“And your reply?” Westcliff asked.

“I…couldn’t think of anything to say.”

Westcliff’s coffee-colored eyes were unfathomable. He made a gesture for her to approach the settee, and she obeyed. To her astonishment, he took her hand in his and gripped it warmly. The usually circumspect earl had never done such a thing before.

“Daisy,” Westcliff said gently, “most lives are not distinguished by great achievements. They are measured by an infinite number of small ones. Each time you do a kindness for someone or bring a smile to his face, it gives your life meaning. Never doubt your value, little friend. The world would be a dismal place without Daisy Bowman in it.”

Few people would argue that StonyCrossPark was one of the most beautiful places in England. The Hampshire estate sustained an infinite variety of terrain from near-impenetrable forests to brilliantly flowered wet meadows and bogs to the stalwart honey-colored stone manor on a bluff over looking the Itchen river.

Life flourished everywhere, pale shoots springing from the carpet of decayed leaves at the foot of fissured oaks and cedar, stands of bluebells glowing in a darker part of the forest.

Red grasshoppers vaulted through meadows filled with wild primrose and lady’s-smock, while translucent blue damselflies hovered over the intricately cut white petals of bog bean flowers. It smelled like spring, the air saturated with the scent of sweet box hedge and tender green lawn.

After a twelve-hour carriage ride that Lillian described as a journey through hell, the Westcliffs, Bowmans, and assorted guests were gratified to reach StonyCrossPark at last.

The sky was a different color in Hampshire, a softer blue, and the air was filled with blissful quiet. There were no clangs of wheels and hooves on paved streets, or vendors or beggars, or factory whistles, or any of the commotion that constantly assaulted the ears in town. Here there was only the chirping of robins in the hedgerows, the rattle of green woodpeckers among the trees, and the occasional dart of kingfishers from the sheltering river reeds.

Lillian, who had once considered the country deadly dull, was overjoyed to be back at the estate. She thrived in the atmosphere of StonyCrossPark, and after her first night at the manor she looked and felt much better than she had in weeks. Now that Lillian’s pregnancy could no longer easily be concealed by high-waisted gowns, she was entering confinement, which meant she could no longer go out in public. On her own estate, however, Lillian would have relative freedom, though she would restrict her interactions with the guests to small groups.

To Daisy’s delight she was installed in her favorite bedroom in the manor. The lovely, quaint room had once belonged to Lord Westcliff’s sister Lady Aline, who now resided in America with her husband and son. The most charming feature of the bedroom was the tiny attached cabinet room that had been brought over from France and reassembled. It had originally come from a seventeenth-century chateau and had been fitted with a chaise that was perfect for napping or reading.

Curled with one of her books in a corner of the chaise, Daisy felt as if she were hidden from the rest of the world. Oh, if only she could stay here at Stony Cross and live with her sister forever! But even as the thought occurred to her she knew she would never be completely happy that way. She wanted her own life…her own husband, her own children.

For the first time in Daisy’s memory she and her mother had become allies. They were united in their desire to prevent a marriage with the odious Matthew Swift.

“That wretched young man,” Mercedes had exclaimed. “I’ve no doubt he put the entire blasted notion in your father’s head…I’ve always suspected he…”

“Suspected what?” Daisy asked, but her mother only clamped her lips together until they formed a bitter hyphen.

As Mercedes pored over the guest list, she informed Daisy that a great number of eligible gentlemen were staying at the manor. “Even if they aren’t all directly in line for titles, they are from noble families,” Mercedes said. “And one never knows…Sometimes disaster occurs…fatal illness or large accidents. Several members of the family could be wiped out at once and then your husband could become a peer by default!” Looking hopeful at the thought of a calamity befalling Daisy’s future in-laws, Mercedes pored more closely over her list.

Daisy was impatient for Evie and St. Vincent to appear later in the week. She missed Evie dreadfully, especially since Annabelle was occupied with her baby and Lillian was too slow-moving to accompany her on the brisk walks she enjoyed.

On the third day after her arrival in Hampshire, Daisy set out by herself for an afternoon tromp. She took a well-worn path she had traversed on many previous visits. Wearing a pale blue muslin dress printed with flowers, and a pair of sturdy walking boots, she swung a straw bonnet by its ribbons.

Striding along a sunken road past wet meadows brilliant with yellow celandine and red sundew, Daisy considered her problem.

Why was it so hard for her to find a man?

It wasn’t as if she didn’t want to fall in love with someone. In fact, she was so open to the idea that it seemed monstrously unfair not to have found someone by now. She had tried! But there always was something wrong.

If a gentleman was the right age, he was passive or pompous. If he was kind and interesting, he was either old enough to be her grandfather or he had some off-putting problem such as being perpetually malodorous or spitting in her face when he talked.

Daisy knew she was not a great beauty. She was too small and slight, and although she had been praised for her dark eyes and brown-black hair set against her fair complexion, she had also heard the words “elfin” and “impish” applied to herself far too many times. Elfin women did not attract suitors in anything close to the quantities that statuesque beauties or pocket Venuses did.