Nash stepped to the front of the dais and once more gestured to gain the party’s attention, although only half successfully this time. The guests still pressed forward to take greedy turns examining Daisy’s drawings, oohhhing and aaahhhing as fresh details emerged from the sketches.
“While the Darings’ designs have much merit—”
Daisy rolled her tear-blurred eyes. Even now Nash and the judges couldn’t give complete credit to a woman for being an architect. As if reading her mind, Whitby squeezed her hands.
“—the committee has determined that the entry itself violates the rules of the contest that required each entry to be the work of a single architect—”
“She is a single architect!” Whitby corrected angrily. “She hasn’t sprouted a second head, for God’s sake!”
Nash narrowed his eyes at Whitby as the crowd laughed. “—and so must be disqualified!”
A gasp of disbelief echoed through the chamber. Her father grimly gave back the envelope. But when he turned to step to the floor, a cheer of appreciation for him went up from the crowd that lasted several minutes, and long enough that his face flushed with embarrassment and the judges’ with vexation. When he finally stepped down, men lined up to shake his hand and congratulate him on his career and on his daughter’s accomplishments. No one cared that the judges announced the new winner and called the man up to the dais; the room’s attention was focused on Elias Daring and his daughter, especially those of the wives and widows who pressed toward Daisy with requests to renovate their London homes. A few even asked if she could build them entirely new country boxes on the outskirts of London.
Flushed and surprised by the goodwill and attention, she greeted each one in turn and assured them that she’d be thrilled to work with them, that she had all kinds of new ideas for plans and decorations that hadn’t been seen before in London, that she had an entire book of designs, in fact…She was simply overwhelmed by it all!
As the women and their husbands pushed in around her, Whitby slipped his hands from hers and stepped back to join her father at the edge of the room, to let her have this moment that she deserved. From the corner of her eye, she saw her father reach up to pat Whitby affectionately on the back.
The footmen opened two towering, gold-gilded doors at the side of the reception hall, and the attention of the guests instantly snapped to them. Voices fell to hushed and excited whispers, and electricity once more buzzed through the room.
“His Most Gracious Majesty,” the master of ceremonies called out from the doorway and stamped his staff twice against the floor to announce the arrival of the monarch, “King of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, Defender of the Faith!”
He swept back with a deep bow to allow the guests to pass through for their royal audience with the king.
Each snatched up a glass of fresh champagne from the trays of a dozen footmen lining both sides of the doorway as they glided out of the room. As they went, they were still chattering among themselves about the evening’s turn of events and Daisy’s innovative yet beautiful plans. The judges followed behind bitterly and utterly ignored. Her father winked at her and sauntered after them. He—and everyone else at the ceremony—knew who the true winner was.
But Whitby stayed.
He approached her slowly. Heedless of the servants who lingered in the room after the guests had left, he once more took both of her hands in his, once more lifted them to his lips to kiss them.
“I’m so sorry,” she rushed out tearfully, her voice raw. “I ruined everything.” With a shake of her head, she pulled in a ragged breath. “I was too cowardly to put myself out into the world before, and I…I hurt you because of it.” She tightened her fingers in his as she begged for forgiveness. “I know now that you were only trying to help me—that’s all you’ve ever done for my family and me. I am so sorry, Hugh. So very sorry.”
He said nothing, but his face darkened grimly, the light vanishing with his fading smile.
“But I’m not like you. I don’t have the courage to be bold or so uncaring about what people think.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. You do have boldness and brightness inside you—you just need to learn to let it out.” He reassuringly rubbed his thumbs in circles over her palms. “And I do care about what people think. Some people anyway.” He brushed away a single tear that broke free and slid down her cheek. “I care a great deal about what the people I love think about me.” He looked down into her eyes. “I care about what you think, Daisy.”
He placed his lips to her forehead in a kiss so soft that she had to squeeze her eyes closed against the tender torture of it.
“Please forgive me,” she whispered, unable to open her eyes and face any recrimination on his face. “For all those horrible things I said, I—I need your forgiveness.”
“I know why you said those things, why you didn’t want to see me. It no longer matters.”
She opened her eyes and stared up into his tear-blurred face. “But it does matter…because I’ve lost you.” Anguish twisted her insides, and it took all her strength to whisper, “You’re with that other woman now.”
“Other… Who?” Confusion gripped his face as he glanced over his shoulder, as if expecting to find another woman standing right there.
“The raven-haired woman you escorted to Baron Hansen’s party. I saw you with her.” Her shoulders dropped. “She loves you.”
“I hope so! I’m her best friend.” He grinned sheepishly at her. “Well, second to her husband and family, that is.” When her mouth fell open, he reached up to gently close it. “That was Lady Robert Carlisle.” He brushed his thumb over her bottom lip with a chuckle. “Mariah Winslow Carlisle. The woman who helps me run Gatewell School. I escorted her to the Hansen party because Lord Robert was in Dover on business. We’re only friends.”
“Only friends?”
