Kieran Kramer - If You Give A Girl A Viscount

“How could you?” Cassandra said accusingly to her from an elaborate blue velvet sofa.

Daisy was seated on a hard, Egyptian-style chair herself. “What did I do?”

Cassandra huffed. “You made it sound as if I would simply jump into Mr. King’s bed. Or that I was a cow at market, ready to be bought.”

Mona had begun work on a pillow. Her tongue stuck out of her mouth at the most awful angle as she attempted to jab the thread through the needle. But then she skewered Daisy with a knowing look. “I suspect I know why you’re fobbing Cassandra off on the Virginian.”

“Oh?” Daisy longed for more wine.

Mona narrowed her eyes. “You want the viscount. We told you to stay away from him.”

Cassandra twirled a curl. “I care nothing for the American bird-watcher.”

“Perhaps you should,” said Daisy. “He might be more wealthy than the viscount. And he does have that house with the balcony.”

Cassandra furrowed her brow. “I don’t care. Lord Lumley is a far better catch, and if you continue to interfere with my getting him, Daisy, I’ll tell him everything I know.”

Daisy bit her lip. “You already told him about the fire.”

“I’ll tell him the rest,” Cassandra insisted. “I’ll tell him about Cousin Roman. You drank too much with him that night, too.”

“No I didn’t,” Daisy protested. “I had one glass of sour wine with Roman, no more than you had. This is the very first time I’ve ever drunk more than one glass. And no wonder. Tonight’s was a fine vintage.”

The others snickered, and Daisy’s heart sank. She would never win. Ever.

Drinking wine tonight hadn’t helped her in the least. Her fuzzy glow was now gone.

Everything was bleak.

Perdita sighed, oblivious to the tension. “I like Mr. King. In fact, I’d like to make him”—she gazed round the company to see if they were paying attention—“the king of my heart.”

Daisy couldn’t help being a bit scornful of her stepsister’s attempt at rendering the mushy feelings she felt toward Mr. King into something poetic.

But Charlie’s the king of your heart, Daisy, a ridiculous voice inside her head told her.

Right, she told it back. And I’m a beautiful, wealthy heiress with a large bosom and a saint for a stepmother.

She did not have a tendre for Lord Lumley, not in the least. She only wanted to kiss him sometimes. And lie with him naked.

And receive great pleasure from him—give it to him, too, if she only knew how—although that was neither here nor there.

None of that had anything to do with love.

Of course, she was still clueless as to what love actually was, but at least she knew what love wasn’t. That was almost as helpful.

She knew tingly feelings all over your body when you looked at someone didn’t necessarily mean that you were in love.

Nor did the odd daydream wondering how a certain man must appear with no clothes on signify you were in love.

And looking forward to private time so you could discuss a money-raising project you were working on together—a project that was a bit dicey and could fail and that might get one kicked out of one’s home, fear of which only a warm, naked hug and perhaps a few hot kisses could alleviate—well, that didn’t mean one was in love, either.

She was sure she was becoming very wise, in her own way, about love.

“Well, Perdita,” she said, “you barely know Mr. King, so it would be prudent not to get your hopes up in that direction. Did you notice how much the Spanish marquis liked you?”

Perdita glared at her. “He is not the king of my heart.”

“I hear the castles in Spain, particularly those along the coast in southern Spain, are much warmer than the ones up here,” Daisy said nonchalantly.

“I don’t care,” Perdita said. “Wait a minute. Is that my old gown you’re wearing?”

Daisy shrugged. “What if it is? You put it in the rag basket ages ago. I merely altered it.”

“It has no frills anymore.”

“Precisely,” said Daisy. “As you’ve proven tonight with your new sense of style, frills and flounces are all well and good in moderation, but too many of them mask a lady’s true beauty. You are more beautiful tonight than I’ve ever seen you, Perdita.”

Which was still a long way from beauty, but it wasn’t a lie. Perdita had inched closer to being acceptable in appearance, and Daisy wanted to give her every bit of encouragement she could to stay on a less flouncy, frilly path.

“You’re just complimenting me because you took my gown without asking.” Perdita roared.

“Ssshh!” Daisy held her finger to her mouth.

“Besides,” Perdita whispered loudly, “what would someone as plain as you know about true beauty?”

Daisy threw down her needlework and stood. “That’s enough. I don’t have to listen to your insults. I’m your stepsister, Perdita, or have you forgotten?”

