Scandal in Spring (Wallflowers #4)(8)

The rustle of leaves and the twittering of chiffchaff seemed to be magnified in the silence that followed. Though it was impossible to read Swift’s thoughts, Daisy perceived that he was rapidly sorting through possibilities and conclusions.

“My father spoke as if it was all settled,” she said. “I thought you had discussed it during his most recent visit to New York.”

“He never mentioned anything of the kind to me. The thought of marrying you has never crossed my mind. And I have no ambition to inherit the company.”

“You have nothing but ambition.”

“True,” he said, watching her closely. “But I don’t need to marry you to secure my future.”

“My father seems to think you would jump at the chance to become his son-in-law. That you bear him great personal affection.”

“I’ve learned a great deal from him,” came a predictably guarded reply.

“I’m sure you have.” Daisy took refuge behind a scornful expression. “He’s taught you many lessons that have benefitted you in the business world. But none that will benefit you in the business of life.”

“You disapprove of your father’s business,” Swift said rather than asked.

“Yes, for the way he’s given his heart and soul to it and ignored the people who love him.”

“It’s provided you with many luxuries,” he pointed out. “Including the opportunity to marry a British peer.”

“I didn’t ask for luxuries! I’ve never wanted anything but a peaceful life.”

“To sit in a library by yourself and read?” Swift suggested a little too pleasantly. “To walk in the garden? To enjoy the companionship of your friends?”

“Yes!”

“Books are expensive. So are nice houses with gardens. Has it occurred to you that someone has to pay for your peaceful life?”

That question was so close to her father’s accusation about being a parasite that Daisy flinched.

As Swift saw her reaction, his expression changed. He began to say something else, but Daisy interrupted sharply. “It’s none of your concern about how I lead my life or who pays for it. I don’t care about your opinions, and you have no right to force them on me.”

“I do if my future is being linked to yours.”

“It’s not!”

“It is in a hypothetical sense.”

Oh, Daisy hated people who mired every point in semantics when they argued. “Our marriage will never be anything but hypothetical,” she told him. “My father has given me until the end of May to find someone else to marry—and I will.”

Swift stared at her with alert interest. “I can guess what kind of man you’ve been looking for. Fair-haired, aristocratic, sensitive, with a cheerful disposition and ample leisure time for gentlemanly pursuits—”

“Yes,” Daisy interrupted, wondering how he managed to make the description seem fatuous.

“I thought so.” The smugness in his voice set her nerves on edge. “The only possible reason a girl with your looks could have gone for three seasons without a betrothal is that you’ve set impossibly high standards. You want nothing less than the perfect man. Which is why your father is forcing the issue.”

She was momentarily distracted by the words “a girl with your looks,” as if she were a great beauty. Deciding the comment could only have been made in a vein of deepest sarcasm, Daisy felt her temperature escalate. “I do not aspire to marry the perfect man,” she said through gritted teeth. Unlike her older sister, who cursed with spectacular fluency, she found it difficult to speak when she was angry. “I am well aware there is no such thing.”

“Then why haven’t you found someone when even your sister has managed to catch a husband?”

“What do you mean, ‘even my sister’?”

“‘Marry Lillian, you’ll get a million.’” The insulting phrase had caused much snide amusement in the upper circles of Manhattanville society. “Why do you think no one in New York ever offered for your sister in spite of her huge dowry? She is every man’s worst nightmare.”

That did it.

“My sister is a jewel and Westcliff has the good taste to recognize it. He could have married anyone, but she was the one he wanted. I dare you to repeat your opinion of her to the earl!” Daisy whirled around and stormed along the path, walking as fast as her abbreviated legs would allow.

Swift kept up with her easily, his hands shoved to a nonchalant depth in his pockets. “The end of May…” he mused, not the slightest bit out of breath despite their pace. “That’s just a bit shy of two months. How are you going to find a suitor in that length of time?”

“I’ll stand on a street corner wearing a placard if I have to.”

“My sincere wishes for your success, Miss Bowman. In any event, I’m not certain I’ll be willing to put myself forth as the winner by default.”

“You will not be the winner by default! Rest assured, Mr. Swift, nothing in the world would ever make me consent to be your wife. I feel sorry for the poor woman who ends up with you—I can’t think of anyone who would deserve to have such a cold, self-righteous prig for a husband—”

“Wait.” His tone had softened in what might have been the beginnings of conciliation. “Daisy…”