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“That child’s name, by the way, is likely Belle, as I see it embroidered onto her blanket. I suppose her mother is one of the Frenchwomen who escaped the war in Paris. I understand that the better brothels employ hussies from that country.”

The words filtered into Daisy’s head and then came into focus like a slap of cold water to the face. Her mother’s disdain for women fleeing a war-torn country set her teeth on edge, but she put that aside for the moment.

“Do you think more children have been born who were not brought to this doorstep?”

“Almost certainly. I consider it a great misfortune that Lord Wharton’s hair color breeds so true. Anyone who saw that child in proximity to you would recognize your common features.”

Belle squealed, catching another lock of Daisy’s white-blonde hair and chortling as strands ran through her chubby fingers.

“You needn’t look so woebegone,” her mother observed. “Why do you think I don’t allow dissolute old men to propose to you? As a girl, I was fooled by Lord Wharton, but I quickly learned that he had married me only to repair his estate, a fact that did not translate to loyalty on his part. Younger men are more malleable. You may not be able to command fidelity, but the fact that I will leave you my estate should ensure reasonable civility.”

“I see.”

“I am always looking out for your best interests. The last thing I want is for you to end up in a situation like mine.” Lady Wharton’s voice rasped. “I have rejected all men who resemble your father, such as Lord Devin.”

Daisy’s head swung up. “What about Lord Devin?”

“Older than you and a reputation like a cesspit,” her mother said promptly. “Thoroughly debauched. He regularly frequents places of ill repute.”

“Truly?” Daisy asked weakly, though she already knew that to be true. Miles hadn’t been wearing a mask at the Rothingale masquerade. He had been prowling around the ballroom, boldly looking for a night’s entertainment.

“I had to tell him to cut his friendship with Lord Rothingale, a lecherous miscreant who attempted to elope with the man’s own sister! It shows Lord Devin’s disdain for civilized behavior, given that a woman who is not even a relative had to point out such a salient fact.”

“Wait,” Daisy said, the context suddenly dawning on her. “Are you saying that Lord Devin offered to marry me?”

“Only because he witnessed your ripped gown. I’ll give him that—he responded as a gentleman and showed up the following morning with a lackluster proposal. I turned him down, of course. I will never countenance you ending up in a marriage like mine. If only my mother had cared for me as I care for you!”

“You shouldn’t have refused him,” Daisy blurted out. “At the very least, you should have let me know that he had proposed.”

Her mother’s lip curled. “What if you had been seduced by his rakish ways? Do you want your marriage to include the odd baby dropped on your doorstep?”

“I should have liked to make the choice.”

“Once upon a time, I made a choice between an urbane, sophisticated older man and a fresh-faced puppy …”

Her mother went on, but Daisy stopped listening. Miles had proposed to her. She felt again the heat of his body behind her, the desire in his eyes, the temptation in his deep voice.

A sharp contrast to the indifferent, sardonic glances she had received from him in the last weeks.

Happiness welled up in her—and dissipated just as quickly. She truly didn’t want to marry a man whose children were sprinkled around the country like unwanted kittens. With a shiver, she realized that Belle’s existence implied that discarded children could be found everywhere, one of the many secrets kept from young ladies.

Looking down at her sister, she decided that her infatuation with Lord Devin was over. As dead as her innocence.

“Therefore, I refused his request for your hand,” Lady Wharton concluded.

“Mother, I cannot relinquish Belle to an orphanage. She is my sister.” Daisy leaned down to kiss the baby’s forehead. The baby had stuck her thumb in her mouth, but she took it out and gave Daisy a sunny smile.

“Nonsense,” her mother snapped. “Use your head, Daisy! I know you’re impulsive but try not to be so foolish. That child looks just like you. Your suitors will dissolve into air like cloud castles if gossip spreads about her parentage. Since we were excluded from society last year, we can’t point to your ongoing presence at social events to protect your reputation.”

“We could tell the truth,” Daisy suggested.

“Tell the truth?” Her mother’s voice rose. “That my innocent daughter is sheltering a doxy’s offspring?” She let out a fierce bark of laughter. “At least now people assume that your father and I are merely ill-disposed to live together, not that he blatantly betrays his marriage vows on a weekly basis.”

“We could hide Belle on the third floor, in the nursery,” Daisy said. “We could dye her hair with walnut juice.”

Her mother snorted. “Absolutely not.”

Daisy’s mind spun helplessly. “We could send her to the country estate, to the care of a good woman.”