“Well said,” Westcliff said gruffly, as Llandrindon opened his mouth to argue.

No one wished to contradict the earl, but Mardling pressed, “Westcliff, do you see nothing harmful in encouraging the poor to rise above their stations? In allowing them to pretend there is no difference between them and ourselves?”

“The only harm I see,” Westcliff said quietly, “is in discouraging people who want to better themselves, out of fear that we will lose our perceived superiority.”

The statement caused Matthew to like the earl even more than he had previously.

Preoccupied with the question of the hypothetical shopgirl, Llandrindon spoke to Mr. Mardling. “Never fear, Mardling—no matter how a woman is attired, a gentleman can always detect the clues that betray her true status. A lady always has a soft, well-modulated voice, whereas a shopgirl speaks with a strident tone and a vulgar accent.”

“Of course,” Mardling said with relief. He affected a slight shiver as he added, “A shopgirl dressed in finery, speaking in cockney…it’s like fingernails on slate.”

“Yes,” Llandrindon said with a laugh. “Or like seeing a common daisy stuck in a bouquet of roses.”

The comment was unthinking, of course. There was a sudden silence as Llandrindon realized he had just inadvertently insulted Bowman’s daughter, or rather the name of his daughter.

“A versatile flower, the daisy,” Matthew commented, breaking the silence. “Lovely in its freshness and simplicity. I’ve always thought it went well in any kind of arrangment.”

The entire group rumbled in immediate agreement—“Indeed,” and “Quite so”.

Lord Westcliff gave Matthew an approving glance.

A short time later, whether by previous planning or a last-minute shuffling of places, Matthew discovered he had been seated at Westcliff’s left at the main dining table. There was patent surprise on the faces of many guests as they registered that a place of honor had been given to a young man of undistinguished position.

Covering up his own surprise, Matthew saw that Thomas Bowman was beaming at him with fatherly pride…and Lillian was giving her husband a discreet glare that would have struck terror in the hearts of lesser men.

After an uneventful supper the guests dispersed in various groups. Some men desired port and cigars on the back terrace, some women wanted tea, while others headed to the parlor for games and conversation.

As Matthew went toward the terrace, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He looked down into Cassandra Leighton’s mischievous eyes. She was a high-spirited creature whose primary skill seemed to be the ability to draw attention to herself.

“Mr. Swift,” she said, “I insist that you join us in the parlor. I will not allow you to refuse. Lady Miranda and I have planned some games that I think you will find quite entertaining.” She lowered one eyelid in a sly wink. “We’ve been scheming, you see.”

“Scheming,” Matthew repeated warily.

“Oh yes.” She giggled. “We’ve decided to be a bit wicked this evening.”

Matthew had never liked parlor games, which required a personal frivolity he had never been able to muster. Moreover it was generally known that in the permissive atmosphere of British society, the forfeits of these games often consisted of tricks and potentially scandalous behavior. Matthew had an innate and very sensible aversion to scandal. And if he was ever entangled in one, it would have to be for a very good reason. Not as the result of some imbecilic parlor game.

Before he replied, however, Matthew noticed something on the periphery of his vision…a flash of yellow. It was Daisy, her hand lightly resting on Lord Llandrindon’s arm as they proceeded to the hallway that led to the parlor.

The logical part of Matthew’s brain pointed out that if Daisy was going to indulge in scandalous behavior with Llandrindon, it was her own affair. But a deeper, more primitive part of his mind reacted with a possessiveness that caused his feet to start moving.

“Oh, lovely,” Cassandra Leighton trilled, tucking her hand in the crook of his arm. “We’ll have such fun.”

This was a new and unwelcome discovery, that a primal urge could abruptly seize control of the rest of Matthew’s body. Frowning, he went along with Miss Leighton, while she spouted a stream of nonsense.

A group of young men and women had assembled in the parlor, laughing and chattering. Anticipation was thick in the air. And there was a sense of roguery, as if a few of the participants had been warned they were about to take part in something naughty.

Matthew stood near the threshold, his gaze instantly finding Daisy. She was seated near the hearth with Llandrindon half-leaning on the arm of her chair.

“The first game,” Lady Miranda said with a grin, “will be a round of ‘Animals.’” She waited for a ripple of chuckles to die down before continuing. “For those of you unfamiliar with the rules, they are quite simple. Each lady will select a male partner for herself, and each gentleman will be assigned a particular animal to imitate—dog, pig, donkey and so forth. The ladies will be sent from the room and blindfolded, and when they return, they will attempt to locate their partners. The gentlemen will assist the ladies by making the correct animal sound. The last lady to find her partner will have to pay a forfeit.”

Matthew groaned inwardly. He hated games that served no purpose other than to make fools out of the participants. As a man who did not enjoy being embarrassed, voluntarily or otherwise, this was the kind of situation he would have done anything to avoid.