Lifting her skirts, she hurried away in the direction of the tents while Everett remained cloaked in the shadows, her last words replaying in a loop through the hazy fog filling his mind.
I don’t know if we should have done that, but I liked it.
I liked it too, he thought silently…already planning for when they could do it again.
* * * * *
“Daisy Elizabeth White! Where have you beenthistime?” Mrs. White demanded when Daisy suddenly popped up behind her mother’s chair.
Three full names in the same day.
Surely it was a record.
“Nowhere,” she replied vaguely. “Just…filling a plate.”
“Food. Food.” Mrs. White rolled her eyes. “All you’re concerned about at these events is what’s on the menu. If you focused more on the gentleman in attendance and less on the shrimp–”
“What’s happened to your hair?” Violet asked from where she was seated beside their mother. Across the round table was another couple that Daisy did not recognize. They smiled politely when she glanced in their direction before continuing with their own conversation, their backs slightly turned.
“What’s wrong with my hair?” Reflexively touching her coiffure, she could have kicked herself when she found that the curls a maid had taken over an hour to painstakingly roll and then pin into place were waving about in every conceivable direction courtesy of Everett’s roving hands. Thankfully, before she could invent a plausible excuse that would explain her tangles, Daisy’s mother came up with one for her.
“You were climbing trees again, weren’t you?” Mrs. White said in a hushed, angry tone.
“Yes.” Her head bobbed enthusiastically. “Yes, I was.”
But Violet (who had snuck out of her fair share of windows to meet the blond-haired, blue-eyed son of the village doctor) did not appear convinced. “A tree? What kind of a tree could–?”
“What have I told you about your more adventurous hobbies?” Mrs. White interrupted. “Trees produce fruit, Daisy, not husbands!”
“Actually, quite a few produce nuts, as well,” Daisy pointed out helpfully. “The elm, the sweet chestnut, the silver birch, the walnut–”
“Enough,” Mrs. White hissed, her face beginning to the turn the off color, mottled purple it did whenever she was truly in a rage…or had indulged in more than one glass of wine. Too late, Daisy noticed the empty glass beside her mother’s plate. “That’senough. God granted us this rare chance to be here–”
“I thought it was Lord Hanover’s gout,” said Violet.
Mrs. White slumped in her chair and cast her gaze heavenward. “I’ve been cursed,” she said sorrowfully. “Cursed with three ungrateful,spoiled daughters that shall live with me until I have withered away from perpetual disappointment.”
“Don’t lump me in withher. I have been dancing all evening, and only stopped to catch my breath.”
“Cursed,” Mrs. White repeated woefully, dropping her head into her hands. “Cursed.”
“You’ve broken our mother,” Violet accused, frowning at Daisy.
Guilt tugged at the tattered edges of Daisy’s conscience. “I think it might have been the wine that did it. Look. She drank an entire glass.”
“Two,” Mrs. White hiccupped, blindly reaching for her cup and waving it in the air. “Footman! Footman, I’d like another, please.”
The sisters exchanged a startled glance, then immediately sprang into action.
“I’ll take one arm,” said Violet.
“I’ll take the other,” said Daisy.
Working in rare unison, they helped their mother out of her chair and guided her in a weaving line out the back of the tent and straight up to bed. From the loud snorts issuing from the adjoining chamber, it was clear that their father had been sleeping for some time, which came as no surprise. While Violet and Rose had inherited their love for socialization from Mrs. White, Daisy had Mr. White’s natural born aversion to any gathering that exceeded his number of fingers. Yet despite their fundamental differences, and their preference for separate rooms, the Whites were a model example of two people that loved and supported each other.
And maybe, Daisy thought as she pulled the covers over her mother’s shoulders, maybethatwas why she’d not taken any courtships seriously. Because some part of her had taken one look at the suitors available and had instinctively sensed that whatever they had to offer, it wasn’t up to par with what her parents already had.
She didn’t want to marry someone because of their title or the amount of money they had. She wanted to marry them because of how they made herfeel. She wanted to marry them because they made her heart race. She wanted to marry them because she loved them. She wanted to marry them because tonotdo so would mean a life spent without them, and such an existence was too bleak to even imagine.
