How to Seduce a Bride

Chapter Three

She wouldn’t go back, but didn’t know how to go forward. Daisy paced the hotel suite she’d taken for herself and her maid. She’d much to think about and little time to do it in. The rooms she paced were decently furnished, but only that, but they cost so much, she thought she ought to have been gliding over velvet carpets and sleeping in a golden bed. She’d only wanted respectable lodgings. That was what she was paying for, but she didn’t know how long she could or should stay here.

Daisy hadn’t lied; she did have money now. But what had looked like vast riches in Port Jackson was nothing like it here. Geoff’s house had staggered her. There was wealth in every seam and fleck of paint of it. She and her father had lived in a modest home. What she’d lived in while with Tanner was considered good in a raw new colony, but the tiles in Geoff’s front hallway probably cost more than that whole house had.

If she’d had another place to go, she’d have left the hotel the minute they quoted her daily rates. In truth, she’d been half dreaming, half hoping the earl would invite her to stay with him. She supposed he could have if he’d a respectable older female relative living with him. But Geoff lived alone, although the strange viscount who’d made her so uneasy yesterday certainly made himself at home there…

Daisy halted in her tracks. Was there a reason for that? Did the fellow live there?

That would put a different light on everything, one she could see clearly in. She wasn’t an innocent anymore, or like most young women in England whether they were experienced or not, for that matter. Living as she had done, in prisons and among convicts, meant she’d seen and heard about different sides of life. Men took love where they found it, and some found it in unusual ways. She’d accepted that without judging it.

Daisy sat down abruptly. Still, that was certainly something she hadn’t thought of. She’d never seen a hint of it in the earl when he’d been plain Geoff Sauvage. She cocked her head to the side, considering the matter. It could account for his peculiar friendship with the much younger, fashionable, and oh-so-affected viscount! She sensed the fellow didn’t trust her and didn’t know why, but if she was right it would make sense. He might be afraid she’d steal Geoff’s affections.

She chewed her lip and frowned. It would definitely explain why Geoff was single even now, when he had wealth and title.

But she still admired and respected Geoffrey Sauvage. The more she thought of it, the more she liked the idea of marrying him even if he preferred men. She’d be untouched but not unloved. They could always adopt a child. Hadn’t he already taken two boys under his wing, seen them grow into happily married men, and rejoiced for them?

Daisy contemplated the idea of marrying a man who’d never take her physically. It seemed too good to be true after the years of marriage she’d endured. In fact, she thought with rising spirits, if the earl were so inclined toward his fellow man, it might be the best solution of all for her.

But she didn’t know if he was. She didn’t know much of anything yet except that he was here, he still liked her, and he was still available, in one way, at least. She’d have to see about the rest. If he didn’t want to marry, maybe he had friends his age or inclination who did. She didn’t plan to marry for love or money, just for security and a place to belong, a place where she could stay on in peace, unmolested. She’d never be free until she was married, and then if she had a husband who simply cared for her like a father or a friend, it would be bliss.

She roused herself from dreams. Money, the here and now of it, was her most pressing problem. She wasn’t as cheap as Tanner had been-no one could be. But she’d learned to worry about funds going out, and they’d been draining at an alarming rate since she’d gotten here. At least she’d been smart enough to hire a maid in New South Wales. That cost was small enough; the girl had been eager to go home to England.

But what about the hotel charges, the house she had to rent? The clothes she had to buy? And the “respectable” companion she had to hire?

Respectability, Daisy thought bitterly, looking around her spare, expensive room, came dear. She’d bet whomever the earl recommended would come dearer. If her plan didn’t work, how long would her investments continue paying off? She had money, but not the golden touch Tanner had. How long could her money last and grow if she had to keep paying out at such a clip?

Daisy shot to her feet. She wouldn’t go back. Whatever happened, she wouldn’t go back. That left her only one way to go: forward.

She walked to the door to her maid’s room and called. “Amy? Please go downstairs and tell the hotel manager that he can begin sending up applicants for the position of my companion now.”

