Page 94 of Sinful Scottish Laird
“Neither of them, then,” Belinda said.
“You know very well I must choose one, or I will lose everything! You’ve been warning me of my demise for an age! Why didn’t I listen to you?”
“It happened to Mrs. Cully,” Belinda said. “After her husband died, she discovered her great debt. She was forced to debtor’s prison in his stead,” she said ominously.
Daisy closed her eyes with a moan and sagged against the cushions.
“There is something I must show you,” Belinda whispered.
Daisy shook her head, imagining a painting or a piece of pottery Belinda had completed. “No, not now. My heart is too heavy.”
“It will help you, I swear it.”
Daisy groaned again. Her cousin meant well. “Nothing will help me, darling. The only thing that would cure me is if I somehow, miraculously, became a man.”
Belinda frowned. She worried a cuticle. And then she nodded, as if someone had spoken to her, and stood up. “I never ask you for anything, Daisy. But I am asking you this,” she said. She went to the door of the salon and opened it, calling for Rowley. “Please bring our cloaks.”
“What?No,” Daisy said.
Belinda said nothing and waited for Rowley to return. When he did, she took the cloaks from him, marched across the room to Daisy and held hers out to her. “You’ve not been out of this house in days.”
Daisy could not recall ever seeing such determination in Belinda before. She snatched the cloak from her cousin’s hands. “Very well. But I best be helped, Belinda,” she warned her.
She donned her cloak and refused Belinda’s suggestion that she repair her hair—apparently a few locks had come undone. Daisy didn’t care if they had. She didn’t care about anything.
The wind whipped down the street when the two women stepped outside, but Belinda walked on, her head down. She kept firm hold of Daisy’s hand, lest she mean to run back inside, and dragged her along behind her.
“It’s wretchedly cold!” Daisy complained. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see soon enough,” Belinda said staunchly. She turned down an alleyway onto another street. They were going away from Grosvenor Square, away from Mayfair and away from Hyde Park.
“Belinda! This is absurd. Where are you taking me?”
Belinda wouldn’t answer.
They had walked for half an hour when Daisy yanked her hand out of Belinda’s grip, forcing her to halt. “Whereare we going?” she demanded.
Belinda pointed up the street to a small parish church.
Daisy gaped at it. “You forced me out in this wretched weather to escort me to church?” she all but shouted. “Are youmad?”
“Justcome,” Belinda said, sounding almost as angry as Daisy. Her jaw was set, her color high.
“No!” Daisy said petulantly.
“Can you not, for once, do something for me, Daisy?” Belinda shouted at her. “Justonce.”
The admonishment struck Daisy in her heart. Belinda was absolutely right—Belinda never asked for anything from Daisy. She was grateful for her room and keep and had been there for Daisy whenever she needed her. Daisy nodded meekly. “Yes,” she said. “Of course I can.”
Belinda seemed slightly surprised by her small victory but hardly mollified. She whirled about and continued on. And Daisy followed obediently.
At the church steps, Daisy complained at the sight of her muddied and wet hem.
Belinda opened the door to the church and sent Daisy inside before her.
An Anglican vicar with unkempt hair and rheumy eyes appeared in the narthex. “Welcome,” he said, smiling as if he knew her.
“I beg your pardon,” Daisy said apologetically as she removed her cloak. “We don’t wish to disturb you.”
