Sick of Shadows - M. C. Beaton [41]
Daisy was angry with her, wondering if she would ever see Becket again. Three days after the announcement Daisy felt she could not bear it any longer and slipped out of the house and took a hansom to Chelsea.
When Becket answered the door, Daisy burst into tears and fell into his arms.
He drew her gently inside, saying, “Please don’t cry. We’ll think of something.”
At last, Daisy, fortified with hot gin, gulped and said, “My lady is in such disgrace. Some people are beginning to think she might have murdered Dolly herself.”
“But that is ridiculous!”
“I know. But mud like that sticks. Invitations have been cancelled. Lady Polly is in fits. It’s all her fault for encouraging Rose to break off the engagement, but of course she puts the blame for everything all on Rose.”
“It is a pity there is no other gentleman in Lady Rose’s life.”
“Why?”
“Because society would assume that she was so much in love with this other fellow that she had to ditch the captain.”
“There’s only Sir Peter and we both know what he is.”
“That might be gossip. We may be mistaken.”
“Don’t think so.”
“Then perhaps Sir Peter might agree to an arranged engagement. If he does prefer men and were ever caught out, he would go to prison.”
“Do you think that might do the trick?”
“It would certainly save my master’s face and would stop a lot of the gossip about her.”
“I’ll suggest it.”
“Then there is charity work. There are soup kitchens in the East End. If she were to work some hours in one of those and the press got to hear of it, she might be regarded as an angel of mercy.”
“You are clever, Becket. I wish we could get married.”
“We will,” said Becket. “I don’t know how, but I will do everything in my power to make that happen.”
When Daisy returned, Rose listened to Becket’s suggestions. “It would mean I would have to propose to Peter,” she said.
A footman entered. “Sir Peter Petrey has called, my lady.”
“I will see him. Are my parents at home?”
“No, my lady.”
“Then put him in the drawing-room. Come, Daisy.”
As they walked down to the drawing-room, Daisy hissed, “You can’t propose to him with me there.”
“We will take tea and then I will ask you to fetch my shawl.”
Peter advanced to meet them. “I am so sorry, Lady Rose,” he said. “It is unfair that you should be in disgrace for refusing to continue in an engagement that had become distasteful to you. Surely everyone knows he neglected you shamefully.”
“Everyone has conveniently forgotten that.”
Rose rang the bell and ordered tea. Peter chatted away of this and that and then Rose said, “Please fetch my shawl, Daisy.”
When Daisy had left the room, Rose said bluntly, “I have often thought of marrying just anyone in order to have a household of my own.”
“You might find a husband tyrannical.”
Rose took a deep breath. “Not if it were someone like you.”
Peter carefully replaced a half-eaten crumpet on his plate. “Lady Rose, are you proposing to me?”
“I suppose I am. I shall be very rich on my majority. I would not interfere with you if you would not interfere with me.”
“Meaning a marriage in name only?”
“Yes.”
“Why this sudden desire to marry me and not someone else?”
“I do not like anyone else. If I were to announce an engagement to you, people would assume that was the reason I jilted the captain.”
“All very Byzantine. Yes, I don’t see why not. We are friends. Ah, I hear your parents returning. I shall ask you father’s permission.”
Lady Polly was in a high good humour. Ever since Rose’s disgrace, she had been diligently making calls, reminding society how Cathcart had snubbed her poor Rose, how he had never been at her side; how, having sunk to trade, the captain spent all his time working like a common labourer. Her last call had shown her that the gossip had taken. “Poor