Chapter One
You Were Drinking Like a Fishwife
Summer 1815
Briarwood House
Hampshire, England
“Daisy Elizabeth White! For the last time, you cannot bring acrowto aball. It’s unseemly.” Mrs. White put her hands on her hips as she frowned at her youngest daughter in exasperation. “What will people say?”
“What they always say,” piped in Rose, the eldest. “That she’s strange.”
“And odd,” said Violet, the middle.
Named for flowers all, the White sisters might have passed for triplets if a bystander were to judge them solely by their appearance. Each born a year apart (a sin for which Mrs. White had yet to forgive Mr. White), they all had their mother’s red hair, their father’s blue eyes, and a dusting of freckles across their cheeks. But that was where the similarities ended.
Rose loved to sing and socialize.
Violet enjoyed playing the harp.
And Daisy…well, Daisy liked to spend time with her pet crow, Sir Vincent the Magnificent. So named for his beautiful black feathers, quick wit, and ability to do magic. Not real magic, of course. Thatwouldbe strange. But he could make an earring disappear in the blink of an eye and he’d been known to procure a handkerchief out of thin air. Granted he had tostealthe handkerchief first, but what was magic if not sleight of hand?
Or claw, in this case.
“Sir Vincent can hear you, you know,” she scolded gently, reaching up to her shoulder where the crow perched on a square piece of old shoe leather that she’d stitched onto her dress. One of her more ingenious ideas, it kept his sharp nails from digging into her skin.
Rose rolled her eyes. “He’s a bird.”
“He still has ears.”
“Where?” Violet asked curiously.
“I’m…I’m not sure,” Daisy admitted. “But they’re there. He can tell when you’re talking about him and when you’re saying not nice things.”
“We weren’t saying not nice things abouthim,” Rose pointed out. “We were saying them aboutyou.”
“Girls, that’s enough.” Removing the wire-rimmed spectacles she wore to read her beloved weekly newspaper that brought all of the best gossip straight from London, Mrs. White pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. “I’ll not listen to fighting this early in the morning. It’s upsetting for the digestion. Violet and Rose, you still need to get dressed if we’re going to call on Lady Hollibrook at half past ten. No, my dear,” she said when Daisy’s mouth opened. “You absolutelycannotbring Sir Vincent. Heaven only knows why we were extended an invitation to tea, but we’re not about to squander this opportunity by letting a crow loose in her parlor.”
“I will stay here, then.” Breaking off a piece of toast from what remained on her breakfast plate, Daisy held it up to Sir Vincent and the crow daintily plucked the treat from her grasp. “I don’t desire to go anywhere my pet isn’t wanted. That also includes ballrooms.”
Mrs. White slipped on her spectacles and blinked. “Should I offer my congratulations? I’m so very sorry. I wasn’t aware.”
“Congratulations for what?” Daisy asked warily.
“For your marriage to a titled, wealthy husband.” Beside Mrs. White, Violet let out a loud snort. “You must have had a wedding while I was unawares, for that would be the only possible excuse for missing tea with one of the most influential matrons in the entireton. You are aware who Lady Hollibrook’s father-in-law is, are you not?”
“The Duke of Cranbrook,” Rose chirped.
Mrs. White nodded sagely. “The Duke of Cranbrook.”
“I’d like him better if he were the Duck of Cranbrook,” Daisy muttered, scuffing her bare toes (she abhorred shoes right along with stuffy dukes) on the edge of the drawing room’s blue and gold rug.
“AndIwould like if my daughters made suitable matches before the start of another Season! If we return to London without so much as an engagement, I won’t be able to show my face in polite society.”
“We’retrying,” said Violet, glancing at Rose, whose red curls fluttered as she bobbed her head in agreement. “It’s Daisy that’s not putting in any effort.”
Daisy crossed her arms. “I am, too.”
