As if she mattered.
She’d no idea how Lord Lumley had managed that, especially as the act had seemed rather selfish and immature.
But during both kisses, she felt as if he’d never let her go. And when they’d parted, he’d had a gleam in his eye that made her breathless.
Before today, she’d never kissed a man. In the old days in Glen Dewey, there’d been many a fine, strapping lad, Hester had told her, but many of them had emigrated or been killed in the Wars. The few that were left were friendly, but none made Daisy’s heart race. None made her shy to look at them.
Earlier, when she’d brought the tea tray into the drawing room after the lamb-saving incident, she’d not wanted to meet Lord Lumley’s gaze. She wasn’t sure why, especially when she’d spoken so bluntly to him, shared kisses with him, and seen a piece of his flesh through a hole in the back of his filthy, travel-worn breeches when he was climbing that hillock.
He’d not been wearing drawers—
But perhaps she’d felt shy because around her stepmother and stepsisters, he’d seemed somehow different. He’d made an effort to be charming. Less brusque. As if he were giving Mona a chance to redeem herself. She didn’t deserve it, but Daisy supposed that was the gentlemanly thing to do.
Mona had responded beautifully, not asking him any difficult questions the way Daisy had. And after tea, he’d taken a walk about the estate with Cassandra, of all people, who usually hated traipsing out-of-doors. While they’d been gone, Daisy had carried hot water to the byre, refusing to let Joe and Hester bear the burden.
Now, at dinner, Lord Lumley was bathed, rested, and apparently recovered from his sore head, although his black eye gleamed blue in the candlelight.
Mona presided over the head of the table. The viscount was in the place of honor to her right. Cassandra sat next to him, and Perdita sat across from them.
Even though she was now supposed to be his fiancée, Daisy was relegated to the bottom of the table. A large epergne filled with gorgeous red velvet rose blossoms in the middle made it impossible for her to see any further than Perdita’s elbow on her left or Cassandra’s top knot on her right. As for the viscount and Mona, they might as well have been invisible.
Daisy was sure they couldn’t see her, either.
Mona had seated her this way at dinner ever since Papa had died, and it was laughable, really. Like something out of a farce, especially as Daisy was tasked with gathering all the flowers and greenery with which to hide her presence.
Hester thought it comical, too, usually.
But tonight was different. When Hester entered the room carrying the trout and potatoes, she made eye contact with Daisy—and Hester’s were not dancing with their usual mirth but gleamed with frustration.
Daisy allowed herself to feel the pang she’d been suppressing: finally, she was missing something worthwhile. She wanted to see the viscount, to be part of the party! She was pretending to be engaged to him, after all!
You want to be the belle of the ball, the way your father intended you to be, a voice in her head said frankly. But you can’t. And even more, you shouldn’t be.
The truth wasn’t easy to bear. Her heart knocked against her chest, so to recover her equilibrium, she pretended to look under the table for a missing hairpin—
And saw Cassandra putting her hand on the viscount’s leg.
Then witnessed him just as quickly moving his leg out of reach.
When Daisy sat up again, she was almost glad no one could see her. She knew her eyes would be wide with shock and, if she were honest with herself, a bit of amusement.
Cassandra was not only devious and disloyal. She was acting like a tart. Daisy always knew she would if given half the chance.
The viscount immediately went up a notch in Daisy’s estimation.
“So, my lord,” Cassandra was saying now, as if the under-the-table maneuvers had never taken place, “you look comfortable in my late stepfather’s clothing.”
“I am, thank you,” Daisy heard him say in equally smooth tones. “I’m very grateful to you all for providing me with them.”
Daisy took a sip of wine. She’d caught a glimpse of him as she’d walked in. He’d cut a fine figure in her father’s coat—although it was a trifle tight across the shoulders. She’d felt a brief combination of sorrow and happiness at seeing the garment, curious to get closer to it—to the viscount—to suss out whether he deserved to wear it. She wasn’t sure anyone did.
Yet Mona had kept Lord Lumley trapped in conversation, so she hadn’t been able to talk to him.
