“For your information–”
“Girls, that’s enough,” Mrs. White said sharply. “In case you have not been made aware, we’ve had a rare opportunity bestowed upon us. Lady Hollibrook does not invite just anyone to her annual summer house party. It is an extremely private event, dare I saw above our normal social reach, and we will not squander this chance by engaging in common squabbles.” She pointed at each daughter in turn, her finger lingering the longest on Daisy. “Youwillbehave yourselves. Youwillmake your father and me proud. And, God willing, our familywillwalk away from this with an engagement to announce. Now finish getting dressed, we still have to do your hair.”
* * * * *
The white tents glowed from within, casting triangular shaped shadows across the lawn. Some servants circled amidst the throng of elegantly dressed guests balancing silver platters boasting an array of cutlets, shrimp, and roasted vegetables cut to size, while others handed out bubbly flutes of champagne. On a dais covered in a blanket of woven roses, a quartet of musicians played a lively melody while a handful of couples danced across a flat wooden stage. Peacocks, their beautiful tails trailing behind them, strutted freely through the crowd, pausing every now and then to peck at a dropped shrimp tail.
From a safe distance away, Daisy observed the festivities whilst nibbling at a full plate of food. If she were being honest, she’d have to admit that she found herself intimidated by the sheer size and stature of those in attendance. In addition to Lord and Lady Hollibrook, there were viscounts, earls, and even a duke or two, excluding the Duke of Cranbrook, whom apparently was due to arrive on the morrow.
Courtesy of the private tutors and governesses forced upon her, Daisy possessed a moderate dance skill and the ability to socialize without tripping over her own tongue. But that didn’t mean shelikedto waltz or gossip. Quite the contrary. Unlike her sisters, who were positively basking in all of the attention, she preferred the company of the oak tree behind her to any pompous, self-entitled aristocrat.
That being said, she had been on the lookout for one pompous, self-entitled aristocrat in particular…but if the stranger from the stables planned to make an appearance at the reception, he hadn’t done so yet.
“I wish Sir Vincent were here,” she told the tree, and nearly jumped a foot off the ground when the tree replied.
“Who is Sir Vincent?” Firelight from the torches staked along the sides of the ballroom stage illuminated the familiar shape of the stranger’s countenance as he stepped out from behind the oak and flashed his teeth in a grin that was more devilish than kind. “A long lost lover, perhaps? Or a beau you’ve been yearning over from afar?”
“I’ve never yearned over anyone,” Daisy informed him, crossing her arms as her pulse, which had leapt from the surprise of being snuck up upon, gradually returned to a regular rhythm. “And Sir Vincent isn’t even a person. He’s a crow. A carrion crow, to be precise. I had to leave him behind to come here, and I’m not happy about it.”
“I can see that.” The stranger’s mouth flattened into a serious line, but above it his gray eyes sparked with mirth. “A dog that eats invitations and a pet crow with the name of a man. Tell me, Miss White, what other pets do you harbor?”
“No,” she said.
He arched a brow. “No?”
“You don’t get to learn anything else about me until you tell me your name.”
“What do you want my name for?”
“So I know what to call you.”
“That implies we’re going to have another conversation. Was I unclear when I told you to run away?”
“Youcame up tomethis time,” she reminded him.
He smiled at her. It wasn’t a quick, condescending smirk or a devilish grin but a real, genuine, slow smile that reached all the way up to the corners of his eyes and made her stomach do a funny feeling flip, like it did whenever the carriage went down a hill too fast.
Belatedly, she noted that he’d exchanged his rumpled waistcoat for a sleek black jacket that accentuated the breadth of his shoulders, and a white cravat that stood out in stark contrast against his golden skin. His hair was combed and slicked away from his temple save a rebellious curl that dangled temptingly above his right eye, daring her to brush it back. His jaw was clean shaven. His boots were polished. Were it not for the wicked glint in his eye, she’d almost be fooled into believing he was a real gentleman instead of a well-dressed pirate.
“Everett,” he said, the three-syllables rolling off his tongue like a cascade of rough velvet. “My name, Miss White, is Everett.”
Her eyes widened. “You’reLord Hollibrook’s heir?”
His nose wrinkled. “Perish the thought. I’m seven years older than that young pup. We merely share the same moniker. You ask me, Lord Hollibrook stole it.”
“I don’t think you can steal a name.”
“Says the woman named after a flower.” Then Everett did the same thing he’d done in the stables. He reached out and captured a loose tendril of hair that had tumbled free of her coiffure, his gaze darkening as he studied the auburn coil. “Amaryllis, rose, poppy. All red flowers, but I can see why you weren’t named after them.”
“Why–why is that?” she asked, her breath catching.
“Because then they’d spend the rest of their lives in jealousy for being constantly compared to such vibrant beauty.” He dropped the curl to slide his hand around the nape of her neck, the tips of his gloved fingers aligning with the delicate line of her vertebrae. “You really shouldn’t have been standing out here all alone, Miss White.”
Daisy’s heart began to pound, as it had before.
She felt slightly dizzy.
Her palms were damp.