Life with a father always looking for money and with a husband always looking for a fight had taught Daisy unusual skills. She could read faces the way other women read books, and she was a fast reader who seldom missed a nuance of meaning.

She soon discovered that some of the women she interviewed pitied her for being alone and without family, and some felt superior to her. In turn, she pitied some of them, and some frankly frightened her. Only one thing was plain, and that itself was a little frightening. There were too many respectable women who needed jobs in London Town.

Daisy was ready to halt the flow of prospective companions because the interviews had taken up most of the morning and she was getting hungry. She was heartily sick of her dreary room but planned to eat in, even though it made her feel like an outcast and a prisoner again. The hotel dining room had looked splendid from afar, with its glittering glassware and clean white tablecloths and well-dressed, merrily chattering patrons. But she couldn’t eat there. She couldn’t dine alone, or with a maid; she had to have a respectable companion with her before she could dine in public.

“You have recommendations with you?” she finally asked the last woman she interviewed before she sent for her luncheon, after the woman recited her qualifications.

“Yes, of course,” the woman answered. She held out a sheaf of papers.

Daisy pretended to study the letters, but watched Helena Masters instead. She saw a woman some years older than herself. Seven-and-thirty, her papers said, but she looked older because of the barely concealed worry on her face, and the plain, sensible, drab clothing she wore. A sailor’s widow with two children who lived with her own widowed mother in the north of England, she had to work for her keep.

She seemed well bred and had a pleasant voice. Mrs. Masters’s brown hair was neat, as was her figure. Her face, with its sincere blue eyes, was plain but promising, because she had laugh lines, which meant that at least she sometimes laughed. The letters from former employers extolled her. She’d never lost a position so much as had to move on because of circumstances beyond her control.

But not all the words on those letters or the woman’s own softly voiced history impressed Daisy as much as the fact that her hand trembled when she handed over her excellent references. And the glove that covered that hand had a tiny darn in it. She needed the work, badly. Need was a thing that Daisy never missed. She knew it too well.

“I plan to buy a house in a good district and stay on in London,” Daisy said, returning the papers to her. It was also time to put her cards on the table. “Your duties would not only be to accompany me, but to advise me on current manners and fashions. I’ve been out of the country for years, you see.”

Light sprang to the woman’s eyes. “I could do that,” she said. Her hands knotted together over the papers.

“Starting immediately.”

“I could do that as well.”

“And the salary pleases you?”

The woman nodded; Daisy realized she was too tense to speak.

“If you’d like, I could give you two days off every three weeks, so you could visit with your children. Since they live so far we could see about more if you needed,” Daisy added, and then frowned, realizing she was gilding the lily because she wanted this woman to stay on with her. Need called to need, and so this woman didn’t frighten her. She took a breath. If it was going to hurt, she’d best get it over and done with.

“I came from New South Wales,” Daisy said bluntly. “I was a prisoner there, then a wife, then a widow. I was convicted with my father, and that because he poached once too often on a neighbor’s land. But I was a convict, and that is who I am.” She held up her head.

Mrs. Masters’s eyes widened. “Oh, you poor child,” she exclaimed. Her hand flew to her lips when she realized she’d said so bold a thing to a prospective employer.

Daisy’s eyes searched her face; she could see no recoil as realization of what she’d said about being a convict sank in. The pity she’d originally seen was gone in an instant, replaced by sorrow, and the woman’s obvious distress at her outburst.

“Yes, well, it was bad,” Daisy said. “Now, I want only good. Can you help me, Mrs. Masters?”

“You will have me?” the other woman asked, as though afraid to believe her good luck.

“I will. So. When can you begin?”

“Now. At once. What would you have me do?”

Daisy hesitated. Then she heaved a small heartfelt sigh, and voiced her present dearest wish. “Would you come downstairs and have luncheon in the dining room with me?”

