.Since when has my father believed that balls of any kind are important?she thought grimly, unable to think of any single reason her father would think such a thing. To him, just as to her, balls were frivolous and pointless and just plain frustrating.
There was no time to question it because the carriage suddenly drew to a halt, causing Daisy and the rest of her family to reach for the nearest thing to stop themselves from being jolted out of their seats.
“Goodness, George, you really must speak to the driver about his stopping skills,” Agnes insisted, and Daisy had to bite her lip to stop herself from snapping at the woman. Though Agnes and her father had been married for practically her entire life, marrying when she was still just a small child, the woman always refused to offer up the respect their servants deserved.
Never had she bothered to learn their names apart from the butler, the housekeeper, and her lady’s maid due to having direct contact with them. Garret had been her father’s carriage driver for as long as Daisy could remember, maybe even longer than Agnes had been his wife, and yet she still refused to call him by name.
“Garret’s driving is perfectly fine, dear,” her father responded, and Daisy was relieved that at least her father had the decency to stand up for him against his horrid wife.You would find a problem with it even if it were entirely perfect,Daisy thought angrily, trying to stop herself from glowering at her stepmother.
“Yes, well, let’s all try to have fun tonight!” Agnes insisted the moment that Garret jumped down from the driver’s bench to pull open the door for them. As usual, he was the perfect gentleman, offering his gloved hand up to help them out, and Daisy thanked him with a smile.
“Thank you,Garret,” she said loudly enough for her stepmother, who was still inside the carriage, to hear. Her father, who had been the first to climb out, offered her a pointed look but said nothing else.
“Oh, and remember Daisy, dear,” Agnes said, smirking as she clambered out of the carriage behind her stepdaughter. “Keep your eye out for all the wonderful gentlemen sure to be in attendance tonight. Perhaps one of them might take your fancy.”
The expression on the insipid woman’s face told Daisy that she knew as well as she did that there wasn’t much chance of that happening. Men were the very last thing on Daisy’s mind, especially when it came to balls and dancing.
