Lord Ivyford shook his head. “Harry needs no help from me, Miss Ames.”
Then it was Doctor Hasting’s turn to escort her through the figures of the dance. After a small exchange of pleasantries, the doctor lowered his voice and leaned nearer her. “I must admit, I have been concerned for Harry’s welfare for some time. He did not have very much direction. Since meeting you, he has embraced his responsibilities in a way that ensures his success. Thank you for that.”
Daisy blushed at the praise. “Mr. Devon is a good man. He found his way on his own, I am certain.”
The doctor’s smile was knowing. “It is fascinating how quickly a gentleman can find his way when inspired by a woman.”
Then Mr. Gilbert claimed her hand. His usual friendly demeanor set her at ease, and he did not attempt to speak to her of Harry until he escorted her to Lord Annesbury. Just before giving her hand to the earl, he said, “Harry is a fortunate man to hold your esteem, Miss Ames.”
She was blushing when she turned to the Earl of Annesbury, who looked as though being granted her hand was a great pleasure.
“Miss Ames, you are most popular this evening. People are beginning to comment.” His lips twitched with humor. As she had known Lord Annesbury for the whole of her life, Daisy was not nearly so intimidated by him as she had been by the Earl of Ivyford.
“Two peers asking me to dance, a distinguished gentleman from the neighborhood, and a celebrated doctor from Bath also taking my hand would likely make people suspicious.” She bit her bottom lip to keep from grinning. “Of course, as I have been in the company of Mr. Devon a great deal of late, and each of you have ties to him, I would wager most are watching Mr. Devon with equal interest.”
His lordship laughed and exchanged hands with another woman on the floor before appearing in front of Daisy again. “You do not mind that we are making a spectacle of you?”
Daisy shook her head. “Not at all, my lord.” She turned to find Harry along the line. Though she had not glanced his way before, attempting to give her full attention to her partners, she had known exactly where he was in the room at each moment.
Harry caught her eye and she watched his expression change from contentment to something else. His eyes darkened, his pleasant smile changed to an expectant, peaceful sort of look. Though they were half a room away, she could feel his affection in that one glance. Her heart replied in kind to the look of love.
“I thought I might torture Harry further by asking Marcus to dance with you,” the earl said, bringing her attention back to him. He grinned at her, his blue eyes sparkling. “But I think it best you step outside for a little fresh air after all your dancing.”
Then he took her arm and guided her to the wide doors leading to the terrace. A moment later, Harry appeared, the Countess of Annesbury on his arm.
“My lord and cousin, your wife wishes to speak with you.” Then Harry’s eyes met hers and she could not look away.
“Excellent,” he lordship said. “Miss Ames has need of some fresh air. An exchange of partners seems to be in order.”
Harry’s hand took hers, warm through their gloves, and then they stepped outside. Daisy did not care who was watching or what they might say. They stayed within sight of the open door, as was proper, the cold winter air cooling the heat in her cheeks. They kept their backs to the ballroom.
“I feel I must apologize for my family,” Harry said, bringing them to the railing overlooking the snow-covered gardens. The warmth from the ballroom lingered, keeping Daisy from truly feeling the cold.
Daisy leaned her shoulder against Harry’s. enjoying the feel of his coat against her arm. “There is no need. I quite adore them, and all they wished to do was assure me of all your good qualities.”
He chuckled and looked down at her, light from the ballroom casting half his handsome face in shadow. “Then you are in good humor with me tonight?”
“The very best,” she agreed readily, grinning up at him, grateful beyond measure to love such a man. “You have always had a good heart, Harry. Thank you for being patient with me, even when I forgot that wonderful fact.”
Harry dipped his head toward her, his blue eyes earnest. “Daisy, I would wait forever for you, if it meant securing your heart to mine.”
