Scandal in Spring (27 page)

"Because I knew no one could ever want you as much as I do."

Daisy levered herself farther over him until her hair tumbled in a dark curtain around them both.

"What was your wish?" Matthew asked, combing his fingers through the fall of shimmering hair.

"That I could find the right man to marry." Her tender smile stopped his heart. "And then you appeared."

Chapter 15

After an unusually long sleep Matthew
ventured downstairs. Servants were busy cleaning miles of stone-flagged, carpeted, or parqueted floors, while others trimmed lamps, replaced candlesticks, and polished the brasses.

As soon as Matthew approached the morning room, a maid offered to bring him a breakfast tray out to the back terrace if he so desired. Since it promised to be a beautiful day, Matthew accepted the offer readily.

Sitting at one of the outside tables, he watched the progress of a small brown hare hopping along the carefully tended grounds.

His quiet contemplation was interrupted by the sound of the french doors opening. Glancing up expectantly, Matthew saw that instead of the maid with the breakfast tray, it was the considerably less welcome sight of Lillian Bowman. He groaned inwardly, knowing at once that Westcliff had told her about his betrothal to Daisy.

However, it seemed the earl must have exerted some calming influence on his wife. Not that Lillian looked happy, of course…but Matthew took it as a good sign that she wasn't approaching him with an ax in hand.

Yet.

Lillian made a motion for him to remain in his chair as she approached. He stood anyway.

Lillian's face was set and her voice was controlled as she said, "There's no need to look at me as if I were a descending plague of Egypt. I am capable of rational discourse on occasion. May I have a word with you?"

She sat before he could help her with the chair.

Regarding her warily, Matthew reoccupied his own chair and waited for her to speak. Despite the tension-fraught atmosphere, he almost smiled as he reflected he had often seen the same expression on Thomas Bowman's face. Lillian was bullishly determined to have her way, yet she was mindful of the fact that a shouting match, no matter how satisfying, would accomplish nothing.

"You and I are both aware," Lillian said with forced composure, "that even though I can't stop this blighted marriage from happening, I can make the proceedings quite unpleasant for everyone. Especially you."

"Yes, I'm aware of that." Matthew's response was completely free of sarcasm. Whatever else he thought of Lillian, he knew her love for Daisy was unimpeachable.

"Then I want to dispense with the cat-footing," Lillian said, "and have a man-to-man conversation."

Matthew sternly bit back a smile. "Good," he replied in an equally businesslike manner. "So do I." He thought he could possibly come to like Lillian. If nothing else, one always knew where one stood with her.

"The only reason I'm willing to tolerate the idea of you as a brother-in-law," Lillian continued, "is because my husband seems to think well of you. And I'm willing to take his opinion into consideration. Although he is not infallible."

"That may be the first time I've heard anyone make such a remark about the earl."

"Yes, well…" Lillian surprised him with a faint smile. "It's why Westcliff married me. My willingness to regard him as a mere mortal is something of a relief after all the incessant worship." Her dark eyes, rounder and less exotic than Daisy's, met his in a searching gaze. "Westcliff asked me to try and be impartial. That's not easy when my sister's future hangs in the balance."

"My lady," Matthew said earnestly, "if I can give you any assurance that might set your mind at ease— "

"No. Wait. Let me set out my opinion of you first."

Matthew remained politely silent.

"You have always embodied the worst of my father," Lillian said. "The coldness, the ambition, the self-centeredness. Except you're worse because you're able to disguise it far more adeptly than he does. You're what my father would have been if he'd been blessed with good looks and a little sophistication. I think that in winning you Daisy must somehow feel she has finally succeeded with Father." Her brows came together as she continued. "My sister has always compelled to love unlovable creatures…the strays, the misfits. Once she loves someone, no matter how many times they betray or disappoint her, she will take them back with open arms. But you won't appreciate that any more than Father does. You'll take what you want, and give her very little in return. And when you inevitably hurt her, I will be the first in a line of people waiting to slaughter you. By the time I finish with you, there won't be enough left for the others to pick over."

"So much for impartiality," Matthew said. He respected her brutal honesty even though he was smarting from it. "May I respond with the same frankness you've just shown me?"

