by Maya Rodale
“What you have done here is magnificent, Theo. I never would have packaged it so prettily or had the courage to open a shop so soon. Your taste is exquisite and if it works, it will be because of your contributions. But it’s all happening so fast.”
“We don’t have much time,” he said gently. “Your mother has sent out invitations to the wedding.”
“It’s really happening. Unless . . .”
“I’ll tell you what, Daisy. Let’s make a deal. Once we repay the loan, seventy percent of Dr. Swan is yours. All the profits, the ownership, all that. We’ll have lawyers draw up paperwork. But for now, I give you my word as a gentleman.”
It was an offer his father never, ever would have made. Prescott the Second would have offered her a hundred dollars for the recipe and left her out in the cold. Theo could already hear the old man hitting the roof if he ever learned that Theo had relinquished so much, so early in the game, and to a woman. Maybe he didn’t want his approval that much, at any cost. Because already he didn’t want to be the sort of man who stole a woman’s lifework and livelihood just because he could.
But Theo had come to realize that he wanted something more than just money. A purpose. And maybe even Daisy’s happiness.
Definitely worth it for that spark in her eye as she walked toward him to stand just in front of him.
“You have a deal. But I don’t want your word as a gentleman.”
“Oh? What do you want?”
“A kiss.”
Sealed with a kiss. Of course. Theo was pretty sure that this was not how business was usually done. But given the way Daisy was looking at him, he was also pretty sure he didn’t care. Because Daisy was looking at him like she wanted all of him for him—his head, his heart, him—not just his pretty mouth. Or his father’s last name or fortune.
“Close your eyes, Daisy.”
This time she did. Their lips met, softly at first. He had some idea of keeping his distance, of keeping things light and not getting too serious, of keeping this a perfunctory kiss to mark a business arrangement.
This was no perfunctory kiss. No. Not at all. Because once his lips touched hers, once her lips parted, and once he tasted her, he knew he wanted to kiss her for hours for no reason other than pleasure.
His hands skimmed from her shoulders, lower, to her waist and with a gentle pressure on the small of her back he urged her closer. Because if they were going to break the rules and kiss, then they really ought to kiss.
Savor it.
Sink into it.
Theo caressed her cheeks with her soft, feels-like-a-dream skin in his palms, cradled her head and drank her in. He followed her lead on how fast or slow or deep or just nibbled on her lower lip and when she mewled with pleasure he knew it was worth it—all of it. Putting himself on the line, laying himself bare, and taking the risk of laughter or awkward conversations or worse.
She grabbed on to the lapels of his jacket, holding on to him and holding him close. The fabric would be worse for wear, but whatever. Because this was a slow burn of a kiss in the middle of the afternoon with the woman he least expected. And there was nowhere else he’d rather be. And so they kissed for hours or minutes or both.
He definitely lost track of time.
Until she suddenly pulled back.
“What time is it?”
Somewhat dazed, he pulled out his pocket watch. “Two o’clock.”
“I have someplace to be. I’ll be late!”
“What? Where? I’ll take you.” Theo watched as she took a jar or two of their Midnight Miracle Cream and tucked it into her satchel.
On her way out, she gave him a smile and said, “I would tell you but I have been sworn to secrecy.”
Chapter Fourteen
Opening today: Dr. Swan’s Apothecary, purveyor of ladies’ toilet preparations, the likes of which we have been assured have never been seen before.
—The New York Post
One week later
854 Fifth Avenue
How Daisy was supposed to survive breakfast with her mother on a day like today, Daisy did not know. It was the day that Dr. Swan’s Apothecary was due to celebrate its grand opening. It was also the day that an advertisement for said event would be appearing in the ladies’ pages of The New York World. Which was all to say that today was the day that determined Daisy’s fate.
She had saved her pin money for ages to finance the first batch of the Midnight Miracle Cream, including the expensive jars Theo had selected and the fair wages of the women she’d hired to help her produce it and sell it. Theo had taken out a not-insignificant loan to finance the shop; Daisy almost fainted when he told her.
This day would either make them or break them. They would have an idea whether they could afford to skip the wedding, or whether they’d have to go through with it because they owed money to people all over town.
A horrible thought, that. Marriage to a man whom she did not love—and whom she shared some knee-weakening, toe-curling, breathtaking, heart-pounding kisses. Marriage to a man who definitely understood her—he built her a laboratory of her own, a better gift to her she could not imagine.
But it was still Theo. The man who had the greatest capacity to hurt her and had done so before.
So it was not just any other day, or any breakfast with her mother. Her father, of course, having been down at Wall Street for hours already, doing whatever one did on Wall Street.
To say Daisy was nervous was a massive understatement.
And now her mother wanted to have a talk.
“Daisy, we need to talk,” her mother said.
“Hmm.” Daisy sipped her tea and did her very best not to tear through the newspaper looking for their advertisement. Perhaps it’s all a dream, she thought. Perhaps she had imagined Theo, the shop, the wedding, everything. But once she saw the ad, she would know it was real.
