When Daisy stood, she could feel Cassandra’s eyes boring into her, but she refused to look that way, which meant she also made no eye contact with the viscount.
“
I’ll
do the honors,” he said, and stood. “Please be seated, Miss Montgomery.”
She did as he asked, her chest constricting when she saw the look Mona directed at her. It wasn’t pleasant.
Nevertheless, she sat with her brow smoothed out and her hands clenched, unseen, in her lap. Lord Lumley lifted the bulky object, carefully avoiding the flaming candle tapers on either side, and put the epergne on the sideboard, where it had always sat when her father had been alive.
When the viscount returned to his seat, he turned to her, a half-smile tilting one corner of his mouth. “That’s better, isn’t it?”
In the candlelight, his brown eyes had warm golden tints. Her heart gave a little flutter. He was handsome.
He was the Golden Prince!
Hester, and now Perdita, had noticed the same uncanny resemblance.
Daisy allowed herself only a close-lipped smile. “It’s much better, thank you.”
Mona and Cassandra stared daggers at her, but that was nothing new, so Daisy’s appetite wasn’t affected in the least. She ate heartily of her trout and potatoes, which Hester dished out liberally to her, knowing Mona wouldn’t object while the viscount was present. Mona and Cassandra dominated the conversation with their inane prattle. Perdita had a tendency to moan her appreciation of her dinner while she chewed, so for the most part, she said little. The viscount appeared to listen attentively to the one-sided conversation, but Daisy could swear she saw his jaw tighten as the minutes passed.
“So the village is quite dull,” Mona was saying. She punctuated the statement with an enormous sigh, which caused her massive bosom to jiggle. She was wearing her most low-cut gown, a vulgar puce sheath, and her hair was topped with a matching turban sporting three dyed feathers.
Cassandra, arresting in a golden gown of Grecian design, lifted a lovely shoulder. “Mother’s right.” She made a delicate moue that Daisy had seen her practice in front of a looking glass a thousand times. “There’s nothing to do up here in Scotland.”
The viscount put down his glass. “Nothing?”
Perdita let out a particularly ill-timed moan—not that Daisy could blame her. Hester’s trout and potatoes were excellent.
“There are many things,” Daisy interjected hastily.
Everyone turned to her. Mona and Cassandra were stone-faced.
Oh, dear,
Daisy thought. Perhaps she shouldn’t have spoken. But it was too late now.
Gathering her courage, she cleared her throat. “There’s trout and salmon fishing. And deer stalking. And every year, after a massive hunt, there used to be a competition in which men raced each other up Ben Fennon. And you should have seen them toss cabers, which are like large tree trunks. They even lifted enormous rocks in feats of strength. To conclude the festivities, there was a
ceilidh
… a dance.”
“I knew all that, of course,” Lord Lumley told her, merriment dancing in his eyes.
And then he smiled.
Perdita gasped out loud. Daisy nearly slid down her chair. When he smiled, he was—
Magnificent
.
Handsome
wasn’t a big enough word.
She inhaled a discreet breath to compose herself. “Then why did you allow me to boast of our vast array of amusements, sir?” She grinned back, just a little. “Not that I’ll allow myself to feel foolish. My boasting was completely justified.”
“It was,” he agreed, and looked round at the other women at the table. “Which is why I dared not interrupt. It appears some people here aren’t aware of the exciting opportunities to be had in the Highlands.”
“Not for me,” Perdita said.
Daisy couldn’t tell which was worse: the ugliness of Perdita’s tone, or the completely flat expressions on the faces of Cassandra and Mona.
So into the awkward silence, she blurted out what came to her head at the moment: “No one has ever stopped me from fishing. Indeed, it’s a favorite pastime.”
She didn’t mention that fishing was a very necessary pastime, as well, to help keep them fed. When Joe was too busy to fish, as often happened, it was up to her to sneak away from Mona when she was finished with her chores and cast a line in the nearby burn.
“Is it something you enjoy?” the viscount asked her as if he were shocked.
“Of course.” Why should he be surprised? Did he think women were weak creatures?
Cassandra gave a dramatic shudder. “The very thought of hooking a flopping fish makes me ill.”
Lord Lumley ignored her disgust.
“Perhaps you can show me your angler’s tricks while I’m here,” he said to Daisy. “I find I always learn something new about fishing from the locals. Especially the ones kind enough to tolerate my own attempts not only to catch something in their waters but to surpass their own catch. It’s very rude of me. But if you can endure my competitive nature, I’d be much obliged.”
There was that twinkle in his eye again.
“I’m happy to put up with your sporting ambitions,” Daisy answered him, “and if I were a better hostess, I’d inform the fish they should attach themselves to your hook, not mine. Alas, I’m not so well mannered.”
Cassandra skewered Daisy with a piercing look that resembled hatred.
“People can’t speak to fish,” Perdita said in self-important tones.
There was another blank silence that Daisy longed to cover up but she dared not, as Mona stabbed her trout viciously and glared at her, almost white-eyed.
“Speaking of sporting ambitions,” the viscount said eventually, “the last leg of my trip here I was picked up by a bevy of glossy black coaches carrying a group of anglers, all international travelers of some means. They dropped me outside of Glen Dewey and continued up to Brawton.”
“They’ve fine fishing in Brawton,” said Daisy. “Most visitors don’t know Glen Dewey has just as much. We’re a bit off the beaten path.”
“So I noticed. But I must say, those extra three miles I walked to get here were worth the effort.”
“Yes,” Daisy said, “there’s something special about Glen Dewey. Something unspoiled.”
“That’s a kind way to say
tedious,
”said Cassandra.