“Goodness, yes!” His face scrunched with distaste. “I would never consider Mariah in that way. Besides,” he added seriously, “Robert Carlisle would kill me.”
“Then you…you haven’t replaced me?”
He gave her a smile of such love that her heart somersaulted. “I could never replace you. You have my heart, Daisy Daring. You’ve had it from the moment I first saw you, with your sketch book and drafting pencil, and you always will.” He cupped her face against his palm. “I could never stop loving you.”
She held her breath, waiting for him to lean in and kiss her, an act that would surely have them barred from the palace for the rest of their lives. And she simply didn’t care if they were. She wanted his kiss, wanted his love— She wanted him.
Instead, he dropped to one knee.
The remaining guests and footmen stopped what they were doing and turned to watch. The master of ceremonies paused and blinked as he lingered by the door, as did the small army of footmen with their trays as they worked quickly to remove the hundreds of empty glasses scattered around the grand room. Even the musicians stopped as they were putting their instruments away to watch.
Whitby stared up at her with such solemnity and love that she trembled. Never had she seen him as serious as this. “I love you, Daisy Daring, and I want to be with you for the rest of my life. Please say that you’ll marry me. Oh, do say that you will!”
The rest of the world faded away until there was only Hugh Whitby. “Yes…yes, I will.”
She didn’t care that they were making a spectacle of themselves right there in the palace, didn’t care that the footmen had broken into cheers and applause or that the musicians had struck up a boisterous wedding march. She’d learned her lesson. It didn’t matter what other people thought.
All that mattered was love.
Still on one knee and grinning as if he might burst with happiness, Whitby reached into the watch pocket of his bright orange and yellow striped waistcoat and carefully took out a ring. A thin, gold band with a single pearl framed by tiny diamonds. Small, delicate…simple.
“I
t belonged to my mother,” he explained as he slid it onto her hand. Then added apologetically, “If it’s too small and plain, I can buy you a bigger, more elaborate one, with all kinds of rubies, diamonds, and gold knots.”
“No,” she breathed and lovingly traced a fingertip over it. “It’s perfect.” She stepped forward into his embrace and wrapped her arms around his neck to hug him tightly to her. She nuzzled her lips against his ear. “You’re perfect.”
She loved him and always would. Just as he was.
7
Moving Day
Three Months Later
Whitby smiled across the carriage compartment at Mariah as the team stopped in front of the townhouse. “I’d invite you inside for tea, but…” He patted the breast pocket of his jacket and the folded paper safely tucked inside. “Another time?”
“Certainly.” Her red lips curled into a cat-like smile, showing that she understood why he didn’t want a guest today. “Congratulations on the new lease.”
He grinned and gave the paper one last affectionate pat. “Golly, it’s grand, isn’t it? The perfect property for the girls’ house, and right across the square from the boys’.” He nodded out the window and across the patch of fenced-in ground at the gap in the terrace row where the new house would be built. “Perfect for Daisy, too. Just imagine it—she can manage the whole building project right from our drawing room’s bay window!”
“I hope she enjoys her surprise.”
“Oh, she will. I know it.” After all, it was her chance to finally build her dream house, exactly as she’d planned it. Right down to the flower-shaped knockers on the front door. He couldn’t give her the recognition she’d deserved from Nash’s contest, but he could give her the chance to make her dream come true.
What better day to surprise her, too, than today. Today had been their official move-in day, when the last of Daisy’s possessions were delivered. It was also their last day alone before the older boys from the school arrived, with their trunks in tow and their hopes high that they would only be here for a short while until they found positions. He and Daisy had dubbed today their Empty House holiday, when the servants all had the day off before they launched into service and when he and Daisy could have the house all to themselves for one last day. He grinned. And night.
He’d already moved into the house months ago, before the last bit of plasterwork and wallpaper was even dry—before most of the furniture had arrived—because he couldn’t wait to make it his home. Their home. He’d wasted no time either in procuring a special marriage license directly on the heels of the last chair and candlestick being placed into the dining room.
“You know, Whitby,” Mariah said gently, “now that Daisy’s married, she might not want to oversee large building projects anymore.”
He snorted at the idea. “She loves building and decorating. How else would she rather spend her time?”
Mariah blinked at him, that same dumbfounded expression she often gave her husband whenever he said something that made him sound…well, daft. Before Whitby could defend himself, she explained, “Just don’t be surprised if she decides to hand the project off to someone else to build, that’s all. Wives often find their new lives to be fuller than their unmarried days.”
And pigs flew! Put down her drafting pencils and hand plans over to someone else? Not his Daisy! Besides, he couldn’t imagine what could command so much of her time that she’d ever be willing to do that. After all, Daisy Whitby was far from a typical society lady.
Heavens, even their wedding had been unconventional, although the parish priest hadn’t minded at all the changes they’d wanted to make to the traditional ceremony. The vows were all the same, the ceremony straight out of the Book of Common Prayer— It was the people who were different. Just as he’d promised six months before, Mariah had been Whitby’s best woman—er, his best matron, since Daisy would always be the best woman in his life. Her husband Robert had served as Man of Honor, and as flower girl, little Martha nearly bounced down the aisle as she flung rose petals in all directions. The church was filled with Carlisles and their families, all of Whitby’s brothers and theirs, and all the boys and girls from the school filled the front pews.