And now …
Now it was as if she didn’t exist.
“You look like the Golden Prince,” Perdita said.
Lord Lumley laid down his fork. “Why, thank you—I think. Who is he?”
Perdita was so overcome by his direct gaze, her lips clamped tight. She was holding her breath, Daisy knew.
“There’s a legend that the owner of Castle Vandemere will find true love at the ball held on the final night of the great hunt,” she explained on her stepsister’s behalf.
The viscount swiveled to look at Daisy, and she heard Perdita release a great huff of air. Lord Lumley didn’t even flinch. Instead, he leaned over, presumably to see Daisy better around Cassandra.
“Can you tell me more?” he asked her politely.
She could see only the right side of his face as Cassandra was blocking most of him. “Did you see that stained-glass window in the drawing room?”
She knew, of course, that he had. He’d kissed her right below it. He couldn’t have missed it.
“Indeed, I did,” he answered her.
She saw a spark of something flash in his eye. Was he remembering that kiss?
“That’s the Golden Prince,” Daisy explained, “holding hands with the Golden Girl. They’re the first pair of many lovers who supposedly declared themselves here at the castle on the night of the hunt ball.”
“But they no longer have a great hunt around here,” Cassandra interrupted rudely, “or balls, or any eligible men, for that matter. It’s dull as dishwater.”
“It’s a perfectly charming legend,” Lord Lumley said helpfully.
“But legends are for dreamers,” Mona said.
“Idiots, more like,” Perdita added with a snort of laughter.
Mona cackled with her. Cassandra smiled into her wine.
Daisy felt a stab of hurt on behalf of her parents, who’d treasured the legend and the bit of stained glass that preserved it.
“Legends become legends for a reason,” she said. “There is something special about Castle Vandemere. I feel it every time I look at the Golden Prince and the Golden Girl.”
The laughter immediately ceased, and there was another uncomfortable silence. Daisy was grateful for the epergne. She could sense the disapproval emanating from the other three women.
The viscount’s face—what she could see of it—wore an inscrutable expression. “Excuse me, Mrs. Montgomery,” he said, “but I can’t see all the members of our party. Might we move the centerpiece, as attractive as it is?”
Daisy’s heart almost stopped. She was the only one he couldn’t see!
Why would he want to see me? was her first thought. But then told herself—because Hester would be angry at her for thinking otherwise—that she was well worth seeing, even though she didn’t believe it and her stepmother and stepsisters didn’t believe it, either.
Of course, she must remember she was the viscount’s supposed fiancée, as well. That should count for something.
“Perhaps we could move the thing,” Mona said in desultory fashion. “Daisy, you take care of it. The old man, wherever he is at the moment, is useless. He might as well be dead for all the good he does us.”
“His name is Joe, Stepmother,” Daisy said through gritted teeth. “And he may be old, but please don’t suggest he’s better off dead. I care very much about him.”
When Daisy stood, she could feel Cassandra’s e
yes boring into her, but she refused to look that way, which meant she also made no eye contact with the viscount.
“I’ll do the honors,” he said, and stood. “Please be seated, Miss Montgomery.”
She did as he asked, her chest constricting when she saw the look Mona directed at her. It wasn’t pleasant.
Nevertheless, she sat with her brow smoothed out and her hands clenched, unseen, in her lap. Lord Lumley lifted the bulky object, carefully avoiding the flaming candle tapers on either side, and put the epergne on the sideboard, where it had always sat when her father had been alive.
When the viscount returned to his seat, he turned to her, a half-smile tilting one corner of his mouth. “That’s better, isn’t it?”
In the candlelight, his brown eyes had warm golden tints. Her heart gave a little flutter. He was handsome.
He was the Golden Prince!
Hester, and now Perdita, had noticed the same uncanny resemblance.
Daisy allowed herself only a close-lipped smile. “It’s much better, thank you.”