It was the loveliest gown Daisy had ever seen up close. Red, with rose ribbons at the waist, gold ones trimming the flounces on the skirts and on the puffed sleeves, and a beautiful needlework rose climbing up the bodice and blooming at the breast. The model wearing it looked magnificent. Daisy turned a glowing face to the earl to see his reaction before she said she’d take it.

“No, not for you,” Viscount Haye drawled before she could. “A gown need not be beautiful in itself; it must make the woman who wears it beautiful.” He waved a hand. “There’s too much gown there, madame. Show us another.”

The modiste nodded. “Trust you, monsieur,” she said with a little smile. She clapped her hands to signal the next model to come out.

Daisy turned a militant face toward the viscount, but the look of approval on her new companion’s face as she gazed at him stopped her from saying anything.

“It was a work of art,” the viscount murmured to Daisy. “That’s the problem. Do you want people to notice the beautiful gown they see, or the woman in it?”

She subsided.

He nodded. “And red, my dear, can be a striking statement for a woman with your coloration. But a little goes a long way, and that gown went much too far.”

The earl laughed. “That, Lee, is why you’re invaluable. See, Daisy? I told you he’d be your best guide. I don’t know a thing about fashion. He’s right. I can’t even remember what the woman wearing that concoction looked like, and I usually have an eye for a pretty young girl.”

Daisy grinned at him. “Then if you say so, so be it. I don’t know much about fashion, either, and will be guided by you.”

The earl sat back, looking pleased. The viscount’s midnight blue eyes were half shuttered. He looked bored, but then, Daisy thought, he usually did.

The blue gown and the silver one that came out after it were deemed suitable. The coral walking dress was roundly approved, but the green gown was frowned at. Though Daisy had loved it, she held her tongue. But when the model came out in the gold gown, Daisy actually sighed aloud, in appreciation. The gold cloth was sleek and tissue thin; every curve, every indentation on the model’s slender body showed. It was shocking, but even though the girl looked sensual, she also looked elegant, sophisticated, classical, like a Greek statue dipped in gold.

Daisy smiled when the earl said, “Why, that color ought to look good on you, Daisy!”

Before she could agree, the viscount spoke. “Yellow for Mrs. Tanner would work, yes,” he said lazily. “Not gold. And not in such thin ply. Much too daring for her. You don’t want to lie about her background, of course. But do you want to flaunt it?”

Daisy spun around to stare at him. She was insulted and indignant, even though she realized what he said might be true. Insult won out. “But if Geoff, I mean, if the earl likes it,” she declared, “it’s good enough for me. I’ll take it.”

Leland shrugged a shoulder.

“Really, Daisy, he’s the expert,” Geoff said.

“Well, if you think I’d look bad in it,” she said, “then I’ll change my mind.”

The earl’s face turned ruddy, but he nevertheless looked flattered. “I liked it, yes. Still, what do I know?”

“Enough for me,” she said firmly.

Leland’s eyebrow went up, but he mimed a slight bow to Daisy from where he sat. “Of course. Opinion’s a relative matter,” he said negligently. “The most important opinion is that of the person who’ll be wearing the gown; a dress made of spun silver would look bad if she didn’t believe in it. But if you believe your figure and your confidence is firm enough for the gold, why not? If you want it, Mrs. Tanner, so be it.”

Daisy didn’t answer. The mention of silver and gold turned her thoughts in unpleasant directions. It suddenly occurred to her that she’d ordered up four gowns, and yet hadn’t been told the price of one. That was bad trading, poor practice, and very foolish of her. Even her father would have frowned. Tanner would have… well, it was best not to think what he’d have done. Bad enough that realizing what she’d done took the joy out of the morning for her.

She’d been having a wonderful time until now. Mrs. Masters had told her to wear one of her best gowns to go to the dressmaker’s shop, and she’d laughed, thinking it ridiculous. But she was paying for that kind of knowledge and so had put on a tasteful long-sleeved violet walking dress she’d had made up especially for the trip to England.