Her breath caught. “You have my heart. The whole of it. I—I love you, Harry.” It was the first time she had spoken such words aloud, and her heart raced expectantly, hoping to hear—
“I love you, Daisy. I wish to be with you always, becoming a better man. Perhaps one day, I will deserve you. But until then, I hope to convince you to show faith in my attempt. Would you marry me, Daisy?” he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered, her heart bursting within, as though a thousand fireworks had gone off inside her chest at once. “It is my honor to become your wife.”
A voice loudly whispered from behind. “Is he going to kiss her?”
Daisy’s cheeks warmed as she and Harry glanced over their shoulder to see all three of his sisters standing in the doorway, their husbands behind them, blocking anyone who might be trying to see from the ballroom but staring most unashamedly themselves.
Harry narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth, obviously prepared to offer a scathing retort, but Daisy laughed. His attention came back to her. Standing on her toes, Daisy lifted her lips toward his. “He had better kiss her,” she murmured.
His mischievous grin appeared just before he swept her up in his arms and gave her an ardent, and most impressive, kiss.
***
Thank you for reading Harry and Daisy’s love story. If you would like to read the first book in the series, The Social Tutor, you can find it here.
If you would like to pre-order the first book in Sally’s next series, Rescuing Lord Inglewood, click here! A sneak peek of the book can be found after the author notes and acknowledgements.
And you’re always welcome to join Sally’s newsletter, where you’re certain to get the best book news and book deals first.
Author’s Notes
In the early nineteenth century, there was no education system in England controlled by the government. The Church of England had established schools throughout the country, but not enough to educate all the children. There were no laws in place governing the education of children either. In many parishes, it was the priests who taught school to boys and girls, and in London a man named Thomas Cranfield funded several “Ragged Schools” for the poor. Daisy Ames’s desire to provide at least part time education for the little girls of her village was inspired by several accounts I found of women, usually noble or upper-class ladies, who offered “Sunday Schools” in their own homes. It wasn’t until the late nineteenth century that there were laws enacted protecting a child’s right to an education.
In regards to the end of this series, I hope you have enjoyed it immensely. I have loved these characters as I have come to know them through their love stories. I hope you revisit them again and again.
I also hope you enjoy my next series, titled simply Inglewood. Releasing in Summer 2019. There is a sneak peek in just a few pages.
Acknowledgements
There are always so many people to thank! I hardly know where to begin. I’ll start with my husband, Skye, who has encouraged my every effort in the writing community and with all my books. He’s helped me figure out fight scenes, boat tipping scenes, and kissing scenes. None of my books would be possible without his incredible support.
I must also thank my children, who are patient with Mommy’s work. Darlings, I love you.
While I was writing this book, I received several texts and encouraging messages from my uncles and aunts. I’ve dedicated this book partially to them. “We are so proud of you” was texted to me by several of them, at a time when I needed encouragement. Thank you for loving me. I’ll try to name as many characters as possible after all of you!
Thank you to my critique group, who always help me start strong, Joanna Barker, Arlem Hawks, Heidi Kimball, and Megan
Walker, thank you for cheering me on. I have learned so much from each of you and I am honored to be part of our little group.
I’m thankful for Shaela Kay, my friend, alpha-reader, and cover-designer. You’ve brought my characters to life in more ways than one. I will forever be grateful we found each other.
To Jenny Proctor, who arrived late in the series and has been an incredible help as my editor. Thank you for helping me get the story and the words right, Jenny.
And to Sally’s Sweet Romance Fans, my Facebook group for readers. You wonderful people keep me going with your kind words and encouragement. Here is Harry’s story at last. I hope you love it!
Finally, I am grateful for the author groups The Writing Gals, American Night Writers Association, and Storymakers.
See you all next series.
Please enjoy this sample of Sally Britton’s next novel,
Rescuing Lord Inglewood
Chapter One
March of 1814
Esther Fox kept her arm through her friend’s as they walked past the stately homes of Grosvenor Square, the tall white townhouses looming over them like the cliffs of dover. A few paces behind, their maids followed. “We have all of summer before us to do as we please, and then you may try again,” Esther said, more determined than cheerful. “You mustn’t let one gentleman’s lack of interest disappoint you so.”
