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Fariha Guncha

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“I have to leave,” he whispered against her hair. “No, stay.” Her face turned, her lips nuzzling the bare skin of his chest. “Stay all night. Stay forever.” He smiled and kissed her temple. “I would. But somehow I think your family would take exception to my debauching you before we were properly betrothed.” “I don’t feel debauched.” “I do,” Matthew said. Daisy smiled. “I’d better marry you, then.”

“Is it really ten ladies dancing?" Lillian asked him, and Swift grinned. "My lady, I've never been able to remember any part of that song." "You know," Annabelle said contemplatively, "I've always understood why the swans are swimming and the geese are a-laying. But why in heaven's name are the lords a-leaping?" "They're chasing after the ladies," Swift said reasonably. "Actually I believe the song was referring to Morris dancers, who used to entertain between courses at long medieval feasts," Daisy informed them. "And it was a leaping sort of dance?" Lillian asked, intrigued. "Yes, with longswords, after the manner of primitive fertility rites." "A well-read woman is a dangerous creature," Swift commented with a grin, leaning down to press his lips against Daisy's dark hair.”

“He traced the line of her collarbone, and the side of her throat. “Did I hurt you, Daisy?” he whispered. “Well, it was rather uncomfortable when you—” she stopped and blushed. “But I expected that. My friends told me it improves after the first time.” His fingertips wandered to the outline of her ear, and the blood-heated curve of her cheek. There was a smile in his voice as he said, “I’ll do my best to see that it does.”

“I’ve tried so hard to stay away from you,” he whispered one night, cuddling her while the moonlight made stripes across the shadowed hills of the bedclothes. “Why?” Daisy whispered back, crawling over him until she was draped over the muscled surface of his chest. He played with the dark cascade of her hair. “Because I shouldn’t come to you like this until we’re married. There’s a risk—” Daisy silenced him with her mouth, not stopping until his breath had hastened and his bare skin was as hot as a stove-plate beneath her. She lifted her head to smile down into his gleaming eyes. “All or nothing,” she murmured. “That’s how I want you.”

“She found another intriguing object, and she held it up to inspect it. A button. Her brow creased as she stared at the front of the button, which was engraved with a pattern of a windmill. The back of it contained a tiny lock of black hair behind a thin plate of glass, held in place with a copper rim. Swift blanched and reached for it, but Daisy snatched it back, her fingers closing around the button. Daisy's pulse began to race. "I've seen this before," she said. "It was a part of a set. My mother had a waistcoat made for Father with five buttons. One was engraved with a windmill, another with a tree, another with a bridge... she took a lock of hair from each of her children and put it inside a button. I remember the way she took a little snip from my hair at the back where it wouldn't show." Still not looking at her, Swift reached for the discarded contents of his pocket and methodically replaced them. As the silence drew out, Daisy waited in vain for an explanation. Finally she reached out and took hold of his sleeve. His arm stilled, and he stared at her fingers on his coat fabric. "How did you get it?" she whispered. Swift waited so long that she thought he might answer. Finally he spoke with a quiet surliness that wrenched her heart. "Your father wore the waistcoat to the company offices. It was much admired. But later that day he was in a temper and in the process of throwing an ink bottle he spilled some on himself. The waistcoat was ruined. Rather than face your mother with the news he gave the garment to me, buttons and all, and told me to dispose of it." "But you kept one button." Her lungs expanded until her chest felt tight on the inside and her heartbeat was frantic. "The windmill. Which was mine. Have you... have you carried a lock of my hair all these years?”

“In the past few years it had become a rare luxury for all of them to be together at once, especially since Daisy stayed in America with her husband, Matthew, for long periods of time. The trips were necessary for both of them: Matthew was a successful business entrepreneur, and Daisy was a successful novelist with a publisher in New York as well as London.”

“Are you sorry it happened?” Her fingers clenched as she waited tensely for his answer. “Good Lord, no.” He brought her small fist to his mouth and kissed it open, and flattened her palm against the side of his face. “It’s what I’ve wanted most in my entire life. And the one thing I knew I could never have. I’m surprised. Shocked, even. But never sorry.” Daisy turned and snuggled against him, sandwiching one of his thighs between her own. The rain beat out a brisk song against the side of the house, some of it coming through the window. Considering the idea of getting out of bed, Daisy shivered a little, and felt Matthew draw the covers higher over her bare shoulder. “Daisy,” he asked without heat, “where is the damn key?” “I put it in your coat pocket,” she said helpfully. “Didn’t you see? No?…well, I suppose you were distracted at the time.” She trailed her hand over his chest, letting her palm graze the point of his nipple. “You’re probably angry with me for locking us in the bedroom.” “Enraged,” he agreed. “I insist you do it every night after we’re married.” “Are we going to get married?” Daisy whispered, raising her head. His eyes were warm, but there was no hint of pleasure in his voice. “Yes, we’re going to marry. Although you’ll probably hate me for it someday.” “Why in the world would I…oh.” Daisy remembered what he had told her about the likelihood of his past catching up to him someday. “I could never hate you,” she said. “And I’m not afraid of your secrets, Matthew. Whatever comes, I’ll face it with you. Although you should know I find it exasperating when you throw out comments like that and refuse to explain.” There was a sudden catch of laughter in his chest. “That’s only one of many reasons you find me exasperating.” “True.” She crawled on top of him and nuzzled his chest like an inquisitive kitten. “But I like exasperating men much more than the nice ones.”

“Ironically,” she commented, “this will be the first time I’ve ever done anything to please my father.” With a sympathetic murmur, Matthew gathered Daisy close against him. He knew her father as well as anyone, having become well acquainted with the man’s tempers, his self-absorption, his impossible standards. And yet he understood what it had required for Bowman to build a great fortune from scratch, the sacrifices he’d had to make. Bowman had discarded everything that would have gotten in the way of achieving his goals. Including closeness with his wife and children. For the first time it occurred to Matthew that Bowman and his family would benefit from someone acting as a mediator, to ease their communications with each other. If such a thing were in his power, he would find a way to do it. “You,” he whispered in Daisy’s hair, “are the best thing he’s ever done. Someday he’ll realize that.” He felt her smile against his skin. “I doubt it. But it’s nice of you to say so. You don’t have to be concerned on that account, you know. I reconciled myself to the way he was a long time ago.” Once again Matthew was taken unaware by the extent of the feelings she inspired in him, his own limitless desire to fill her with happiness. “Whatever you need,” he whispered, “Whatever you want, I’ll get it for you. Just tell me.” Daisy stretched comfortably, a pleasant shiver running through her limbs. She touched his lips with her fingers, tracing the smoothness. “I want to know what your five-dollar wish was for.” “Is that all?” He smiled beneath her exploring fingertips. “I wished you would find someone who wanted you as much as I did. But I knew it wouldn’t come true.” The candlelight slid over Daisy’s delicate features as she raised her head to look at him. “Why not?” “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.”

“Matthew turned as he became aware of someone approaching from behind. It was the pair of constables, looking disgruntled. “It’s procedure for lawbreakers to wear ’and cuffs while they’re being transported to Bow Street,” one of them said. He gave Daisy an accusing glance. “Pardon, miss, but what did you do with the cuffs that was removed from Mr. Phelan?” Daisy looked back at him innocently. “I gave them to a maidservant. I’m afraid she’s very forgetful. She probably misplaced them.” “Where should we start looking?” the officer asked with a puff of impatience. Her expression did not change as she replied, “I would suggest a thorough search of all the chamberpots.”