“Daisy,” her mother persisted. “We need to talk about your future.”
“I do believe we’ve had this conversation, Mother.”
“Yes, Daisy, but hmm . . .”
Daisy set down her tea and looked up.
“Mother, you are making a sound that indicates you are having thoughts.”
At this point Daisy finally saw the advertisement. It was right there, on the paper her mother had been reading. Daisy didn’t need to look any closer to know what it said; Theo had submitted the text with her approval.
Dr. Swan’s Midnight Miracle Complexion Cream
Positively made from a recipe used for years by society beauties, newly enhanced by science. Never before manufactured for sale. For the New Woman who wishes for a luminous complexion. $1.50
Grand Opening Today at 27 Union Square
“I just find it curious that there is an advertisement for a new complexion balm produced by one Dr. Swan, who is opening a new store this very day.”
“My felicitations,” Daisy murmured, her heart picking up the pace.
“It’s such a coincidence that someone with the same name as you should be launching a product you have been chattering about. Do you find that curious? I find that curious.”
No. Not at all. Not even remotely.
Daisy just shrugged. She didn’t quite trust herself with words. She may have been on the far side of twenty-five years old, but when her mother looked at her like that, she was thirteen all over again.
“It says the store is opening today,” her mother said, pointing right to the page.
“Does it?”
Daisy did her best to sound like this was new information when, in fact, she had lain awake for most of the night obsessing about it.
“I don’t suppose you’ll be there. If only to scope out the competition,” her mother said. “Seeing as how someone else has taken your idea and your name and opened a shop with it.”
“I have a meeting of the Charitable Ladies’ Auxiliary Club,” Daisy said. It was not technically untrue.
“I’m so glad to hear it. Because it would be drea
dful if people thought this was something you were involved in. Can you just imagine if people thought Jack Swan’s daughter was engaged in trade? They might worry about our finances, and how the brokerage firm is faring. The last thing we need is skittish investors, particularly when things are already so precarious. I’m sure I don’t need to say how vital one’s good reputation is and at least the illusion of success.”
Her mother sipped her tea and resumed reading the newspaper.
She did not need to say more.
Later that morning
27 Union Square
On Wednesdays, the Ladies of Liberty embarked on adventures. There were always protests to join, demonstrations to make, or volunteer efforts to undertake.
A woman’s work was never done.
On this Wednesday in particular they gathered for the grand opening of Dr. Swan’s Apothecary to celebrate one of their own and to present a show of respectable, ladylike force to support this daring, lady-led venture.
After all, they could not allow one of their own to marry a man she didn’t love due to a lack of alternatives. And if the solution was as simple as going shopping, then it had to be done.
But the Ladies of Liberty did not just show up en masse. They had a simple plan, stylishly executed. At precisely eleven o’clock in the morning a small group of well-attired, respectable women entered the store. This was not a particularly remarkable event for a shop just steps off the famed Ladies’ Mile, especially one that had placed an advertisement in the newspaper that morning.
But it was a daring new shop.
And one could not risk that the only patrons were there to gawk or gossip. Indeed, quite a few women did wander in, though they seemed not to have the courage, means, or desire to make a purchase and walk out with it. For that, one required a certain type of customer. Fashionable ladies accustomed to setting trends and respectable women who would make this new thing appear safe and acceptable.
Fortunately, another group of those women arrived at precisely fifteen minutes after eleven. Harriet had organized a strategic onslaught of lady shoppers to show in no uncertain terms that this was a product with high demand among respectable ladies. They arrived at their appointed time, engaged with the salesgirls, and made their purchases, daringly exiting the shop with their packages wrapped in Dr. Swan’s signature lavender paper. But not without raving about the Midnight Miracle Cream.
“I’ve been using this cream for a month now and I swear I look years younger,” Miss Parks said and nearby a woman who had been tentatively considering it proceeded to make her purchase.
“I honestly don’t know how we have lived for so long without this magical stuff,” Miss Lumley said.
“It’s not magic, it’s science,” Daisy explained to a small group of women. “We have all simply lived with dry skin or poor complexions. Well, I refuse to settle and I use the Midnight Miracle Cream.”
A few more women took one look at Daisy’s complexion and made up their minds to buy.
Another batch of Ladies of Liberty descended upon the shop, a few lady reporters among them, all of whom had columns in the various city newspapers. Other women who were curious after seeing the advertisement arrived to see plenty of women inside, and thus it seemed perfectly acceptable for them to come in, as well.
By midafternoon the shop was bustling and Daisy’s cheeks were flushed with the promise of success. She wished Theo could come out and feel the energy in the air, but they had both agreed that it would be best if he remained in the laboratory and refrained from mingling on the floor. It was one thing for women to start making public purchases of items for their private grooming; it was quite another to do so in the presence of a man, and an infamous playboy to boot.
And then one woman’s high voice cut through the chatter.
“It’s the devil’s own brew!”
Silence fell swiftly.
“My fellow womankind, do not fall for this appeal to your pride and vanity! It’s the work of the devil, it is,” she carried on. She was a woman of indeterminate middle age, dressed in unrelenting black. Daisy tried to reach her but struggled against the tide of customers having second thoughts and moving toward the door.
