she was only reminded of Jimmy Simpson. The young men she met began to take on names and faces and recognizable identities, whereas before they had formed a faceless background to the Earl’s charm.
She learned from Amy, with some surprise, that the Duke of Oxenden was considered the biggest catch of the Season. She hoped that he would be at her first ball to witness her triumph. Daisy had a new white silk ball gown with a frivolous little bustle and the name tag of a famous Paris house. She had learned that she was attractive. Now all she had to do was fall in love.
On the night of the ball she stood nervously at the top of the long flight of red-carpeted steps. Never had she seen so many jewels. Many of the women wore them in such profusion, it bordered on vulgarity. Who could appreciate the beauty of a fine rope of real pearls when they were worn on top of a diamond necklace? Feathers were considered the last word in chic, and the ladies fluttered into the ballroom like so many birds of paradise. Daisy herself wore a diamond circlet on her brown hair, ornamented with one white ostrich plume, and in her hand she carried a magnificent ostrich feather fan that was so large, she had had to practice for hours beforehand as to how to wield it without knocking over everything in the room.
A heavy undertone of sexuality permeated the ballroom like musk. Daisy had learned from Amy’s gossip that the Duke of Oxenden’s remarks on the current aristocracy were true. The more raffish elements who had been kept firmly in their places by Queen Victoria, now blossomed as they had never done since the eighteenth century, under the jolly and rumbustious rule of King Edward.
Daisy had long since learned that the whisperings and rustlings in the corridors of a country house during the night were made by the happy guests prowling from bedroom to bedroom. But on the surface, appearances were kept up. Lovers treated each other during the day with all the chilly formality of a Victorian “at home.” Public physical contact was forbidden and even the Earl, in this rarified London atmosphere, had ceased to ruffle Daisy’s curls or pat her waist.
The Countess indicated to Daisy that it was time to move into the ballroom. Most of the guests had arrived. The Duke of Oxenden had not been among them. Daisy felt a little pang of disappointment.
She moved slowly down the carpeted stairs into the heavy, scented air of the ballroom. The new electricity had been dispensed with for the evening and thousands of candles flickered and blazed from the crystal chandeliers and from tall, ornate, iron stands. Daisy’s fragile beauty soon drew a host of admirers and her little dance card was soon full. She studied each face, looking for the man of her dreams. But to her nervous eyes they all looked remarkably alike with their formal black and white evening dress, polished English faces, and high, clipped voices.
Daisy whirled around and around until she began to notice the most determined of her admirers. He was a young man called Freddie Bryce-Cuddestone, who had an endearing boyish face, a mop of fair curls, and large gray eyes. He claimed her hand for the supper dance and was punctilious about finding the right table and seeing that she was immediately served.
After some light social chitchat about various personalities and wasn’t it a
crush
and wasn’t it
hot
, Freddie leaned forward. “’Fraid I’m a bit of an old-fashioned chap, Miss Chatterton. You know, believe in respecting one’s parents and all that. How d’you feel?”
“Oh, the same!” cried Daisy, thinking of her newfound, generous father.
“Thought that the minute I set eyes on you. Pretty gel but
good.
Not like some of these rackety types. Pater’s dead but I’m very fond of Mater. Lot of the chaps chaff me about it.”
“I think it’s a commendable feeling,” said Daisy stoutly. He looked so young and earnest.
“You know, I really like you awfully. Really, awfully
She learned from Amy, with some surprise, that the Duke of Oxenden was considered the biggest catch of the Season. She hoped that he would be at her first ball to witness her triumph. Daisy had a new white silk ball gown with a frivolous little bustle and the name tag of a famous Paris house. She had learned that she was attractive. Now all she had to do was fall in love.
On the night of the ball she stood nervously at the top of the long flight of red-carpeted steps. Never had she seen so many jewels. Many of the women wore them in such profusion, it bordered on vulgarity. Who could appreciate the beauty of a fine rope of real pearls when they were worn on top of a diamond necklace? Feathers were considered the last word in chic, and the ladies fluttered into the ballroom like so many birds of paradise. Daisy herself wore a diamond circlet on her brown hair, ornamented with one white ostrich plume, and in her hand she carried a magnificent ostrich feather fan that was so large, she had had to practice for hours beforehand as to how to wield it without knocking over everything in the room.
A heavy undertone of sexuality permeated the ballroom like musk. Daisy had learned from Amy’s gossip that the Duke of Oxenden’s remarks on the current aristocracy were true. The more raffish elements who had been kept firmly in their places by Queen Victoria, now blossomed as they had never done since the eighteenth century, under the jolly and rumbustious rule of King Edward.
Daisy had long since learned that the whisperings and rustlings in the corridors of a country house during the night were made by the happy guests prowling from bedroom to bedroom. But on the surface, appearances were kept up. Lovers treated each other during the day with all the chilly formality of a Victorian “at home.” Public physical contact was forbidden and even the Earl, in this rarified London atmosphere, had ceased to ruffle Daisy’s curls or pat her waist.
The Countess indicated to Daisy that it was time to move into the ballroom. Most of the guests had arrived. The Duke of Oxenden had not been among them. Daisy felt a little pang of disappointment.
She moved slowly down the carpeted stairs into the heavy, scented air of the ballroom. The new electricity had been dispensed with for the evening and thousands of candles flickered and blazed from the crystal chandeliers and from tall, ornate, iron stands. Daisy’s fragile beauty soon drew a host of admirers and her little dance card was soon full. She studied each face, looking for the man of her dreams. But to her nervous eyes they all looked remarkably alike with their formal black and white evening dress, polished English faces, and high, clipped voices.
Daisy whirled around and around until she began to notice the most determined of her admirers. He was a young man called Freddie Bryce-Cuddestone, who had an endearing boyish face, a mop of fair curls, and large gray eyes. He claimed her hand for the supper dance and was punctilious about finding the right table and seeing that she was immediately served.
After some light social chitchat about various personalities and wasn’t it a
crush
and wasn’t it
hot
, Freddie leaned forward. “’Fraid I’m a bit of an old-fashioned chap, Miss Chatterton. You know, believe in respecting one’s parents and all that. How d’you feel?”
“Oh, the same!” cried Daisy, thinking of her newfound, generous father.
“Thought that the minute I set eyes on you. Pretty gel but
good.
Not like some of these rackety types. Pater’s dead but I’m very fond of Mater. Lot of the chaps chaff me about it.”
“I think it’s a commendable feeling,” said Daisy stoutly. He looked so young and earnest.
“You know, I really like you awfully. Really, awfully
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