Mona and Cassandra stared daggers at her, but that was nothing new, so Daisy’s appetite wasn’t affected in the least. She ate heartily of her trout and potatoes, which Hester dished out liberally to her, knowing Mona wouldn’t object while the viscount was present. Mona and Cassandra dominated the conversation with their inane prattle. Perdita had a tendency to moan her appreciation of her dinner while she chewed, so for the most part, she said little. The viscount appeared to listen attentively to the one-sided conversation, but Daisy could swear she saw his jaw tighten as the minutes passed.
“So the village is quite dull,” Mona was saying. She punctuated the statement with an enormous sigh, which caused her massive bosom to jiggle. She was wearing her most low-cut gown, a vulgar puce sheath, and her hair was topped with a matching turban sporting three dyed feathers.
Cassandra, arresting in a golden gown of Grecian design, lifted a lovely shoulder. “Mother’s right.” She made a delicate moue that Daisy had seen her practice in front of a looking glass a thousand times. “There’s nothing to do up here in Scotland.”
The viscount put down his glass. “Nothing?”
Perdita let out a particularly ill-timed moan—not that Daisy could blame her. Hester’s trout and potatoes were excellent.
“There are many things,” Daisy interjected hastily.
Everyone turned to her. Mona and Cassandra were stone-faced.
Oh, dear, Daisy thought. Perhaps she shouldn’t have spoken. But it was too late now.
Gathering her courage, she cleared her throat. “There’s trout and salmon fishing. And deer stalking. And every year, after a massive hunt, there used to be a competition in which men raced each other up Ben Fennon. And you should have seen them toss cabers, which are like large tree trunks. They even lifted enormous rocks in feats of strength. To conclude the festivities, there was a ceilidh … a dance.”
“I knew all that, of course,” Lord Lumley told her, merriment dancing in his eyes.
And then he smiled.
Perdita gasped out loud. Daisy nearly slid down her chair. When he smiled, he was—
Magnificent.
Handsome wasn’t a big enough word.
She inhaled a discreet breath to compose herself. “Then why did you allow me to boast of our vast array of amusements, sir?” She grinned back, just a little. “Not that I’ll allow myself to feel foolish. My boasting was completely justified.”
“It was,” he agreed, and looked round at the other women at the table. “Which is why I dared not interrupt. It appears some people here aren’t aware of the exciting opportunities to be had in the Highlands.”
“Not for me,” Perdita said.
Daisy couldn’t tell which was worse: the ugliness of Perdita’s tone, or the completely flat expressions on the faces of Cassandra and Mona.
So into the awkward silence, she blurted out what came to her head at the moment: “No one has ever stopped me from fishing. Indeed, it’s a favorite pastime.”
She didn’t mention that fishing was a very necessary pastime, as well, to help keep them fed. When Joe was too busy to fish, as often happened, it was up to her to sneak away from Mona when she was finished with her chores and cast a line in the nearby burn.
“Is it something you enjoy?” the viscount asked her as if he were shocked.
“Of course.” Why should he be surprised? Did he think women were weak creatures?
Cassandra gave a dramatic shudder. “The very thought of hooking a flopping fish makes me ill.”
Lord Lumley ignored her disgust.
“Perhaps you can show me your angler’s tricks while I’m here,” he said to Daisy. “I find I always learn something new about fishing from the locals. Especially the ones kind enough to tolerate my own attempts not only to catch something in their waters but to surpass their own catch. It’s very rude of me. But if you can endure my competitive nature, I’d be much obliged.”
There was that twinkle in his eye again.
“I’m happy to put up with your sporting ambitions,” Daisy answered him, “and if I were a better hostess, I’d inform the fish they should attach themselves to your hook, not mine. Alas, I’m not so well mannered.”
Cassandra skewered Daisy with a piercing look that resembled hatred.
“People can’t speak to fish,” Perdita said in self-important tones.
There was another blank silence that Daisy longed to cover up but she dared not, as Mona stabbed her trout viciously and glared at her, almost white-eyed.
“Speaking of sporting ambitions,” the viscount said eventually, “the last leg of my trip here I was picked up by a bevy of glossy black coaches carrying a group of anglers, all international travelers of some means. They dropped me outside of Glen Dewey and continued up to Brawton.”