Perdita made a disgusting scoffing noise that sounded as if she were sick to her stomach.

Daisy flinched. “Do you have any love for me at all?” she asked her.

Mona snorted. “Are you going to let her get by with spouting that nonsense, Perdy?” She always enjoyed a good sparring match between Daisy and Perdita and made no secret of the fact that she always wanted Perdita to win.

Perdita ignored Daisy’s question. “Your future is over. Mine has only begun.”

“Why do you say that?” Daisy felt hot anger rising through her body.

Perdita shrugged. “I don’t know. But it’s true.”

Daisy’s anger burst from her in a torrent of words: “Don’t be so sure. I’ve had it with all three of you. I don’t intend to endure your lack of feeling much longer.”

Mona sucked in her cheeks. “Exactly what do you mean by that, young lady?”

Daisy instantly regretted speaking. “I won’t tolerate your cruelties.”

Mona was as still as a cat in the seconds before it catches its prey. “Don’t think you can fob me off. You speak as if you plan to leave us. But you wouldn’t leave Hester or Joe. And you certainly couldn’t support them if you took them with you. So I’m left to conclude that you’re suggesting that we shall be the ones leaving, Perdita, Cassandra, and I.”

There was a beat of silence. Daisy had no idea what to say. A deep-seated fear of her stepmother gripped her throat like a chokehold.

Cassandra sat up straighter. “Why, you’re wicked!”

“No,” said Daisy. “I never said that. And I’m not wicked. You are, not me. All three of you are.” That great anger was threatening to overwhelm her again.

“You’re up to something,” Mona said in menacing tones, “and I intend to find out what it is. And when I do, you’d best be prepared. Because a stepmother betrayed is a stepmother who will make you pay. Until it hurts. Oh, excuse me.” She put a finger to her mouth and reconsidered. “Until it hurts very badly.”

Perdita and Cassandra laughed. Thank God the Keep was so large and that the library was far enough away that the gentlemen couldn’t hear.

Shivers of disgust and fear ran down Daisy’s spine. “What have I ever done to you, except try to be a good sister and daughter? Why do all of you hate me so much?”

Mona merely arched one eyebrow.

Perdita stuffed a chocolate in her mouth and chomped in Daisy’s general direction.

Cassandra wore an awful smirk on her beautiful face.

“I’ll leave you to yourselves,” Daisy told them, sick to her stomach that they hadn’t bothered to answer.

Their mocking laughter followed her out. She’d never felt so miserable and alone in her life.

But even worse, she felt afraid. Mona had caught on that Daisy didn’t want her at Castle Vandemere.

Surrounded by a dozen gentlemen as wealthy or more than he and whose interests somewhat overlapped (Charlie had never claimed to be a bird-watcher), he decided he’d never felt so miserable and alone in his life. The whisky and brandy had made the travelers talkative, but eventually, even they grew tired. So it was with much relief that he stood when the men eventually called it a night a little after midnight.

“Sleep well, gentlemen,” he told them as they filed past him at the door to the library.

“I thought I saw a buxom maid or two about the premises,” said Mr. Woo in a leading fashion.

A few of the others made suggestive remarks about the maids, as well.

“Yes, well, even buxom maids need their sleep, don’t they?” Charlie said.

Mr. Woo lowered his brow. “The Highland experience doesn’t include Highland lasses?”

“No. It doesn’t.” Charlie couldn’t care less if the man were offended. He saw how hard the villagers had worked today. He’d seen the pride on their faces when he’d complimented their cleaning and cooking.

Obviously, Mr. Woo assumed Charlie was to provide opportunities for bedroom activities as part of their arrangement. Charlie knew the upper classes were used to getting what they wanted. But he refused to acknowledge the men’s more unseemly expectations.

Their bedchambers were situated on one long, candlelit corridor that turned at a right angle in the middle. As the first two visitors went to their rooms, escorted by footmen, Charlie couldn’t help wondering where Daisy was situated.

He knew she was on the floor above theirs. Was her room directly above his own? He’d like to imagine it was. He was sure she was fast asleep.

But there she was, striding confidently toward him. He should have known she’d yet be awake for one reason or another. She carried a sputtering candle in her hand and was still dressed for dinner. But now she wore a gorgeous pink blossom over one ear.