“I’m so sick of
tedious,”
Mona said with a yawn.
“Me, too,” said Perdita with a long, rude sigh. “I long for the dirty streets of Cheapside.”
Daisy caught the viscount’s eye and saw that he was amused—or perhaps, bemused—by her stepfamily.
“I like
tedious
if that’s what you’d call this trout. It’s delectable.” The viscount pierced a forkful, held it up, then popped it in his mouth.
Daisy smiled. The twinkle in his eye softened, then as his gaze lengthened, she had to look away. She wondered what he was thinking. Had he been remembering earlier today, when they’d been alone? When he’d kissed her?
At the meal’s conclusion, he excused himself early to write letters rather than retire with them to the drawing room.
He hesitated at the door and gave a little chuckle. “Oh, never mind. I can’t do that.”
“Whyever not?” Mona asked him. “There’s quill and paper on the desk in the library.”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” he said cryptically. “Pardon me for thinking out loud. I do appreciate the quill and paper.”
“The footpads,” Daisy guessed. “They took what money you had. You can’t post letters.”
She could tell by his expression that she’d guessed right.
“We can post the letters for you,” Mona said.
He hesitated the barest fraction of a moment. “That would involve your spending money on my behalf, and I’d rather not.”
“Really, Viscount, it’s no trouble,” Mona insisted. “It’s only a few pennies.”
He smiled that glorious smile he had. “I appreciate your concern, but I’ll decline your generous offer.”
Daisy thought his behavior a little odd. But she supposed he was being polite.
“Thank you for a delightful evening.” He swept them a low bow. “I shall see all of you in the morning.”
Try as he might to appear jaunty, his eyes were rimmed with fatigue, and Daisy found herself feeling sorry for him. He was to sleep in the byre, after all. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like that poultice?” she asked before he left the room.
He turned to her readily. “I’ll be fine, thank you. Although I intend to have a glass of whisky before bed. Your housekeeper brought me some today, and it’s truly the best I’ve ever had.”
“Joe makes it,” said Cassandra. “Though God knows how. He can’t even do sums.”
“Well, those sorts of skills obviously don’t matter when it comes to making whisky,” Lord Lumley said with spirit. “The Prince Regent himself can get no finer elixir than what’s to be found here at Castle Vandemere.”
“I’ll be sure to tell Joe you like it,” Daisy said.
“Please do.” The viscount inclined his head. “Meanwhile, tomorrow morning … shall we attempt to gauge which hook the fish prefer—yours or mine?”
“Certainly.” Daisy couldn’t help feeling a bit warm every time he spoke to her.
So when she retired to the drawing room a moment later, she did her best to appear nonchalant. Reaching for her sewing basket, she began to thread a needle—to show everyone that she was completely unaffected by Lord Lumley’s presence at the castle.
Just as she’d gotten the thread through the eye, Cassandra tossed aside her own needlework. “Stay away from him,” she said to Daisy, her eyes narrowed.
Daisy’s heart sank. She’d been dreading such a showdown. “How can I? We’re engaged to be married.” Her voice was firm, and she finished threading her needle with steady hands.
“You know exactly what she means.” Mona dangled a glass of whisky from her hand. “It’s not as if we get any eligible men up here. He’s destined for Cassandra. You must show a disgust of him immediately, so he’s free to pursue
her
.”
Perdita lowered her bushy brows at Daisy. “I like his legs,” she said in warning tones.
Daisy felt their united threat but refused to be cowed, especially as outside the great mullioned window, even at this late hour, in the eerie light of the Scottish summer night, she could see Joe checking on the mother pig who’d had her litter of piglets two days ago.
She must stay firm for Joe. And Hester.
“I refuse to act unengaged,” she said.
Cassandra gave a huff. “Very well. Prepare to compete with me for his affections.”
“Engaged doesn’t mean married,” Mona reassured Cassandra.
Daisy wasn’t a bit surprised at their selfishness.
“He won’t stay long enough for you to win him,” she told Cassandra. “He’ll probably leave in the next several days.”
She knew very well he’d hang about longer than that, but it was a good opportunity to convince the Furies that they were responsible for his staying.
“We can’t let him leave.” Mona’s brow furrowed.
“No, we can’t.” Cassandra bit her plump lower lip.
“How do you plan on getting him to stay longer?” Daisy asked them.
Perdita chuckled. “I’ll tie him to his bed.”
“
I
make those decisions,” said Mona, pinching Perdita’s arm.
Perdita winced.
Daisy sent her awkward stepsister a sympathetic glance, which she returned with a glower.
“Cassandra will lure him,” Mona said.
“How so?” replied Daisy.
Cassandra shrugged. “I’ll tell him we haven’t had a healthy young man around the house for so long, we have a few repairs that need doing. He’ll feel he owes us something for assisting him in his time of need and will stay a solid month.”
Daisy shrugged. “But he’s a viscount. He doesn’t
do
repairs.”
The Furies exchanged alarmed glances.
Nobody said anything for a few minutes while Mona drank, Cassandra jabbed at her needlework, Perdita yawned, and Daisy tossed aside her threaded needle and drew a picture of Jinx in her sketchpad.
“You do know we’re short the hundred pounds we need for the
feu
duty,” she said out of the blue.
“Pshaw,” said Mona. “As long as Mr. Beebs has his eye on Cassandra, we have no need to be concerned with that.”
Mr. Beebs was their landlord. He was the overseer at the Keep, an enormous castle nearby.
Cassandra got a smug gleam in her eye. “All it takes is a mere wave of my hand when he rides by for his jaw to drop and sweat to break out on his brow. He wouldn’t dare remove us.”