She was so caught up in a vision of herself in a severely tailored jacket resembling the Etonian morning coat that at first she didn’t even hear the pounding on her door. But an insistent “Daisy!” finally broke through her trance, and she pushed herself up from the settee and opened the bedchamber door.
“Oh hello, James,” she said, unable to muster much enthusiasm at the sight of him. The last thing one wants to see when in a melancholic fit is a friend who refuses to attend balls even when he knows perfectly well that all three weeks of her first season had been horrific. He had no idea what it was like. How could he? He was devastatingly handsome, rather charming when he wasn’t being a beast, and a future duke, to boot. This embarrassment of riches really wasn’t fair. “I didn’t realize it was you.”
“How could you not realize it was me?” James demanded, pushing open the door and crowding her backward, now that he knew she was decent. “I’m the only person in the world who calls you Daisy. Let me in, will you?”
Theo sighed and moved back. “Do you suppose you could try harder to call me Theo? I must have asked you a hundred times already. I don’t want to be Theodora, or Dora, or Daisy, either.”
James flung himself into a chair and ran a hand through his hair. From the look of it, he’d been in an ill humor all morning, because half his hair was standing straight up. It was lovely hair, heavy and thick. Sometimes it looked black, but when sunlight caught it there were deep mahogany strands, too. More reasons to resent James. Her own hair had nothing subtle about it. It was thick, too, but an unfashionable yellowy-brown mixture.
“No,” he said flatly. “You’re Daisy to me, and Daisy suits you.”
“It doesn’t suit me,” she retorted. “Daisies are pretty and fresh, and I’m neither.”
“You are pretty,” he said mechanically, not even bothering to glance at her.
She rolled her eyes, but really, there was no reason to press the point. James never looked at her close enough to notice whether she’d turned out pretty . . . why should he? Being only two years apart, they’d shared the nursery practically from birth, which meant he had clear memories of her running about in a diaper, being smacked by Nurse Wiggan for being smart.
“How was last night?” he asked abruptly.
“Terrible.”
“Trevelyan didn’t make an appearance?”
“Geoffrey was indeed there,” Theo said gloomily. “He just never looked at me. He danced twice—twice—with the cow-eyed Claribel. I can’t stand her, and I can’t believe he can either, which means he’s just looking for a fortune. But if he is, then why doesn’t he dance with me? My inheritance must be twice as large as hers. Do you think he doesn’t know? And if so,” she said without stopping for breath, “can you think of some way of bringing it up that wouldn’t be terribly obvious?”
“Absolutely,” James said. “I can hear that conversation now. ‘So, Trevelyan, you flat-footed looby, did you know that Theodora’s inheritance comes to thousands of pounds a year? And by the way, what about those matched grays you just bought?’ ”
“You could think of a more adroit way to bring it up,” Theo said, though she couldn’t imagine it herself. “Geoffrey isn’t flat-footed. He’s as graceful as a leaf. You should have seen him dancing with cretinous Claribel.”
James frowned. “Is she the one who was brought up in India?”
“Yes. I can’t understand why some helpful tiger didn’t gobble her up. All those plump curves . . . she would have made a lovely Sunday treat.”
“Tsk, tsk,” James said, a glimmer of laughter coming into his eyes for the first time. “Young ladies in search of husbands should be docile and sweet. You keep coming out with these appallingly malicious little remarks. If you don’t behave, all those matrons will declare you unfit, and then you’ll be in a pickle.”
“I suppose that’s part of my problem.”
“What’s the other part?”
“I’m not feminine or dainty, nor even deliciously curvy. No one seems to notice me.”
“And you hate that,” James said with a grin.
“Well, I do,” she said. “I don’t mind admitting it. I think I could attract a great many men if I were simply allowed to be myself. But pink ruffles and pearl trim make me look more mannish than ever. And I feel ugly, which is the worst thing of all.”
“I don’t think you look like a man,” James said, finally inspecting her from head to foot.
“You know that opera dancer you’ve been squiring about?”
“You’re not supposed to know about Bella!”
“Why on earth not? Mama and I were in Oxford Street when you passed in an open carriage, so Mama explained everything. She even knew that your mistress is an opera dancer. I have to say, James, I think it’s amazing that you got yourself a mistress whom everyone knows about, even people like my mother.”
“I can’t believe Mrs. Saxby told you that rot.”
“What? She’s not an opera dancer?”
He scowled. “You’re supposed to pretend that women like that don’t exist.”
“Don’t be thick, James. Ladies know all about mistresses. And it isn’t as if you’re married. If you carry on like that once you are married, I’m going to be terrifically nasty to you. I’ll definitely tell your wife. So beware. I don’t approve.”
“Of Bella, or of matrimony?”
“Of married men who run about London with voluptuous women with hair the color of flax and morals that are just as lax.”
She paused for a moment, but James just rolled his eyes. “It’s not easy to rhyme extempore, you know,” she told him.