“They’ve fine fishing in Brawton,” said Daisy. “Most visitors don’t know Glen Dewey has just as much. We’re a bit off the beaten path.”
“So I noticed. But I must say, those extra three miles I walked to get here were worth the effort.”
“Yes,” Daisy said, “there’s something special about Glen Dewey. Something unspoiled.”
“That’s a kind way to say tedious,”said Cassandra.
“I’m so sick of tedious,” Mona said with a yawn.
“Me, too,” said Perdita with a long, rude sigh. “I long for the dirty streets of Cheapside.”
Daisy caught the viscount’s eye and saw that he was amused—or perhaps, bemused—by her stepfamily.
“I like tedious if that’s what you’d call this trout. It’s delectable.” The viscount pierced a forkful, held it up, then popped it in his mouth.
Daisy smiled. The twinkle in his eye softened, then as his gaze lengthened, she had to look away. She wondered what he was thinking. Had he been remembering earlier today, when they’d been alone? When he’d kissed her?
At the meal’s conclusion, he excused himself early to write letters rather than retire with them to the drawing room.
He hesitated at the door and gave a little chuckle. “Oh, never mind. I can’t do that.”
“Whyever not?” Mona asked him. “There’s quill and paper on the desk in the library.”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” he said cryptically. “Pardon me for thinking out loud. I do appreciate the quill and paper.”
“The footpads,” Daisy guessed. “They took what money you had. You can’t post letters.”
She could tell by his expression that she’d guessed right.
“We can post the letters for you,” Mona said.
He hesitated the barest fraction of a moment. “That would involve your spending money on my behalf, and I’d rather not.”
“Really, Viscount, it’s no trouble,” Mona insisted. “It’s only a few pennies.”
He smiled that glorious smile he had. “I appreciate your concern, but I’ll decline your generous offer.”
Daisy thought his behavior a little odd.
But she supposed he was being polite.
“Thank you for a delightful evening.” He swept them a low bow. “I shall see all of you in the morning.”
Try as he might to appear jaunty, his eyes were rimmed with fatigue, and Daisy found herself feeling sorry for him. He was to sleep in the byre, after all. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like that poultice?” she asked before he left the room.
He turned to her readily. “I’ll be fine, thank you. Although I intend to have a glass of whisky before bed. Your housekeeper brought me some today, and it’s truly the best I’ve ever had.”
“Joe makes it,” said Cassandra. “Though God knows how. He can’t even do sums.”
“Well, those sorts of skills obviously don’t matter when it comes to making whisky,” Lord Lumley said with spirit. “The Prince Regent himself can get no finer elixir than what’s to be found here at Castle Vandemere.”
“I’ll be sure to tell Joe you like it,” Daisy said.
“Please do.” The viscount inclined his head. “Meanwhile, tomorrow morning … shall we attempt to gauge which hook the fish prefer—yours or mine?”
“Certainly.” Daisy couldn’t help feeling a bit warm every time he spoke to her.
So when she retired to the drawing room a moment later, she did her best to appear nonchalant. Reaching for her sewing basket, she began to thread a needle—to show everyone that she was completely unaffected by Lord Lumley’s presence at the castle.
Just as she’d gotten the thread through the eye, Cassandra tossed aside her own needlework. “Stay away from him,” she said to Daisy, her eyes narrowed.
Daisy’s heart sank. She’d been dreading such a showdown. “How can I? We’re engaged to be married.” Her voice was firm, and she finished threading her needle with steady hands.
“You know exactly what she means.” Mona dangled a glass of whisky from her hand. “It’s not as if we get any eligible men up here. He’s destined for Cassandra. You must show a disgust of him immediately, so he’s free to pursue her.”
Perdita lowered her bushy brows at Daisy. “I like his legs,” she said in warning tones.
Daisy felt their united threat but refused to be cowed, especially as outside the great mullioned window, even at this late hour, in the eerie light of the Scottish summer night, she could see Joe checking on the mother pig who’d had her litter of piglets two days ago.
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