EPISODE NINETY ONE ELEVEN MONTHS LATER

EPISODE NINETY ONE

ELEVEN MONTHS LATER

Eleven Months Later

March 1, 1817

T OWNHOUSE OF L ORD AND L ADY W HARTON

L ONDON

W e must behave as if we are in half-mourning until Christmas at the earliest, Lady Wharton instructed. No bouncing around the dancefloor or loud giggling, Daisy. If we display the slightest hint of pleasure, we shall be accused of being unfeeling.

Yes, Mother, Daisy replied, nodding.

Tomorrow night, at the Duchess of Trent s opening ball, I will conduct myself soberly, as if garbed in sackcloth and ashes.

Daisy knew perfectly well that her mother planned to wear a magnificent gown of periwinkle-blue satin adorned with a circlet of diamonds; a costume farther from sackcloth could hardly be imagined. She nodded again. Of course.

Her mother looked at her sharply. My gown is dark blue. Very close to gray. I believe sackcloth is brown, but the color is ruinous for my complexion. Dismissing that sartorial observation, she began leafing through a thick stack of invitations that had arrived in the previous week.

Before her uncle s trial for treason, followed by his death by apoplexy on learning that he was going to be convicted for murder, Daisy would have relished a lively debate on the suitability of diamonds with sackcloth, but these days she tried not to upset her mother s equilibrium. Lady Wharton veered between fretting and brooding, interspersed with frequent bouts of tears.

Everyone but the haughtiest of sticklers will welcome my daughter back to society, Lady Wharton muttered to herself. Daisy s dowry and breeding are excellent, and her beauty is incomparable.

Last Season, the thoroughly dislikable Lady Regina had mocked Daisy for being short, fat, and unkempt, which had stung at the time. Since then, based on ogling males, Daisy had concluded that her plump bosom was an asset in husband-hunting. And Lord Argyle had not labeled her hair unkempt but compared it to a moon s nimbus.

Which he then kindly clarified as a luminous cloud of moonbeams.

So who cared what Lady Regina thought?

Livie and I had plenty of suitors last Season before my uncle s circumstances forced us to withdraw, she reminded her mother.

Your cousin s marriage does clear the field, making you one of the most eligible ladies on the market, her mother said, taking a practical view of the matter. Unfortunately, Robert de Lacy Evans is now betrothed, and Lord Argyle married over the summer. It s a pity he didn t wait for you. She brightened. Of course, Livie s brother-in-law, Lord Frederick FitzRoy-Paget, is both unmarried and a future earl.

Fond though I am of Frederick, he s an inebriate, Daisy noted.

The Earl of Winchester is looking for a wife after his betrothal to Lady Regina broke down, Lady Wharton added, with a touch of uncertainty.

The man Daisy and Livie had compared to a scallion? Never. Any man foolish enough to betroth himself to Regina is not someone I d care to marry.

Lady Wharton snatched a missive out of the pile and broke the seal, her fingers trembling slightly. A ticket fell out. Thank goodness, she cried. Lady Castlereigh has reissued your Almack s voucher.

Daisy scowled. What about Livie s? Back when her uncle was first accused of treason, Almack s had promptly withdrawn admission vouchers from both girls.

Livie no longer needs a voucher, her mother said, looking up. She is happily married and living abroad, as we shall inform anyone impertinent enough to inquire.

Yes, but-

Do not mention his name! Lady Wharton s voice rose to a pitch. My brother, my own brother- She choked, dropping Lady Castlereigh s note back on the table before she rose and walked across the room to the window, wrapping her arms around her waist.

Daisy hopped up and went to her side, giving her a consoling hug and a handkerchief.

Her mother blotted her eyes. It was bad enough when he was accused of treason! But murder? How shall I ever live it down? I dread the thought of walking into a ballroom.

We must remember that Capt-that he -died before he was actually convicted, Daisy offered.

Pshaw! That poor boy, her mother continued unsteadily. That poor, poor boy.

While captaining a navy vessel, Daisy s uncle had ordered a young sailor named Jeremy Tulip to be thrown overboard for a minor infraction, and the lad had either been eaten by sharks or drowned.

Naturally, my brother had no concern about the damage he s done! One of the last things he said to me was that he intended to put the whole unpleasantness out of his mind. That s what he called it: an unpleasantness. Sometimes I just hate men. Lady Wharton s voice crackled with grief.

I understand, Daisy said, handing over another handkerchief. She had begun carrying three or four.

My brother may have left this world, but that s not far enough. I would be pleased never to hear his name again. Ever . The moment I walk into the Trent ballroom, he is all anyone will speak about. They ll be asking me with feigned sincerity how I feel after my loss. And what am I to say to that? How does the family of a murderer grieve his loss?

