Scandal in Spring (Wallflowers #4)(39)

“I think she knows your opinions already,” Annabelle said dryly. “But ultimately it’s her decision to make. I’ll hazard a guess that when you were trying to decide your feelings for Lord Westcliff, Daisy didn’t try to influence you one way or the other.”

“This situation is entirely different,” Lillian protested. “Matthew Swift is a reptile! And furthermore, if Daisy married him, he would eventually take her away to America and I would hardly ever see her again.”

“And you’d like her to stay under your wing forever,” Annabelle murmured.

Lillian turned to give her a baleful stare. “Are you suggesting I’m selfish enough to keep her from leading her own life just so I can keep her near me?”

Unruffled by her ire, Annabelle smiled sympathetically. “It’s always been the two of you, hasn’t it? You’ve always been each other’s sole source of love and companionship. But it’s all changing, dear. You have your own family now, a husband and a child—and you should want nothing less for Daisy.”

Lillian’s nose began to sting. She looked away from Annabelle, and to her mortification, her eyes turned hot and blurry. “I promise I will like the next man she’s interested in. No matter who he is. Just as long as he’s not Mr. Swift.”

“You wouldn’t like any man she was interested in.” Annabelle’s arm slipped around her shoulders as she added affectionately, “You are somewhat possessive, dear.”

“And you are incredibly annoying,” Lillian said, laying her head on Annabelle’s soft shoulder. She continued to sniffle while Annabelle held her in the kind of firm, comforting embrace that Lillian’s own mother had never been capable of. It was a relief to cry, but a bit embarrassing as well. “I hate being a watering pot,” she mumbled.

“It’s because of your condition,” Annabelle soothed. “It’s perfectly natural. You’ll be back to rights after the baby is born.”

“It’s going to be a he,” Lillian told her, wiping her eyes with her fingers. “And then we’ll arrange a marriage between our children so Isabelle can be a viscountess.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in arranged marriages.”

“I didn’t until now. Our children can’t possibly be trusted with a decision as important as whom to marry.”

“You’re right. We’ll have to do it for them.”

They chuckled together, and Lillian felt her mood lightening just a little.

“I have an idea,” Annabelle said. “Let’s go to the kitchen and peek in the larder. I’ll bet there’s still some gooseberry cake left from dessert. Not to mention the strawberry jam trifle.”

Lillian lifted her head and blotted her wet nose on her sleeve. “Do you really think a plate of sweets will make me feel better?”

Annabelle smiled. “It can’t hurt, can it?”

Lillian considered the point. “Let’s go,” she said, and allowed her friend to pull her up from the bench.

The morning sun snapped through the windows as housemaids tugged back the main entrance hall drapes and secured them with tasseled silk ropes. Daisy walked toward the breakfast room, knowing there was little chance any of the guests were awake. She had tried to sleep as long as possible while restless energy coursed through her, demanding an outlet until finally she had jumped up and dressed herself.

Servants were busy polishing brass and woodwork, sweeping carpets, carrying pails and baskets of linens. Farther away were the clangs of metal pots and the clinks of dishes as food was prepared in the kitchen for the morning repast.

The door to Lord Westcliff’s private study was open, and Daisy glanced inside the wood-paneled room as she passed. It was a beautiful room, simple and spare with a row of stained-glass windows that shed a rainbow of light across the carpeted floor. Daisy paused with a smile as she saw someone sitting at the massive desk. The outline of his dark head and broad shoulders identified him as Mr. Hunt, who often made use of Westcliff’s study when he was at Stony Cross.

“Good morning…” she began, pausing as he turned to look at her.

She felt a pang of excitement as she realized it was not Mr. Hunt but Matthew Swift.

He rose from his chair, and Daisy said bashfully, “No, please, I’m sorry to have interrupted…”

Her voice trailed away as she noticed there was something different about him. He was wearing a pair of thin, steel-framed spectacles.

Spectacles, on that strong-featured face…and his hair mussed as if he had been tugging absently on the front locks. All that combined with a plenitude of muscles and masculine virility was astonishingly…erotic.

“When did you start wearing those?” Daisy managed to ask.

“About a year ago.” He smiled ruefully and removed the spectacles with one hand. “I need them to read. Too many late nights poring over contracts and reports.”

“They…they are very becoming.”

“Are they?” Continuing to smile, Swift shook his head, as if it had not occurred to him to wonder about his appearance. He tucked the spectacles into the pocket of his waistcoat. “How do you feel?” he asked softly. It took a moment for Daisy to realize he was referring to her tumble from the pony cart.

“Oh, I’m quite well, thank you.” He was staring at her in that way he always had, concentrated, unwavering. It had always made her uneasy. But just now, his gaze didn’t seem critical. In fact, he was staring at her if she were the only thing in the world worth looking at. She fidgeted with the skirts of her muslin gown, pink with printed flowers.