"I hope you will."

"My lady, you don't know me well enough to assess how much like your father I may or may not be. It's no crime to be ambitious, particularly when you've started with nothing. And I'm not cold, I'm from Boston. Which means I'm not prone to displaying my emotions for all and sundry to see. As far as being self-centered, you have no way of knowing how much I've done, if anything, for other people. But I'll be damned if I recite a list of my past good deeds in hopes of winning your approval." He leveled a cool stare at her. "Regardless of your opinions, the marriage is going to happen, because both Daisy and I want it. So I have no reason to lie to you. I could say I don't give a damn about Daisy, and I would still get what I want. But the fact is, I'm in love with her. I have been for a long time."

"You've been secretly in love with my sister for years?" Lillian asked with blistering skepticism. "How convenient."

"I didn't define it as 'in love.' All I knew was that I had a persistent, all-consuming…preference for her."

"Preference?"
Lillian looked momentarily outraged, and then she surprised him by laughing. "My God, you really are from Boston."

"Believe it or not," Matthew muttered, "I wouldn't have chosen to feel this way about Daisy. It would have been far more convenient to find someone else. The devil knows I should be given some credit for being willing to take on the Bowmans as in-laws."

"Touché." Lillian continued to smile, leaning her chin on her hand as she stared at him. Suddenly her voice contained a delicately inquiring edge that raised the hairs on the back of his neck. "I find it peculiar that a Boston Swift should use the phrase 'starting with nothing'…Have I been mistaken all these years in believing you came from a well-to-do background?"

Damn it all, she was clever. Realizing he'd made a slip, Matthew replied smoothly. "The main branch of the Swifts is affluent. But I am one of the proverbial poor cousins, which is why I was obliged to take a profession."

Her brows lifted slightly. "And would the affluent Swifts have allowed their poorer cousins to dwell in abject poverty, as you implied?"

"A slight exaggeration on my part," Matthew said. "But I'm certain you won't preoccupy yourself with it to the extent of missing the main point."

"I believe I've managed to grasp your point, Mr. Swift." Lillian vacated her chair, obliging him to rise to his feet. "One more thing. Do you believe Daisy would be happy if you took her back to live in New York?"

"No," Matthew said quietly. He saw a flash of surprise in her eyes. "It's obvious that you— and her friends— are essential to her happiness."

"Then you…you would be willing to make a permanent home here? Even if my father objected?"

"Yes, if that's what Daisy wants." Matthew tried to control a sudden surge of annoyance, with limited results. "I'm not afraid of your father's temper, my lady, nor am I a puppet on a string. The fact that I work for him doesn't mean I've surrendered free will and the full use of my brain. I can find gainful employment in Britain whether or not I'm employed by Bowman Enterprises."

"Mr. Swift," Lillian said sincerely, "you don't know how tempting it is for me to believe you."

"And that means…?"

"I suppose it means I'll try to be nicer to you."

"Starting when?" he shot back.

One corner of her mouth tilted upward. "Next week, maybe."

"I'm looking forward to it," Matthew muttered, resuming his seat as she left.

* * *

As expected, Mercedes Bowman received the news of Daisy's betrothal to Matthew Swift with poor grace. Having made such a brilliant marriage for her first daughter, she had longed to do the same for her second. It mattered little to Mercedes that Matthew Swift would undoubtedly acquire a fortune developing business interests on two continents. It mattered even less that Daisy had found a man who seemed to understand and even delight in her eccentricities.

"Who cares if he's good at making money?" Mercedes had grumbled to her daughters as they sat in the Marsden parlor. "Manhattanville was
swarming
with enterprising men who had large fortunes. Why did we come here if not to find a gentleman who stood for something more? I do wish, Daisy, that you might have been able to attract a man of refinement and breeding."

Lillian, who was feeding the baby, replied in a sardonic tone. "Mother, if Daisy married the royal prince of Luxembourg it still wouldn't change the fact that the Bowmans are from common stock, and Grandmother— Lord love her— was a dockside washwoman. This preoccupation with nobility is a bit excessive, isn't it? Let's put it to rest and try to be happy for Daisy."