When the priest asked who gave this woman to be wedded, Elias proudly stood and said that he and her brothers did.
Then the priest changed the ceremony. With a smile, he cheekily asked, “And who gives this man?”
All four pews of children jumped to their feet and shouted, “We do! We do!”
Even King George had joined in the fun. Since they’d interrupted his speech at the architectural contest with their proposal, His Majesty had sent a representative from the palace to attend the wedding, along with a gift—an elaborate silver punch bowl decorated with frolicking naked cupids which, like the king, had no practical importance whatsoever for a typical English household. But Whitby enjoyed the irony. After all, they were together because of the king and his Regent Park project.
The rest of the ceremony and the wedding breakfast that followed at the school had been joyous, filled to overflowing with friends and family and love. Simply perfect.
He looked out the window at the row of white stone façades that would have faded into the gray winter day’s tracing of snow if not for their wrought iron details, and he warmed at the sight of his house. They would have so many more wonderful and love-filled days to come. “It’s a magnificent home, isn’t it?”
“Very. You’re a lucky man, Whitby.”
“I know.” His chest swelled with pride and happiness. This was his home, now and forever. With Daisy. “But don’t ever let me forget that, will you?”
They’d been in the house together for only one day, but already it felt as if he’d never lived anywhere else, and in his heart, he knew he’d never have to. After their wedding, they’d left immediately for the continent for their wedding trip—a visit to France so that Daisy could see all the grand chateaux and Gothic cathedrals that the French revolutionaries hadn’t destroyed, then down to Italy to see Venice’s eastern-inspired palazzos, to Florence to climb the dome of the Duomo, and finally to Rome where they’d wandered through Roman ruins and marveled at St. Peter’s Basilica and the Sistine Chapel. There hadn’t been time to venture further afield to visit Athens, Constantinople, Spain—theirs had been a truncated tour, not wanting to be away from her family and the school for longer than three months, to be back in London by January. A new year to begin, a new life…
Together.
The dust on their travel trunks had yet to be wiped away when the boxes and crates containing all of her belongings arrived from her father’s house. Her things still sat in their private rooms, still waiting to be unpacked and put into place. But they hadn’t wanted to delay the children’s arrival any longer than necessary. They would all come in the morning—not quite the two dozen or so he’d promised when he’d first hired her to build the house, but enough to fill the place with life and laughter and hope for the future.
“You’ll come tomorrow, then?” Whitby asked as he finally opened the carriage door and stepped down onto the footpath, the fresh snow crunching beneath his boots. “When the children arrive? To help them settle into their new rooms? They’d love it. So will Daisy. We’ll have a grand tea then.”
She smiled. “I’ll bring Robert and his mother. The duchess keeps asking about you two.”
“Tell her we’re happy. That I never thought it was possible to be this happy.” The bright smile on his face matched the one in his heart as he confided, “The light has come back into the world.”
Mariah’s green eyes glistened with tears, and he closed the door before he could see her cry.
He bounded up the front steps of the tiny portico, withdrew the key to his house, and let himself inside.
“Daisy!” he called out, his voice echoing up the stairs to the floors above. “I’ve got a grand surprise for you!”
She would be upstairs—of course, she would be upsta
irs, happily working away in her new studio. When she’d originally designed the house, she’d planned for a bachelor and two dozen boys. Now, it had to be renovated to accommodate not only a wife but one who was also an architect. With no need for the second bedroom connecting to the master suite—unlike other society couples, they gladly shared a bedroom and bed—they’d turned the room into her own drafting studio, complete with a lock on the door that she could throw if he pestered her too badly when work had to be done.
He grinned. As he planned on doing right now.
His long legs bounded up the steps three at a time. Then he came to a skidding halt in the doorway to her studio, where he leaned casually against the doorframe and gazed in at her. He delighted in this stolen moment.
She stood at her new drafting table that had been positioned by the window to give her the best light and busily worked on a large sheet of paper spread out across the slightly rising surface. Around her, boxes and trunks still waited to be unpacked and their contents put away, but her attention was on each careful pencil stroke. She hummed softly to herself, and a happy smile curled at her lips. Dear heavens, she was lovely. Simply enchanting.
Mariah was right. He was the luckiest man he knew.
“Working already?” he called out, teasing her with a light scolding. “We just returned home from our trip. You should take the day off to rest.”
“It’s a special project,” she explained, then went back to humming to herself.
He bit down a chuckle. To Daisy, every client request was special. Since the reception for Baron Hansen’s renovations and the fame the contest had given her, she’d been flooded with requests for work, both as an architect and as designer. Requests for decorations still outnumbered those for renovations and house plans, mostly thanks to her design catalogue, but at least she was now doing her own work under her own name. Proudly so. Her career was moving in the right direction.
If a Lady Lingers Page 12