Miss Judith Linton, three years younger than Esther and certainly less experienced in the ways of the ton, continued to appear rather pale and tragic. Esther remembered feeling similarly at the end of her own first Season, and then at the end of the second. But coming to the end of her third, once more without an offer of marriage, she found it was not as bleak a situation as she had before supposed.
“He flirted so, and always danced with me twice,” the young woman said, her eyes lowered to the walk. “I thought he would at least have the decency to make an offer.”
“He is rather young himself. Perhaps he is not ready to give up bachelorhood.” Esther thought that the most likely thing, given the gentleman in question was but twenty-one years of age. Gentlemen could afford to wait until they were forty, if they wished it, before even considering marriage. Ladies, on the other hand, were given half a dozen years to make a match before spinsterhood set upon them. As Esther’s third season came to a close, and as she was now twenty years old, her time had begun to run out.
Putting that thought from her mind, Esther cast her eyes about to find something to distract Miss Linton. “Oh, look at the gardens, my dear. Are they not lovely?”
The garden park across the street was well tended, with rolling green lawns and beautiful flowers lining the walk. “Would you like to take a walk there?” she asked, preparing to step in that direction.
“No. The blooms make my nose itch.” Miss Linton’s unfortunate nose twitched at the very idea, it seemed.
What else might be a pleasant distraction? Esther ought to be adept at finding things to occupy the mind. She had done little else for herself for the past two years, living with her stepbrother and his wife while her natural brother was away at war. If she was not trying to take her mind off of her stepbrother’s wife and all her demands, she was trying to forget that Isaac faced French soldiers and their bayonets.
Esther put those thoughts away again, as hastily as possible, and gave her full attention to her friend.
“Would you like to go to Gunter’s this afternoon? My stepbrother will loan us his phaeton and driver, I am certain.”
Miss Linton’s lower lip receded slightly and her eyebrows drew together. “I do like the orange ice. It is most refreshing.”
“I like the mint tea, too.” Esther brightened, pleased she remembered Miss Linton’s weakness for the cold treats. She looked ahead, at number 21 Grosvenor Square, and stopped walking immediately. “Oh, Miss Linton, look. It appears Lady Sparton is redecorating in the Greek style.”
“Dear me.” Miss Linton looked ahead, her eyes growing rounder.
There were laborers before number 21, uncrating a very large statue. Ropes dangled from a window three floors above street level as other men put a pulley system into place. The marble statue was larger than life, and when the last side of the crate dropped it was plain to see the Greek god Hermes in full motion, with winged sandals and flowing robes.
“My mother says people filing their homes with pagan statues is not at all appropriate,” Miss Linton murmured, sounding scandalized.
“I think it interesting.” Esther watched the men scurry about, more ropes going about the statue while two ropes with hooks were lowered from above. “Emulating an ancient society, while purporting to be modern, is something of a paradox. We dress our hair like Grecian statues, quote their philosophers, and still hold ourselves to the strictures of our society.”
Miss Linton said nothing, and when Esther glanced at her friend, she saw the young woman staring at her, eyebrows drawn down and frowning in confusion.
“Never mind, Miss Linton.” Esther gave her friend a pat on the arm. “Come, let us go closer so we might watch Hermes rise into the air.”
“Hermes?” the girl asked, looking back to the statue. “Is that someone important?”
Esther refrained from giving an explanation, but hurried her friend along the walkway. They stopped perhaps fifteen feet from the statue, just as the men prepared to hoist it from the ground. Rocking forward on her toes, Esther could barely keep hold of her excitement. Others along the walk had stopped as well, further back, or across the street, to watch. She looked at the different expressions people wore, seeing some appear as disapproving as Miss Linton’s mother would be, and others who appeared amused.
