Page 80 of The Counterfeit Scoundrel
“Oh, no, not Aunt Charlie. I’ve never liked that moniker.”
Daisy smiled warmly, lovingly, her chest expanding with everything she felt for this woman. “No, I have decided I’m going to call you Mum.”
Chapter 25
“Although Aunt Charlotte encouraged me to wed, I always thought she was secretly against marriage,” Daisy said quietly, nestled against Bishop’s side, her head resting in the nook of his shoulder. Following the reconciliation with her aunt that afternoon, she’d spent the evening with the dear woman in her residence before coming to Bishop after all the servants, except the coachman and footman, were retired for the evening. He had to have been waiting for her in the front parlor, drawing room, or foyer because, before the coach had even come to a stop, he was standing on the drive ready to hand her down.
She was fairly certain that he’d been able to tell that her melancholy over what she’d considered a betrayal on her family’s part had dissipated, and that she was lighter of heart and spirit, because like children let loose to play after a morning of studies, they’d dashed up the stairs to his bedchamber, where their clothes had been rapidly discarded, and she and he had proceeded to make mad, passionate love. He read her moods, comprehended every aspect of her. Knew when to tease, when to seduce, when to listen, when to talk, what to say.
She wondered if this sense of understanding and completion was what it was like to discover a soul mate, because she experienced frightening moments when she felt as though she’d gone through life with some aspect of herself missing. The gladness that swept through her each time they were once again together was like a little ball of sunlight residing within her that glowed more brightly with his presence.
And she could tell him anything, had just finished sharing her uncle’s revelation regarding her aunt’s sacrifice. “If not for me, she might have married.”
“You shouldn’t feel responsible or guilty regarding her unmarried state. Ultimately, she would have been miserable with him, eventually might have come to me,” he said quietly, skimming his fingers lazily along her arm.
“How did you deduce that?”
“They had different priorities, required different things for happiness. At least he was honest with her, I’ll give him that. Too often I think people pretend to be what they believe the other person needs or desires. They choose harmony over honesty. I think it leads to a quiet misery.”
She supposed having grown up witnessing an unhappy marriage, he’d given a lot of thought to what actions might have resulted in a happy one. From all accounts, her parents had been happy. Even if they’d eventually traveled a path they shouldn’t have, one that had led to the demise of her mother and, in a way, the destruction of her father. Although based upon what she was learning about him, he may have always been destined for an unfortunate ending to his tale. “She doesn’t seem to have any regrets regarding her choice.”
Earlier, she and her aunt had enjoyed a lovely dinner and far too much sherry. They’d reminisced about their favorite moments together. They’d laughed, cried, and laughed some more. Her aunt had even told her about some of the men who had kept her company over the years. Like Bishop, she had devised alternate names for them: Green Eyes, Cuddles, Wicked Hands.
A week later, another dinner with her aunt. Another revelation. Another night of lying naked in Bishop’s arms.
“She’s recently begun seeing someone. A Mr. Paul Wiggins. I don’t know why she didn’t tell me sooner.” Although neither had Daisy told her about her relationship with Bishop. She still hadn’t. Lifting her head, she studied the lines of his face and refrained from tidying his mussed hair. “She shared that he was playing the piano in the musicale room at the Fair and Spare one night—when he caught her attention. He’s a widower, a fine gentleman, and she rather likes him. I think he might be the fellow who performed the lullaby for us.”
“He certainly fits the description.”
“I may get a chance to confirm it at a ball in a couple of weeks. I think she invited him.”
He ceased his stroking, and his expression went blank, his eyes unreadable. “I didn’t think you were on the hunt for a spouse.”
She laughed softly. “I’m not. The ball is being hosted by my uncle. Well, his wife really. For the past three Seasons, it’s the only ball I’ve attended. Family obligation, don’t you know?”
“Odd timing, considering your notorious father has been making an appearance in newsprint, and reporters haven’t been shy about mentioning the family connection.”
“It was planned months ago. I’m rather certain they’re striving to give the impression that their lives are unaffected by the scandal of a murderous brother, and so they’re keeping their chins up and going on as though it doesn’t distress them. People will no doubt attend out of curiosity. It’s bound to become a rather awkward affair and be a difficult evening for many of the family. I need to be there to lend my support. After all, it is my father who brought this shame upon the House of Bellingham. My absence would serve only to spark more gossip and conjecture.”
His fingers began dancing lightly over her skin. “It won’t be easy for you.”
“It won’t be easy for any of us, but you have friends in the nobility, so you must be aware that hiding is frowned upon.”
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “You lot do seem to like to march into the breach.”
He’d get no argument from her on that score. Tough decisions were made, and the music was always faced. Her chest swelled with pride as she realized her family had never taken the easy road, no matter the consequences. With the exception of her father. How kind of the Fates not to have placed her in his uncaring hands.
“Will you come here afterward?” Bishop asked in a low voice, filled with promises.
She sat up, her legs curled beneath her, one of them—from her knee to her toes—pressed against his side. “I was hoping you would attend.”
“I’ve not received a single invitation this Season.”
“Well, it’s not fully underway yet.” Although she knew that wasn’t the reason.
“Marguerite, you know as well as I do that being named the party responsible for a number of divorces has brought my reputation into question, and I’m no longer welcomed into parlors much less ballrooms.”
“Would it really hurt if people knew the truth about your involvement with the women? Those divorces are over and done. They’re not going to be undone. And the three women you were recently seeing, well, one has reconciled, one has murdered, and one’s husband is dead. You’ve not created a scandal in months, and I don’t think anything is in your appointment diary for the near future. To be honest, I rather regret that we didn’t dance in the ballroom at the Fair and Spare.”
