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The sound of her own voice brought her back to her senses with a crash. The more relevant question was: who are you?

Given that Daisy might have been looking at a breathing portrait of herself as a babe, the answer was not going to be welcome.

“Bloody hell!” she whispered hoarsely, looking yet again at the empty street before she snatched the basket and backed into the entry.

When she pushed the front door closed, the child startled awake. Daisy placed the basket on the floor and crouched beside it.

She had blue eyes. Daisy had blue eyes.

Since Daisy definitely hadn’t given birth in the last few months, this child …

Her heart sank.

The baby smiled, wide and guileless, her eyes shining. She had one darling tooth in the front of her mouth. “Moo, moo!” A small hand waved in the air before wrapping around one of Daisy’s fingers.

“Moo to you too,” Daisy crooned. “You are a sweetheart, aren’t you? I wonder what your name is?” She didn’t see a letter, but surely no mother would desert her child without some sort of message.

“What on earth are you doing?”

Daisy whipped her head about. Her mother was poised at the top of the stairs, looking down with an expression of pure horror. Daisy sprang to her feet. “Mother, perhaps you should sit down. Or rather, come downstairs and then sit down.”

“Is that a basket of fruit or a child?” Lady Wharton’s tones were frigid. She showed no signs of imminent hysterics, but of course, she hadn’t seen the baby. She didn’t realize that it was almost certainly a member of the family.

So to speak.

Picking up the basket, Daisy walked into the drawing room and sat down, placing the child at her feet. Her mother deserved privacy during this painful realization, and Tangle might emerge from the breakfast room at any second.

The child was kicking her blanket, trying to free herself. “Moo, moo, moo!” she crowed.

Lady Wharton closed the drawing room door and leaned back against it as if a horde of soldiers were threatening to break in. She cleared her throat. “Where did that come from?” Her words emerged staccato, like the raps of drumsticks.

“She is a baby girl, some months old, and she was on the doorstep.”

“It does not belong here.” Her voice was uncompromising.

“Someone left her for us to find,” Daisy said, trying to find the right words. “Mother, won’t you please come look at her?”

“No. I prefer to summon Tangle to remove it.”

Daisy frowned. “Surely you agree that we must discover the child’s mother.” She began feeling around the basket, trying to find a letter.

The child caught hold of her sleeve and babbled some more. She was plump and happy, presumably loved and well cared for.

“Darling girl,” Daisy whispered, “something must tell us who you are.” She picked up the baby and popped her into the crook of her arm, the better to look under the blanket.

“Moo!”

“I would have protected you from this knowledge,” her mother said heavily, walking toward them. “She’s one of my husband’s by-blows. There’s no doubt about it.”

Daisy had already reached that conclusion. She cleared her throat. “In that case, my father might …”

“Lord Wharton will either have no idea of the mother’s name or dishonestly claim as much,” her mother said, folding her arms and staring down at the child.

“This is not the first baby to land on our doorstep, Daisy.”

EPISODE NINETY NINE

A REPUTATION LIKE A CESSPIT