She was glad she had after she got to the dressmaker’s shop. It didn’t even look like one. It was so luxurious, she felt more like she was paying a morning call on a fashionable lady of the ton than ordering new gowns. The place was furnished like a sitting room; the dressmaker was called a modiste and spoke with a French accent. There were comfortable couches to sit on, and she was given a little cup of dark coffee to drink. There were patterns to muse over; and lovely young women came out modeling the gowns for sale. And there hadn’t even been a sign above the door!

Everything had started off well this morning. The earl had complimented her on her good looks when he’d come to call for her in his elegant carriage. He’d met Helena Masters and roundly approved of her, Daisy could see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice. Even the viscount had seemed impressed by her choice of companion.

Daisy had even found the viscount amusing, at first-until he’d turned dictatorial. She’d had enough of men ordering her around. In truth, she realized now, she’d been getting so angry at his increasingly domineering attitude that she’d have insisted on buying a dress made of paper if she’d seen one, if he’d disapproved.

She’d been lulled by all the luxury, but now worried, wondering if she could afford her new wardrobe, at least enough for her peace of mind.

“You know?” she said in a bright, tight, little voice. “I think I’ve bought enough for one day. So I won’t take the gold gown, after all. My goodness! I’ve never had so many new ones at once.”

“Oh?” the viscount purred. “So you don’t intend to go into Society?”

She stared at him.

“You’ve bought enough for one morning visit, one afternoon’s walk, one afternoon tea, and an evening soirée,” he explained. “That will do for one day. No one ever wears the same garment twice in a week.”

“Maybe you’re right,” she said, whispering in a fierce under voice, keeping one eye on the modiste to be sure the woman wouldn’t hear. “But do we have to get them all at the same place? I mean, we should shop around, see if there are some for sale at a better price… and perhaps,” she added, seeing his surprise and trying to make it sound like she meant something else all along, “we could find better styles as well.”

“Better than at Madame Bertrand’s?” he asked, amazed.

Mrs. Masters’s eyes widened. Daisy realized she’d made a mistake.

“I think,” the earl said, “what Daisy means is that she’s not used to buying so much, and certainly not at one place, without comparing prices. She’s just in the habit of being frugal.”

“Yes,” Daisy said in relief. “That’s it exactly.”

“Not a bad habit, either,” Leland said. “But not one we’re used to here in London.”

“Does that mean I have to squander my money to be accepted?” she asked angrily.

“It means you must never talk about money,” he said, holding up one long finger the way a teacher would if he called for silence. “But I will talk about money now, if only to tell you that many of the ladies who buy here don’t pay their bills for years, if ever. No one in the ton does.”

“Except you, Lee,” the earl said, smiling, “and me. Me, because I never want to be in debt for any reason. I’ve seen too many poor souls in prison because of it. And you, because you love to be contrary.”

“Thank you for noticing,” the viscount said, as he got to his feet and slowly uncoiled his long body. “I do try. But I also know that too many merchants who cater to the rich have to run their businesses like gamblers, and too often lose because of it. They think serving the nobility is good advertising, but what good does it do them if they only attract more rich spongers? The upper classes can be debtors because of the ever-present promise of their money, at least as shown by their inherited properties. But I think they really can do it because of all their friends in high places. If you own the legal system, you’re not likely to be bitten by it.”

“Very republican talk for a nobleman,” the earl commented, suppressing a smile.

“Yes, good that I’m not from across the Channel, isn’t it?” Leland agreed. “I’d have taken my last ride in a tumbrel years ago.”

“Of course,” the earl commented to a wide-eyed Daisy, “you know he may say the opposite tomorrow if it amuses him.”

“So I may,” Leland agreed. “Now, I’ll just have a word with madame, and then we’ll have luncheon, shall we?”

“Yes,” the earl said, “and tell her to have at least one gown made up and ready to go by tomorrow evening.”

Leland stopped and looked at his friend curiously.

“We want to take Daisy to the theater, don’t we?” the earl asked.

