EPISODE NINETY EIGHT A BOLT FROM THE BLUE

EPISODE NINETY EIGHT

A BOLT FROM THE BLUE

A month later, Daisy found herself gripped by two equally embarrassing emotions.

The first was a wild curiosity about the metamorphosis of gentlemen s private parts. She almost wrote her cousin a letter about it but concluded that Livie would probably not care to comment on her husband s tool, as City of Eros called it.

Thanks to the current fashion s requirement for skintight silk pantaloons, Daisy had confirmed that gentlemen found her curves enticing. When allowed to stand close to her, the younger ones in particular seemed to respond. For the sake of experimentation, she allowed one of her more assiduous suitors several kisses and a passionate embrace; a glance from behind her fan afterward had revealed no change in his silhouette, suggesting that Lord Cropley desired her dowry, not her person.

With her wretched luck, Miles had walked by just as she d emerged from an alcove with Cropley in tow. His eyes went from her reddened lips to her hair, which was falling from her topknot. His demeanor was so chilly that humiliation zinged to Daisy s toes.

Perhaps he couldn t imagine marrying someone as disorderly as she. Or maybe he thought she was dissolute? The self-hating possibilities were dizzying, even though she fiercely reminded herself that Miles had sauntered into Rothingale s masquerade looking for a woman. By rights, she should shudder and turn away every time he entered her view.

That fact together with his disdain made her second obsession even more embarrassing.

She couldn t stop looking for Miles, no matter how much she scolded herself in private. Thrilled by society s open-hearted embrace, Lady Wharton insisted on going out every single night of the week. Sometimes her zeal led to a full day s socializing: a morning champagne breakfast, followed by a matinee at the theater, followed by an evening ball.

Wherever they went, Daisy looked for a tall man with indifferent eyes. They often encountered each other since he was the

cr me de la cr me of bachelors and she was one of the most courted women of the Season.

No sooner did he stroll into a ballroom than her heart would thump and her cheeks turn pink, whether or not they exchanged a word. If they happened to be in proximity, he would greet her, but with patent disinterest.

She invariably tried to force him to laugh, and every time she achieved so much as a quirk of his lips, she felt a bolt of pure happiness.

Yet she couldn t fool herself into thinking that he showed any interest. He would dance with her once or twice, but he never leaned against the wall and stared at her broodingly. In fact, he didn t look at her at all unless they were face to face.

The opposite was more true: she had to stop herself from staring across the ballroom at him. It was mortifying to be in the throes of such a ferocious infatuation.

Her obsession made her indifferent to her suitors-which had the effect of making her all the more attractive to them. She quickly gathered a large circle of admirers, and to her mother s delight, it became clear that Daisy would have her pick of London s bachelors alongside the yet-unattached Lady Regina.

Rather odd, Regina confided, her eyes wide and innocent, given that we have such different figures.

We both have sizable dowries, Daisy pointed out.

Because Regina had all the sensitivity of a cow, she made a jest about the daughter of the Mayor of London, whose dowry was twice the size of theirs. And yet Daisy found herself pitying Regina: her biting comments frightened off as many men as her wealth and status as a duke s daughter attracted.

Why couldn t Daisy have fallen in love with one of the extremely nice gentlemen who genuinely liked her? But her heart was stubbornly stuck on a man who showed no sign of courtship.

One morning as Daisy was making her way to the breakfast room, determined that today she would ignore Miles altogether, the knocker thumped. Since their butler, Mr. Tangle, was nowhere to be seen, she opened the front door expecting to see a liveried groom holding a posy or an invitation-but no one was to be seen. She gazed out at the street for a moment before she glanced down and let out an audible yelp.

A baby.

Right there, on the top step, was a baby girl in a basket, perhaps a few months old. The child was fast asleep, nestled in a satin-trimmed blanket. Her head was ringed in white-blonde curls, and she had a snub nose.

Daisy looked around again before she bent down. What on earth are you doing here?

The sound of her own voice brought her back to her senses with a crash. The more relevant question was: who are you?

Given that Daisy might have been looking at a breathing portrait of herself as a babe, the answer was not going to be welcome.

Bloody hell! she whispered hoarsely, looking yet again at the empty street before she snatched the basket and backed into the entry.

When she pushed the front door closed, the child startled awake. Daisy placed the basket on the floor and crouched beside it.

She had blue eyes. Daisy had blue eyes.

Since Daisy definitely hadn t given birth in the last few months, this child

Her heart sank.

The baby smiled, wide and guileless, her eyes shining. She had one darling tooth in the front of her mouth. Moo, moo! A small hand waved in the air before wrapping around one of Daisy s fingers.

Moo to you too, Daisy crooned. You are a sweetheart, aren t you? I wonder what your name is? She didn t see a letter, but surely no mother would desert her child without some sort of message.

What on earth are you doing?

Daisy whipped her head about. Her mother was poised at the top of the stairs, looking down with an expression of pure horror. Daisy sprang to her feet. Mother, perhaps you should sit down. Or rather, come downstairs and then sit down.

Is that a basket of fruit or a child? Lady Wharton s tones were frigid. She showed no signs of imminent hysterics, but of course, she hadn t seen the baby. She didn t realize that it was almost certainly a member of the family.

So to speak.

Picking up the basket, Daisy walked into the drawing room and sat down, placing the child at her feet. Her mother deserved privacy during this painful realization, and Tangle might emerge from the breakfast room at any second.

The child was kicking her blanket, trying to free herself. Moo, moo, moo! she crowed.

Lady Wharton closed the drawing room door and leaned back against it as if a horde of soldiers were threatening to break in. She cleared her throat. Where did that come from? Her words emerged staccato, like the raps of drumsticks.

She is a baby girl, some months old, and she was on the doorstep.

It does not belong here. Her voice was uncompromising.

Someone left her for us to find, Daisy said, trying to find the right words. Mother, won t you please come look at her?

No. I prefer to summon Tangle to remove it.

Daisy frowned. Surely you agree that we must discover the child s mother. She began feeling around the basket, trying to find a letter.

The child caught hold of her sleeve and babbled some more. She was plump and happy, presumably loved and well cared for.

Darling girl, Daisy whispered, something must tell us who you are. She picked up the baby and popped her into the crook of her arm, the better to look under the blanket.

Moo!

I would have protected you from this knowledge, her mother said heavily, walking toward them. She s one of my husband s by-blows. There s no doubt about it.

Daisy had already reached that conclusion. She cleared her throat. In that case, my father might

Lord Wharton will either have no idea of the mother s name or dishonestly claim as much, her mother said, folding her arms and staring down at the child.

This is not the first baby to land on our doorstep, Daisy.