He obviously didn’t care, so she returned to the subject. “It’s all very well now, but you’ll have to give up Bella when you marry. Or whatever her replacement’s name is by then.”
“I don’t want to get married,” James said. There was a kind of grinding tension in his voice that made Theo look at him more closely.
“You’ve been quarreling with your father, haven’t you?”
He nodded.
“In the library?”
He nodded again.
“Did he try to brain you with that silver candlestick?” she asked. “Cramble told me that he was going to put it away, but I noticed it was still there yesterday.”
“He demolished a porcelain shepherdess.”
“Oh, that’s all right. Cramble bought a whole collection of them in Haymarket and strewed them all around the house in obvious places hoping your father would snatch those as opposed to anything of value. He will be quite pleased to see that his plan is working. So what were you rowing about?”
“He wants me to marry.”
“Really?” Theo felt a not altogether pleasant pang of surprise. Of course James had to marry . . . someday. But at the moment she rather liked him as he was: hers. Well, hers and Bella’s. “You’re too young,” she said protectively.
“You are only seventeen and you’re looking for a husband.”
“But that’s just the right age for a woman to marry. Mama didn’t let me debut until this year precisely because of that. Men should be far older than nineteen. I expect thirty or one-and-thirty is about right. What’s more, you’re young for your age,” she added.
James narrowed his eyes. “I am not.”
“You are,” she said smugly. “I saw how you were flitting about with Bella, showing her off as if she were a new coat. You probably set her up in some sort of appalling little house draped in blush-colored satin.”
His scowl was truly ferocious, which, rather than alarming her, merely gave Theo confirmation. “At the very least, she could have chosen some shade of blue. Women with yellow hair always think that pink shades will flatter their skin. Whereas a blue, say a cerulean or even violet, would be far more pleasing.”
“I’ll let her know. You do realize
, Daisy, that you’re not supposed to mention women like Bella in polite company, let alone offer advice on how they should design their nests?”
“When did you become polite company? Do not call me Daisy,” Theo retorted. “Whom are you thinking of marrying?” She did not like uttering that question. She had something of a possessive bent when it came to James.
“I have no one in mind.” But the corner of his mouth twitched.
“You’re lying!” she cried, pouncing on it. “You do have someone in mind! Who is she?”
He sighed. “There’s no one.”
“Since you haven’t been to a single ball this year, I cannot imagine whom you could have fixed your eye on. Did you go to any balls last year, when I was still confined to the schoolroom? Of course, I should play an important part in choosing your betrothed,” Theo said, getting into the spirit of it. “I know you better than anyone else. She’ll have to be musical, given what a beautiful voice you have.”
“I am not interested in anyone who can sing.” James’s eyes flashed at her in a way that Theo secretly rather liked. Most of the time he was just the funny, wry “brother” she’d had her whole life, but occasionally he turned electric with fury and she saw him in a whole different light. Like a man, she decided. Odd thought.
She waved her hands. “For goodness’ sake, James, calm down. I must have mistaken the sure sign that you were fibbing.” She grinned at him. “Do you think I would tease you about your choice? I, who blurted out my adoration of Geoffrey? At least you don’t have to worry about being entirely overlooked by your beloved. You’re quite good looking; the girls don’t know you well enough to guess at your faults; you sing like an angel when someone can coax you into it; and you shall have a title someday. They would have fallen about hoping to dance with you last night and I could have watched it from the side.”
“I loathe balls,” James said, but he wasn’t really paying attention. He was trying to puzzle something out; she recognized the look.
“She’s not married, is she?” Theo asked.
“Married? Who’s married?”
“The woman who has fixed your attention!”
“There isn’t anyone.” The edge of his mouth didn’t curl, so he was probably telling the truth.
“Petra Abbot-Sheffield has a lovely singing voice,” Theo said thoughtfully.
“I hate singing.”
Theo knew that, but she thought he would surely grow out of it. When James sang “Lives again our glorious king!” in church she found herself shivering all over at the pure beauty of it, the way his voice swooped up to the rafters and then settled into an angel’s trumpet for “Where, O death, is now thy sting?” Whenever he sang she thought of bright green leaves in late spring. “Isn’t it interesting that I think in colors,” she asked now, “and you think in music?”
“Not at all, because I do not think about music.”
“Well, you should think in music,” Theo revised. “Given your voice.” But he was obviously in a serious temper, and she had learned over the years that the best tactic was not to engage when he was peevish.
“I wish I had your advantages.” She dropped onto her bed and drew up her knees so she could hug them against her chest. “If I were you, Geoffrey would be at my feet.”
“I doubt it. He wouldn’t want a wife who has to shave twice a day.”
“You know what I meant. All I need is for people to start paying attention to me,” Theo said, rocking back and forth a little bit. “If I just had even the smallest audience, I could be funny. You know I could, James. I could talk circles about Claribel. I just need one proper suitor, someone who’s not a fortune hunter. Someone who would . . .” An idea popped into her head, fully formed and beautiful.
“James!”
“What?” He raised his head.
