“Thank you, Mr. Chase,” Amelia said. “I think that would be wise. Just for the journey. As a safeguard.”
Mr. Chase took her arm, and they swiftly headed toward the ladies’ entrance. He already knew the address, peculiarly. She pinned him with a glare once the coach got moving.
“Why is it that you and the widow feel you can insert yourselves into everyone’s lives and then use them for your own purposes?”
He grimaced. “To be fair, most of the people we deal with deserve it.”
Daisy scoffed.
“Dear, did you want to talk about it?” Amelia asked.
“No. I don’t.” Daisy clenched her teeth. She was saving every bitter ounce of rage for Cliffton.
Amelia shared a glance with Mr. Chase and it infuriated Daisy that she was the one to be made to feel so... socrazy,when she was the—
She couldn’t even say the words in her mind. Their journey to Marylebone passed in a red haze for Daisy. But by the time the carriage rolled to a stop. Daisy was nearly sick with the hate and rage twisting inside her.
“Stay in here,” Daisy said. “Please, for once, just do as I ask.” She didn’t want anyone else to hear what they had done to her. What they werewillingto do to her and her family.
“You didn’t ask, you ordered, but yes, if that is what you want,” Amelia said. “If you’re certain?”
“I have to do this alone.”
“Do what alone?” Mr. Chase asked.
“End my engagement.”
He exhaled. “We’ll be waiting here. You only need to shout, and I’ll hear it.”
“If you hear screaming, it won’t be from me.”
Amelia smiled at that. Daisy stepped out of the coach, clutching the diary to her chest, her grip on it so tight that her hand burned.
The door opened, and the butler greeted her. She’d been here many times in the past, and he knew her name.
“Miss Blakewood, you aren’t to arrive for some time yet. Her ladyship is not ready to receive visitors, and Lord Cliffton is abed.”
“This is urgent business, Mr. Weeds. Please tell the countess I am here to speak with her and her son.”
He lifted his chin, and she could see his refusal building. Daisy pushed passed him, surprising him. He stumbled back though he was a full head taller and two of her in width.
“Miss Blakewood,” he said harshly. Two footmen approached. Both tall, blond haired, and green eyed as Lady Claystone preferred.
“Tell her I’ve found her diary,” Daisy said. “I’ll wait for her in the drawing room.”
“If you could simply hand it to me—”
“No.” Daisy barked. He startled. She’d frightened him. Good. “She will see me, immediately.”
Daisy turned on her toe and went up the stairs to the drawing room. She sat stiffly on the sofa and waited. Her heart pounded so hard she couldn’t hear the ticking of the clock on the mantle.
“Go, you buffoon,” Came a crazed whisper from the hall, and Cliffton walked into the room, dressed in slippers and a dressing gown.
He smoothed his straight brown hair, waxed to part in the middle. His eyes were the same brown she remembered, his cheeks ruddy and plump. He wasn’t a heavy-set young man, but he had a round face—joyful, Daisy might have once said, if she were inclined to feel anything toward him at all other than malice.
“Miss Blakewood, what a charming surprise,” he said.
Daisy bit her tongue as a scream rose in her throat.