Not for long, Daisy promised. The world will quickly move to the next scandal.

Her mother swallowed hard and mopped her eyes again. I have spent years establishing myself as an ethical, upstanding member of polite society. Merely for a cruel, selfish man to drag my reputation through the mud.

Livie cannot be blamed for her father s transgressions-and neither can you, for your brother s, Daisy said, for approximately the thousandth time.

Lady Wharton drew in an unsteady breath. At least the Tulip family will live in comfort from now on.

Daisy nodded. Her mother had forced her unrepentant brother to give the Tulips a large sum of money before he died. Every family has a black sheep, Mother, and my uncle is ours. After a few months, no one will chatter about the murder, any more than they talk of Lord Byron s affaire with his half-sister.

Her mother gasped, and her mouth fell open.

Oops.

Daisy had a tendency to speak-and act-before thinking.

Daisy! Lady Wharton dropped her handkerchief to the floor and clutched her bosom like an actress at Drury Lane. I cannot believe my ears! That my own daughter should allow such odious words to cross her lips! I am shocked scandalized disgusted !

I apologize, Daisy said, arranging her features to look as penitent as she could. It wasn t one of her skills; she should probably practice that expression before the mirror. She could employ it when people asked about her uncle.

How do you even know of that blackguard, let alone his brazen-faced sister? Who would tell an innocent young lady about such a disgusting a personage as Lord Byron?

Daisy sighed. Everyone knows. Miss Augusta Leigh bore him a daughter, after all.

But you are a young, untouched, innocent-

My point is that scandals come and go, Daisy said, before her mother could start thinking too hard about her supposed innocence.

She wasn t dissolute, though she knew more about the world than Lady Wharton would imagine. Most young ladies hadn t read a useful book called City of Eros , for example.

Daisy had read it twice.

If you are tarred with the brush of hedony, her mother gasped, getting up a new head of steam, if society decides that you are a debauched coquette, that will be the end of this family. The end! I shall live out my final days in sackcloth in a darkened room! Brown sackcloth!

I don t think hedony is a word, Daisy observed.

Stop smirking and listen to me! This family s reputation will recover far faster from my brother s misconduct than it would from a scandal of yours along the lines of Lord Byron s.

That s so unfair. Murder is far more indicative of a corrupt soul than wanton behavior.

Not in the civilized world, Lady Wharton declared. If a woman is not chaste, she is nothing . If the subject ever rises again, you must pretend that you have no idea how babies are made. She narrowed her eyes. Which I gather you do. Somehow. I have certainly never mentioned the subject.

It s absurd that women have to pretend to be ignorant of basic facts about their own physiology, Daisy said, beginning to feel heated. What s more, everyone knows that gentlemen have fancies outside marriage. Of course, it would have been far better of Byron to seduce someone other than his half-sister-

Daisy !

It was terrible, most improper, Daisy added hastily. He is a dissolute rake-

Never let his name pass your lips again! her mother cried wildly.

But a good poet, Daisy finished.

The verse of an incestuous devil! Lady Wharton gasped. Surely you have not read that execrable nonsense.

Daisy wouldn t say that she had a penchant for fibbing, but quite often one had to find one s way around the truth. For example, Captain Sir Tyron wouldn t allow his daughter to read anything but the most deserving texts, so Daisy had read many books aloud when her cousin Livie happened to be in the room.

City of Eros , for example.

And Byron s Fugitive Pieces , which had been remarkably instructive, as when Byron vowed to enter his lady s chamber and love for hours together.

Obviously, she and Livie had needed to understand what love meant when used as a verb in the context of a bedroom. Their maid, Ada, had been most enlightening.

I don t believe most of Byron s works are in print, Daisy said now, dodging the question.

You must never read them, her mother demanded, her eyes bulging slightly. This family stands on the very edge, the precipice of ruin, and your behavior must be impeccable. Tomorrow, you will look like a subdued angel, your eyes cast to the floor, modesty and remorse on full display.

Daisy couldn t stop herself. To be honest, Mother, I ll look more like an Egyptian mummy than an angel.

Fiddlesticks!

Remember all those lengths of white satin? I had my final fitting yesterday.

Her opening gown for the Season had been designed with panels of silk falling from a high waist, intended to lightly float around the wearer s body. But Lady Wharton had ordered the modiste to use a heavier fabric and add three times as many panels as in the original design.

If Lady Regina thought Daisy was fat last year, wait til the lady caught sight of her in this gown.

Nonsense! Lady Wharton snapped. The dress is fashionable and appropriate. Your hair will stay in a chignon, or I ll fire your maid. No lip color, of course. A jeune fille , but without French sauciness.

Daisy nodded. She could do it.

And she would have done it too

If the entire back of her gown hadn t ripped clear off her body.

On the dancefloor.