For a moment, looking at him, she almost dropped her idea. His eyes were positively tragic, and there were hollows in his cheeks, as if he hadn’t eaten enough lately. He looked exhausted. “Are you all right? What on earth did you do last night? You look like a drunkard who spent a night in a back alley.”
“I’m fine.”
One had to suppose he had spent the previous evening drowning in cognac. Her mother was of the opinion that gentlemen pickled themselves in the stuff by age thirty as a matter of course. “I have an idea,” she said, returning to her point. “But it would mean that you’d have to delay your plan to marry for the immediate present.”
“I have no such plan. I don’t wish to get married, no matter what my father says about it.” James could be maddeningly sullen when he wished. It had gotten better since he was fifteen, but not that much better. “Do you know what I hate most in the world?”
“I’m sure you’ll say your father, but you don’t really mean it.”
“Besides him. I hate feeling guilty.”
“Who on earth makes you feel guilty? You’re the perfect scion of the house of Ashbrook.”
He ran a hand through his hair again. “That’s just what everyone thinks. Sometimes I would kill to go away, where they’ve never heard of earls and noblesse oblige and all the rest of it. Where a man could be judged on who he is, rather than on his title and the rest of that tomfoolery.”
Theo frowned at him. “I don’t see where the guilt comes in.”
“I’ll never be good enough.” He got up and strode to the side of the room to look out the window.
“You’re being absurd! Everyone loves you, including me, and if that doesn’t mean something, I don’t know what does. I know you better than anyone in the world, and if I say you’re good enough, then you are.”
He turned around, and she found to her relief that he had a lopsided smile on his face. “Daisy, do you suppose you’ll try to take over the House of Parliament someday?”
“They should be so lucky!” she retorted. “But seriously, James, will you at least listen to my plan?”
“To conquer the world?”
“To conquer Geoffrey, which is much more important. If you would pretend to woo me, just long enough so that I would be noticed, it would mean the world to me. You never come to balls, and if you began to escort me, then everyone would be asking why, and before we knew it, I would find myself talking to Geoffrey about something . . . and then I could charm him into overlooking my profile and he would be mine.” She sat back, triumphant. “Isn’t that a brilliant plan?”
James’s eyes narrowed. “It has some advantages.”
“Such as?”
“Father would think I was wooing you and leave me alone for a bit.”
Theo clapped. “Perfect! I’m absolutely certain that Geoffrey will talk to you. Wasn’t he head boy in your last year at Eton?”
“Yes, and because of that I can tell you straight out that Trevelyan would make an uncomfortable husband. He’s far too clever for his own good. And he has a nasty way of making jokes about people.”
“That’s what I like about him.”
“Not to mention the fact that he’s ugly as sin,” James added.
“He isn’t! He’s deliciously tall and his eyes are bronzy-brown colored. They make me think of—”
“Do not tell me,” James said with an expression of utter revulsion. “I don’t want to know.”
“Of morning chocolate,” Theo said, ignoring him. “Or Tib’s eyes when he was a puppy.”
“Tib is a dog,” James said, displaying a talent for the obvious. “You think the love of your life looks like a ten-year-old obese dog?” He assumed a mockingly thoughtful attitude. “You’re right! Trevelyan does have a doggy look about him! Why didn’t I notice that?”
Demonstrating that she had not spent seventeen years in the Duke of Ashbrook’s household for nothing, Theo threw one of her slippers straight at James’s head. It skimmed his ear, which led to an ungraceful (and rather juvenile) scene in
which he chased her around the bedchamber. When he caught her, he snatched her around the waist, bent her forward, and rubbed his knuckles into her skull while she howled in protest.
It was a scene that Theo’s bedroom, and indeed, many other chambers on various Ashbrook estates, had seen many a time.
But even as Theo howled and kicked at his ankles, James had the sudden realization that he was holding a fragrant bundle of woman. That those were breasts against his arm. That Daisy’s rounded bottom was grinding against him and it felt . . .
His hands flew apart without conscious volition, and she fell to the ground with an audible thud. There was true annoyance in her voice as she rose, rubbing her knee.
“What’s the matter with you?” she scolded. “You’ve never let me fall before.”
“We shouldn’t play such games. We’re— You’re soon to be a married woman, after all.”
Theo narrowed her eyes.
“And my arm is sore,” James added quickly, feeling his cheeks warm. He hated lying. And he particularly hated lying to Daisy.
“You look fine to me,” she said, giving him a sweeping glance. “I don’t see an injury that warrants your dropping me on the floor like a teacup.”
It wasn’t until James practically ran from the room that Theo sank onto the bed and thought about what she had seen.
She’d seen that particular bulge in men’s breeches before. It was a shock to see it on James, though. She didn’t think of him in those terms.
But then, all of a sudden, she did.
THREE
Eight hours later . . .
“Theodora, darling, are you ready?” Mrs. Saxby entered Theo’s room in a headlong trot. Theo often thought of her dear mama as being like an ostrich, all neck and long legs in constant motion.