Page 89 of Road Trip With a Rogue
Violet’s eyes were practically glowing with excitement. “Well, I’ve always loved costume parties, ever since I was a little girl. Everyone dressed as shepherds and dairymaids, and harlequins and such. How about something like that?”
“Youcould,” Daisy said slowly, “but Veronica Cardew did something like that only a few months ago. You wouldn’t want to be thought unoriginal.”
Violet looked stricken. “Oh, goodness, no. What do you suggest? I want this to be the absolute best party of the season.”
Daisy racked her brains. “How about a romantic theme? Something that hints at a wedding? That will get people talking before they even get there.”
Violet clapped her hands. “Yes, I love that!”
“Shakespeare’s playA Midsummer Night’s Dreamwas originally designed to be performed as a wedding celebration. Why not have that as your theme? The garden here might not be quite big enough to accommodate everyone, but we could fill the ballroom with flowers and trellises and such.”
Violet’s blue eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. “Yes! I can dress as Titania, Queen of the Fairies, and Perry can be my consort.”
She patted Perry’s knee and Daisy hid a smile. Perry looked slightly dazed, and she had the feeling he was going to have his work cut out controlling his new wife’s enthusiasm. What was that phrase? Marry in haste, repent at leisure. She hoped neither Perry nor Violet would come to regret their impetuosity, but considering how similar they seemed in terms of temperament, it was probably unlikely.
“We should be able to manage that,” Daisy said briskly. “Even given the short notice.”
Brand nodded, apparently happy now that he’d been appeased, so she stood and held her hand out to him. “Mr. Brand, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be off to start organizing things.”
Brand shook her hand while Vaughan rose to his feet next to her.
“I’ll take my leave too,” he said. “Perry, I’ll see you back at Cranford House.”
Daisy allowed Vaughan to usher her back out into the hallway. His proximity, as ever, made her jittery, and she tried her best to ignore the subtle hint of his cologne that teased her nose.
“Congratulations,” he said drily. “You’re now in charge of the social event of the season.”
Daisy rolled her eyes. “As if I had any choice in the matter. I blame you entirely. If your stupid nephew had just waited until your sister returned from her travels, this would have beenherproblem, not mine.”
His deep chuckle made her stomach somersault as he caught her chin and tilted her face up so their eyes met.
“Speaking of weddings, have you made up your mind to attendours, yet, my sweet?”
“I have not,” she said mulishly.
His eyes danced at her continued evasion. “Perhaps you could make a decision in time for this party? We should probably avoid one another in public for the next few days if you don’t want to set tongues wagging even more than they are already, but we’ll both be expected to attend this affair on Saturday. We need to have a plan in place for when we’re seen together. The world will be watching.”
Daisy pulled her chin from his hand and turned away,heading toward the front door. “I know that,” she said crossly. “I’ll have a decision for you on Saturday night.”
A servant opened the door, and she made her escape, but Vaughan’s taunting voice followed her into her waiting carriage.
“I look forward to it, my love.”
Chapter Forty-Two
As desperate as she was to go straight back to Wansford House to tell Tess and Ellie about the party, or to the sanctuary of her office at King & Co., Daisy instructed the carriage driver to take her to Dalkeith House.
The hope that her father would be absent from town, hosting one of his infamously rowdy parties at Hollyfield, their country estate, or attending something similar elsewhere, was dashed when she entered the back hallway and tried to sneak up the stairs to her bedroom unobserved.
“Dorothea!”
Dalkeith’s carrying tones stopped her in her tracks on the first stair, and she cursed at the way he always made her feel like a naughty child caught in some scrape, as opposed to an intelligent, self-sufficient woman of twenty-three.
She straightened her spine and headed toward her father’s study, and her spirits dropped further when she saw him seated behind the huge mahogany desk, a position he always adopted when he wished to make one of his children feel inferior.
“Hello, Father.” She took the mahogany chair on the opposite side, the one that had been deliberately chosen because it was so uncomfortable.
The Duke of Dalkeith was not an unattractive man. A few years over sixty, he kept himself in shape with regular hunting and riding, but his penchant for drink and general debauchery showed in the slightly florid tint to his cheeks and the bags beneath his pale gray eyes.