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Daisy could scarcely believe that her elderly father engaged in activities that would lead to a child, let alone a child born to a woman other than her mother. “Excuse me?”

“The first such child arrived within a month of your birth. Did you never wonder why you had no siblings? Why your father had no heir? Why he resides with us only rarely?”

Frankly, Daisy had been under the impression that her parents heartily disliked each other, which would naturally curtail the arrival of more children.

“Suppressing my maternal instincts, I never allowed the man into my bed again.” Her mother raised her chin, looking like the marble statue of Queen Britannia in front of St. Paul’s Cathedral, ready to martyr herself for her nation. “I sacrificed the siblings you might have had in order to protect both of us from the ignominy of your father’s character.”

“My goodness.” The baby was tugging at her hair, so Daisy began disentangling her fingers. “I never longed for siblings, given that Livie grew up with me in the nursery.”

“Livie’s mother, my sister-in-law, is a version of my husband. No one knows who Livie’s father is, but it was certainly not Sir Tyron.”

Daisy gasped. “But you told Livie—”

“I lied to Livie,” her mother snapped. “Your cousin would likely have turned down a perfectly good proposal on the grounds of her illegitimacy. I am surrounded by degenerates. My detestable brother married one, and I married another.” She sat down in an armchair with a thump, as if her knees suddenly gave way.

“I’m so sorry.” Daisy hesitated. “I gather that I have sisters or brothers, other than this one?”

“They are not your sisters or brothers,” her mother said, her voice grating. “They are by-blows of your father’s. Like everything unpleasant in his life, they are left for me to get rid of.” She raised a hand. “Don’t look at me like that, Daisy!”

“I am not looking at you in any particular fashion,” Daisy said, nestling the baby more snugly into the crook of her arm. “It’s just hard to understand.”

“I do not hold with blaming the child, but neither will I raise my husband’s bastards under my roof.” Lady Wharton’s shoulders slumped. “That’s why I took in Livie. I could save one such child. I raised her far from her dissolute mother, and Livie’s sweet nature and excellent marriage have rewarded all my efforts.”

Daisy’s hands trembled as she wrapped the blanket closer around her sister’s legs—because the little girl was her sister. A sudden memory came back to her: a childhood blanket, soft pale pink wool with a silk border. “I had a blanket like this, didn’t I?”

“I expect,” her mother said dismissively. “I hope you’re not making the mistake of thinking that the child’s mother is indigent, Daisy. I’m certain that she profited from your father’s attention.”

“What happened to the other children?” Daisy was barely able to choke out the question, but she had to know.

“I sent them to the Chelsea Orphanage, accompanied by fifty pounds each for maintenance, and I will do the same with this one,” her mother said heavily. “If the child is not adopted by the age of seven, I shall pay another fifty pounds to the Asylum for Female Orphans established by Sir John Fielding, where she will be taught a decent trade.”

At seven?

Daisy pulled the child closer, cuddling her protectively. Her mind was reeling. “The baby’s mother will miss her dreadfully. Wouldn’t it be better to give her money so she might raise her daughter herself?”

“The child is old enough to be weaned, so her mother brought it here, knowing that we would ensure her daughter had a better life than her own—just as I removed Livie from her home, and for the same reason,” Lady Wharton added, more gently.

Daisy swallowed hard. She and her cousin had always been told that Livie’s mother was too ill to raise her daughter.

“That child’s mother is likely a resident of one of the better sort of brothels. To the best of my knowledge, your father does not parley with nightwalkers.”

“Nightwalkers?”

“Women who walk the streets of London at night. You seem to know the definition of a brothel, Daisy, which affirms my belief that—”

“But Father lives in the country!” Daisy interrupted.

“Lord Wharton also has a London residence,” her mother stated, her expression suggesting that she had caught the whiff of a sewer. “He maintains a bachelor apartment in the Albany. I pay him to live apart from us, and I gather he finds the company of similarly debauched men to be congenial.”

Daisy felt this revelation like a physical blow. “How can that be?” she breathed. “Father has an apartment in town? We see him so rarely.”

“He dislikes society, and society dislikes him. I dislike him. He, on the other hand, never met a courtesan whom he didn’t like, which has led to at least three or four children born out of wedlock.”

The baby caught Daisy’s hair again, so she used that as an excuse not to look up. She couldn’t be surprised by the fact that her father’s aversion to polite society extended to his only legitimate daughter. She saw him rarely even when they visited the country, and he’d never hidden how irritating he found her chatter.

“Your father’s reluctance to accept his responsibilities has nothing to do with you, Daisy,” her mother said. “He loves you as much as he is capable, but he has never grown up. Think of him as perpetually young, convinced that the world will take care of any problems that come his way.”

Obviously, “the world” was Lady Wharton. No wonder her mother was so embittered.