The woman in black carried on. “When I saw the notice in the newspaper this morning I knew it was my solemn duty to come warn the young ladies who would fall prey to this devious Dr. Swan person. Some man, probably, who wants to seduce you all. First, it’s just some complexion balm, next it’s cosmetics—your lip paints, your rouges—and then it’s straight to the flophouse.”
“That’s not true!” Daisy cried. But oh, damn, she was not supposed to draw unnecessary attention to herself, lest someone here make the connection between Daisy Swan and Dr. Swan. She definitely wasn’t supposed to get involved in a scene.
Neither was Theo. But there he was, strolling onto the floor, cool as you please. Oh, he just had to play the hero, didn’t he? Daisy feared it was going to backfire spectacularly.
“Ma’am, good afternoon. If you please—” He linked arms with her in an effort to escort her out.
“I do not please, thank you very much. Unhand me, young man!”
“As you wish.” Theo relinquished his hold on her immediately. But still, he tried to console her. “My good woman, just because your complexion has no need of the balm does not mean that other women—”
“Spare me your flattery, pretty boy.” The irate woman turned to address the crowd at large. “This rogue and flattery just proves my point! Decent women have no business with cosmetics like this.”
She just had to use the dreaded c-word. Daisy closed her eyes and groaned. They had deliberately marketed it as a balm or a preparation; definitely not a cosmetic, which would cause all the respectable women to flee. Even mention of the word cosmetics had some ladies moving toward the door to leave.
“It’s a patent medicine. A balm,” Daisy protested feebly.
“What will your fathers and husbands think when they learn you have all been purchasing intimate items in the company of a man?”
“Ooh, this is terrible,” Daisy groaned.
“It is not ideal,” Harriet agreed. “I’ll handle everything at the shop. I think this is a good opportunity for you and Theo to make yourselves scarce.”
They didn’t need to be told twice.
Chapter Fifteen
While Mrs. Swan rushes around Manhattan single-handedly planning the wedding of the year, one wonders how the romance between the bride and groom has been progressing.
—The New York Post
Later that afternoon
A few hours later, with the shop shuttered for the day, Theo and Daisy climbed into his waiting carriage, idling outside and slowing traffic that was already slowed down due to the steady drizzle of rain. They climbed in and Theo just said, “Uptown,” to the driver because his mind was reeling from the events of the day.
“Except for that one irate woman—” he started.
“Let’s never speak of it again,” Daisy said as she leaned back against the velvet cushions and closed her eyes. At Harriet’s urging they had separately made their way to the back of the shop to lie low, which they did while Harriet expertly escorted the woman in black out of the shop and consoled the others. Thanks to her brilliant plan, new waves of women kept entering every fifteen minutes, like clockwork.
“Let’s celebrate our success instead,” Theo said, and Daisy’s eyes brightened.
A celebration was certainly in order. Because in spite of that one irate woman, most women had been pleasantly curious and eager to try it. The sales had been exceptional. The young ladies hired to work in the laboratory—some of Daisy’s fellow chemistry students and some other bright women who struggled to find other respectable work—would definitely need to arrive early tomorrow and begin preparing another batch of the Midnight Miracle Cream.
If the newspaper reports and word of mouth were favorable, it seemed they had a good chance of success.
The carr
iage lurched forward and then just as it was gathering pace it slowed again. And stopped. And started.
So it was to be one of those journeys, plagued by a seething mass of humanity and vehicles all slowed to a sedate pace and confounded by wet weather. Usually, Theo would be annoyed but today he didn’t mind. They were alone in the carriage—the driver stationed outside, up front—and they would have to make the best of it.
“How do you propose we celebrate, Theo?”
Theo had some ideas.
From the heated look in Daisy’s eyes, he knew that she was of the same mind.
There was an energy between them that was almost palpable. It was nothing less than giddiness over their success—not that, as a man, he would ever describe himself as feeling giddy aloud. There was the exhilaration one felt after taking a risk and winning and he felt it now.
And then there was this potent feeling between them. Something magnetic. Electric.
Something had to be done about it.
Theo’s lips first touched hers at Nineteenth Street.
Or hers touched his? It seemed so natural that they should mutually crash into each other’s arms, sink into a frantic kiss like time was running out even though the journey uptown would take an eternity at this pace.
This kiss was hard and fast, tooth clinking against tooth. Heads turning the same way at the same time, awkward. Noses colliding. Their choreography was a mess but the passion and pleasure was real. And that made all the difference.
All they could do was laugh softly through it and try it again.
At Twenty-Third Street they found their rhythm.
She parted her lips, and the kiss deepened. Lips against lips. Tongues tangling, tasting. Nibbling, sucking, teasing all around the main thing, the main thrust. Hands grasping. Breath gasping. It was him. And her. Imperfect and wonderful, all at once.
He’d never been so aroused by just a kiss. It was going to wreck him, this kiss. Because Theo was giving it everything.