The guests at the manor received the news of the birth with only a few regretful murmurs about the baby’s gender. But seeing Westcliff’s face as he held his newborn daughter, and hearing his whispered promises that he was going to buy ponies and castles and entire kingdoms for her, Daisy knew he could not have been any happier had Merritt been a boy.

As she shared breakfast in the morning room with Evie, Daisy was aware of a most peculiar jumble of emotions. Aside from the joy that her niece had been born and her sister was fine, she felt…nervous. Lightheaded. Eager.

All because of Matthew Swift.

Daisy was grateful that she had not yet seen him today. After the discoveries she had made last night, she was not certain how she would react to him. “Evie,” she entreated privately, “there is something I need to talk to you about. Will you walk in the gardens with me?” Now that the storm was over, weak gray sunlight seeped through the sky.

“Of course. Although it’s rather muddy outside…”

“We’ll stay on the graveled paths. But it must be out there. This is too private to be discussed indoors.”

Evie’s eyes widened, and she drank her tea so fast it must have scalded her tongue.

The garden had been disheveled by the storm, leaves and green buds scattered everywhere, twigs and branches lying across the usually immaculate path. But the air was fragrant with the scents of wet earth and rain-drenched petals. Breathing deeply of the invigorating smell, the two friends strolled along the graveled walkway. They knotted their shawls around their arms and shoulders while the breeze pushed at them with the impatience of a child urging them to quicken their pace.

Daisy had seldom known a relief as great as unburdening herself to Evie. She told her about everything that had transpired between herself and Matthew Swift, including the kiss, finishing with the revelation of the button he carried in his pocket. Evie was a better listener than anyone Daisy knew, perhaps because of her struggles with her stammer.

“I don’t know what to think,” Daisy said miserably. “I don’t know how to feel about any of it. I don’t know why Mr. Swift seems different now than he did before, or why I am so drawn to him. It was so much easier to hate him. But last night when I saw that blasted button…”

“It had never occurred to you until then that he might actually have feelings for you,” Evie murmured.

“Yes.”

“Daisy…is it possible his actions have been calculated? That he is deceiving you, and the button in his pocket was some kind of pl-ploy?”

“No. If you had only seen his face. He was obviously desperate to keep me from realizing what it was. Oh, Evie…” Daisy kicked morosely at a pebble. “I have the most horrible suspicion that Matthew Swift might actually be everything I ever wanted in a man.”

“But if you married him, he would take you back to New York,” Evie said.

“Yes, eventually, and I can’t. I don’t want to live away from my sister and all of you. And I love England—I’m more myself here than I ever was in New York.”

Evie considered the problem thoughtfully. “What if Mr. Swift were willing to consider s-staying here permanently?”

“He wouldn’t. The opportunities are far greater in New York—and if he stayed here he would always have the disadvantage of not being an aristocrat.”

“But if he were willing to try…” Evie pressed.

“I still could never become the kind of wife he would need.”

“The two of you must have a forthright conversation,” Evie said decisively. “Mr. Swift is a mature and intelligent man—surely he wouldn’t expect you to become something you’re not.”

“It’s all moot, anyway,” Daisy said gloomily. “He made it clear that he won’t marry me under any circumstances. That was his exact wording.”

“Is it you he objects to, or the concept of marriage itself?”

“I don’t know. All I know is he must feel something for me if he carries a lock of my hair in his pocket.” Remembering the way his fingers had closed over the button, she felt a quick, not unpleasant shiver chase down her spine. “Evie,” she asked, “how do you know if you love someone?”

Evie considered the question as they passed a low circular boundary hedge containing an explosion of multi-colored primulas. “I’m sure this is when I’m s-supposed to say something wise and helpful,” she said with a self-deprecating shrug. “But my situation was different from yours. St. Vincent and I didn’t expect to fall in love. It caught us both unaware.”

“Yes, but how did you know?”

“It was the moment I realized he was willing to die for me. I don’t think anyone, including St. Vincent, believed he was capable of self-sacrifice. It taught me that you can assume you know a person quite well—but that person can s-surprise you. Everything seemed to change from one moment to the next—suddenly he became the most important thing in the world to me. No, not important…necessary. Oh, I wish I were clever with words—”

“I understand,” Daisy murmured, although she felt more melancholy than enlightened. She wondered if she would ever be able to love a man that way. Perhaps her emotions had been too deeply invested in her sister and friends…perhaps there wasn’t enough left over for anyone else.

They came to a tall juniper hedge beyond which extended a flagstoned walkway that bordered the side of the manor. As they made their way to an opening of the hedge, they heard a pair of masculine voices engaged in conversation. The voices were not loud. In fact, the strictly moderated volume of the conversation betrayed that something secret—and therefore intriguing—was being discussed. Pausing behind the hedge, Daisy motioned for Evie to be still and quiet.