“Do we?” Leland answered, as though fascinated.

“Well, I do,” the earl said. “Sad stuff to sit around a hotel room while all London is amusing itself outside your window, but you don’t know the city enough to venture out on your own. In Daisy’s case, it’s even worse, because she can’t go anywhere at night by herself.”

“Indeed,” Leland said expressionlessly. “I’m to be included in all this merrymaking, am I?”

“If you’d be so kind,” the earl said. “You know London better than I do.”

“So I do,” Leland said, bowed, and strolled away.

Daisy watched as he sauntered over to talk with the dressmaker. He was so tall and thin, she’d have thought he’d be awkward, but he moved with the same lazy, effortless grace he spoke with. Today he was dressed in black and dark gray, except for a splash of crimson in his waistcoat. The gentlemen she’d seen in fashion plates were tidy men, neat and precise. He was much too tall, thin, and careless for fashion, but he was Fashion. It still amazed her.

He spoke with the modiste, and Daisy’s eyes narrowed as she saw him amble over to the model wearing the gold gown she’d wanted. He stopped and smiled down at the woman. For one mad moment, Daisy thought he was going to arrange to buy the gown for her, as an apology for how disagreeable he’d been about it.

The model was tall and slender, but she still had to look up at the viscount. She was striking, with classical features. Her sleek black hair was pulled back tightly in a bun, as all the models’ were, so as not to interfere with the presentation of the gown, or so the viscount had said.

The earl rose to his feet, too, so Daisy did as well, but she kept her eyes on the viscount. As she watched, she saw him lift one long white hand and run the back of it lightly across the model’s cheek in a careless caress as he whispered to her. He’d been right. The material of the gold gown was thin. Daisy couldn’t help but notice that the nipples on the model’s small, pointed breasts rose in peaks when he touched her cheek. She’d bet they weren’t talking about his purchasing the gown.

She was confused. It wasn’t really an intimate gesture; it couldn’t be, especially coming from a man like Viscount Haye. But it suddenly seemed like one. She frowned.

“Don’t mind Lee,” the earl said, seeing her expression. “He means well.”

“I’m just surprised,” she murmured, without thinking.

The earl saw the direction of her gaze. “Surprised?”

“I didn’t think he was interested in… ” She suddenly realized what she was saying and her face colored up.

“In what?” the earl asked with interest.

Well, in for a penny, she thought, in for a pound. There was no time like the present to find out about the earl.

“In… females.”

The earl’s eyebrows shot up. “Lee? You wondered that about him?”

“I didn’t mean to offend,” she said quickly. “It’s none of my business. But the way he talks… I mean,” she said, backing off the subject when she saw his obvious astonishment. “Forgive me! You must remember how it was back at the colony: What you think is what you say and devil take the hindmost. I’ve been gone from England too long, I need to retrain my tongue as well as my manners.”

The earl became thoughtful. He looked over at the viscount and the model who was now staring, as if mesmerized, up into his eyes, and a slow smile dawned on his own face. “Well,” he said slowly, “there’s a thought, indeed. How amusing,” he murmured as if to himself, his eyes sparkling. “How ironic. I’d share it with him if it weren’t impossible.”

He looked back to Daisy, and then said sincerely, “All I’ll say is that you needn’t worry about Leland’s attentions, my dear.”

“Oh,” she said. So it was true. But then, what about Geoff himself?

“Whatever else he is, Leland is entertaining, good company, and a good man under all his affectation,” the earl went on, “which is why I like to spend time with him, as do my sons.”

“Doesn’t living with him become trying, though?”

“Living with him?” The earl laughed. “Daisy, the fellow runs tame at my house, but he doesn’t live there!”

“Oh,” she said, and beamed her vast relief at him.

“So, shall we?” he asked, smiling down at her in turn as he offered her his arm.

“Thank you, yes,” she said, taking his arm and looking up at him as though he’d presented her with a gift, and so not noticing that the viscount was now watching them, or the slight concerned frown he wore as he did.