But a spectacle was a spectacle, and people would be speaking of Lady Sparton’s redecoration for days, if not weeks.
Her eyes went back to the statue, now rising slowly from the ground, then to the men backing up as they pulled on their ropes. The path beneath the statue remained clear in all directions. People murmured and spoke, she turned when a child laughed to see a little boy in the arms of his nurse, pointing upward. Though Esther knew few of the people surrounding her, being in the midst of a crowd enjoying the same sight as she gave her a blessed moment of belonging.
She looked upward, studying the pulleys fixed to rods over the house, and let her eyes trail down the ropes. Was that rope fraying? Surely not. Esther shaded her eyes and peered more intently, not caring how unladylike the gesture might appear, and then she gasped. The rope was fraying. Several cords were sticking out, untwisting from the braid.
But there were two ropes, so even if one failed, nothing terrible ought to happen.
Except the balance would be upset. The man on the good rope might lose his grip.
She turned her attention to the men pulling the statue up, wondering if they were staring at the fraying rope as she had, seeing the possible dangers. The sun was in their eyes, which they had closed against the light.
Esther looked from the men to the rope, to the statue, to the distance Hermes must yet rise.
It is only a statue, she told herself. If it falls, it falls. She bit her bottom lip, knowing to cry out would not help the situation. Perhaps the statue would make it to the top before the rope gave way. No harm done.
Her gaze fell to the walkway and her heart stuttered. A man walked toward 21 Grosvenor Square, staring at the ground, and moving at a fast enough clip to give her reason to believe he would not stop. In fact, he appeared oblivious to the sight enthralling everyone else.
Without thought, Esther slipped away from Miss Linton, a cry of warning on her lips. Her eyes went up to the rope again and an invisible hand closed around her throat. In a moment of perfect clarity, she knew the rope would fully give way, and at the moment the unknowing gentleman walked beneath the statue. The small crowds watching were too preoccupied to see what she could see, a true horror unfolding before her.
Acting quickly, Esther ran forward as fast as she could, grateful for all the footraces she
’d run against her brother long ago. She stretched both hands out before her. She heard the snap of the rope above her head. Esther did not slow, but ran directly into the body of the man with all the force at her disposal, knocking them both down to the ground. She landed atop him, a horrific crack sounding at the same instant her world went black.
***
One moment, Silas seriously contemplated whether there were any men of sense in the House of Lords, and the next her found himself flying backward to the ground. His arms came up reflexively, wrapping around the slim figure of the woman literally flinging herself at him, as though doing so might protect at least one of them from the fall. As he hit the ground with the woman atop him, the air pushed out of his lungs, his eye caught a white blur hurtling from above.
A horrific crack assaulted his ears and echoed against the houses on the square, and somewhere a person screamed. Or several people screamed. Then there was movement all around him, coming from everywhere, except—
He looked down at the head of deep brown curls upon his chest, realizing the woman in his arms had not moved since their inelegant landing. Silas started to sit up, cradling the woman against him. Was she hurt? What had happened?
As though hearing his muddled thoughts, a man knelt next to Silas and started speaking rapidly. “Oy, she’s bleedin’, sir. Looks like the rock clipped her on the head. Are you injured, sir?” Then the person turned away and shouted over the crowd. “Someone run for a doctor!”
People appeared in Silas’s line of vision, pressing forward in clusters, women with pale faces and men with deep frowns.
“She saved your life, she did,” someone said.
“Oh, Miss Fox,” a high-pitched voice wailed, another young woman coming forward. “Is she dead?”
Silas looked down again, tilting the woman back in his arms enough to see her face. Long dark lashes lay against her pale cheeks, her lips were parted and her features were relaxed. Yet he could feel her breathing, could see the rise and fall of her chest.
Courting the Vicar's Daughter: A Regency Romance (Branches of Love Book 6) Page 21