Indignation caused Mercedes to puff out her cheeks temporarily, causing her narrow face to resemble a set of inflated fireplace bellows. "You don't like Mr. Swift any more than I do," she retorted.

"No," Lillian said frankly. "But much as I hate to admit it, that puts us in a minority. Swift is liked by everyone in the northern hemisphere, including Westcliff and his friends, my friends, the servants, the neighbors— "

"You are exaggerating— "

"— children, animals and the higher order of plants," Lillian finished sardonically. "If root vegetables could talk, I've no doubt they would say they like him, too."

Daisy, who was sitting by the window with a book, looked up with a sudden grin. "His charm doesn't extend to poultry," she said. "He has a problem with geese." Her smile turned quizzical. "Thank you for being so accommodating, Lillian. I expected you to make a fuss about the betrothal."

Her older sister let out a rueful sigh. "I've reconciled myself to the fact that it would be easier to push a pea with my nose from here to London than to try and stand in the way of this marriage. Besides, you will be far more accessible in Bristol than you would have been with Lord Llandrindon in Thurso."

The mention of Llandrindon nearly caused Mercedes to weep. "He said there were lovely walks in Thurso," she said mournfully. "And Viking history. I would have
so
loved to learn about the Vikings."

Lillian snorted. "Since when have you been interested in warlike pagans with silly-looking headgear?"

Daisy looked up from her book again. "Are we talking about Grandmother again?"

Mercedes leveled a glare at them both. "It seems I have no choice but to accept this match gracefully. I will endeavor to find some small consolation in the fact that at least this time I will be able to plan a proper wedding." She had never quite forgiven Lillian and Marcus for having eloped to Gretna Green, thereby depriving her of the grand festivities she had always dreamed of planning.

Lillian smiled smugly at Daisy. "I don't envy you, dear."

* * *

"It won't be pleasant," Daisy warned Matthew later that day, as they sat at the grassy edge of a millpond located far on the western outskirts of the village. "The ceremony will be designed to make the world take notice of the Bowmans."

"Just the Bowmans?" he asked. "Aren't I supposed to be featured in the ceremony?"

"Oh, the groom is the most insignificant part of it," she said cheerfully.

She had meant to amuse Matthew, but his smile didn't reach his eyes. He stared across the millpond with a distant expression.

The stone water mill with its twelve-foot wheel had long been abandoned in favor of a more productive mill closer to the heart of Stony Cross. With its charming stepped gable roof and half-timbered facade, the millhouse possessed a roughcast charm that was enhanced by the rustic scenery.

While Matthew cast a baited hook into the pond with an expert flick of his wrist, Daisy dangled her bare feet into the water. Every now and then the wriggle of her toes would invite adventurous minnows to dart forward.

She studied Matthew while he appeared to brood on some troublesome matter. His profile was strong and distinctive, with a straight, sturdy nose, sharply defined lips, a severely perfect jaw. She took pleasure in the sight of his dishevelment, the shirt dampened in patches, the trousers scattered with dry leaves, the thick hair rumpled and hanging over his forehead.

There was a fascinating duality about Matthew that Daisy had never encountered in another man. At some moments he was the aggressive, sharp-eyed, buttoned-up businessman who rattled off facts and figures with ease.

At other times he was a gentle, understanding lover who shed his cynicism like an old coat and engaged her in playful debates about which ancient culture had the best mythology, or what Thomas Jefferson's favorite vegetable had been. (Although Daisy was convinced it was green peas, Matthew had made an excellent case for tomatoes.)

They had long conversations about subjects like history and progressive politics. For a man from a conservative Brahmin background, he had a surprising awareness of reform issues. Usually in their relentless climb up the social ladder, enterprising men forgot about those who had been left on the bottom rungs. Daisy thought it spoke well of Matthew's character that he had a genuine concern for those less fortunate than himself.

In their discussions they had begun to lay out tentative plans for the future…they would have to find a house in Bristol that was large enough for entertaining. Matthew insisted it would have a view of the sea, and a library room for Daisy's books, and— he added gravely— a high wall around the house so he could ravish her in the garden without being seen.