"Thank you for the offer, Empress, but don't bother with a letter of introduction." Daisy's voice was moderate, detached. "I won't have much time to ride."
The ocean crossing was unseasonably tempestuous, beset with gale winds that made even a daily walk on deck dangerous. Daisy's arrival time was delayed a full day by the storms. When she landed at Le Havre, Adelaide was waiting for her with an infectiously cheerful smile, her usual retinue of servants sufficient to ease a monarch's progress through a coronation, and a calendar of social events drawn up for Daisy that would exhaust an eighteen-year-old debutante.
With utmost diplomacy Daisy pared away as many events as possible on the train ride to Paris, using her legal mission as excuse. Which pretext turned out to be not only a feigned defense but an actuality, the procedures required to ultimately incorporate Solange into the Jordan estates taking hours of her time each day. French jurisprudence, not yet reconciled to female attorneys, offered obstinacy and delay at each step of the process.
After having passed two underproductive weeks, Daisy had visions of either leaving without accomplishing her tasks or seeing Paris in the autumn. Only today, she'd been denied entrance to the office of the deputy clerk with a rudeness only the French could convey. The vestiges of a headache that had plagued her all day still throbbed at her temples. The combs in her hair hurt, as did her heavy earrings, a rackety din of conversation overwhelming Adelaide's ballroom and Daisy's sensitive ears like a rushing tidal wave of fashionable inanity. Dammit, she hotly reflected, Henry should have come to Paris on this assignment. At least then his delays wouldn't have been predicated on gender bias—only nationality prejudice. And dammit, she'd almost managed to escape from the heated crush of Adelaide's ballroom, a moment ago.
Almost.
Except for the Comtesse Guimond's dulcet greeting and firm detaining grasp on her arm.
So now she stood facing the notorious Duc de Vec, waiting to be introduced, her disinterest barely concealed.
The Duc was patently restless, only held in check, as was Daisy, by the Countess's restraining hand.
It was obvious neither wished to be there.
When the hall clock struck the hour, Daisy and the Duc both took note of it like schoolchildren counting the minutes till dismissal.
With Daisy's inherent dislike of glittering society, were she not Adelaide's houseguest, she would have spent the evening upstairs reading.
The Duc de Vec had come at the last minute, as a favor to Adelaide's husband Valentin, when the seating arrangements for dinner required a hasty replacement for Baron Arras, who'd been injured on the polo field that afternoon. His friendship only extended to dinner, he'd warned Valentin; he intended leaving immediately after. And were it not for Isme's deliberate spite, eagle eye, and clutching hand on his arm, he would have been on his way to the Jockey Club. Instead, he was waylaid, impatient, his eyes shuttered against his annoyance.
"Etienne, darling, have you met Mademoiselle Daisy Black? She's sister-in-law to your dear friend Empress from Montana."
Introductions were made in an airy offhand manner underlaid with a sweet malevolence by Isme, the latest casualty of the Duc's amorous boredom. Since the Duc had recently ended their affair, with a woman-scorned resentment the Comtesse Guimond was hoping to embarrass the Duc de Vec with a member of Empress Jordan's family. His unsuccessful pursuit of the beautiful Mademoiselle Jordan the previous year had set tongues wagging; Empress had been the Duc's only known failure in matters of the heart.
"Daisy, may I present the Duc de Vec. I'm sure Empress has spoken highly of him. They were very close last year."
Isme watched like a peevish kitten, all blonde prettiness and malicious speculation to see how both would respond. Would Etienne feel awkward or gauche in Daisy's presence? Talk had it the Duc and Empress's husband met one evening in Empress's boudoir. Had this woman heard the details? How would Daisy Black regard the disreputable Duc de Vec? By reputation, from her family's vantage point, with her own reservations perhaps? She looked extremely cool. But then her splendid dark coloring and the heavy creme satin gown from Worth gave her a regal air. Unconsciously Isme straightened her petite, voluptuous form in emulation.
"Charmed, Mademoiselle," the Duc said with an effortless smile, bowing over Daisy's hand, immune to Isme's pointed innuendo.
The Comtesse Guimond's famed lavender eyes took on a sullen cast as she disgruntledly gazed at her ex-lover. She should have known better. It was impossible to embarrass de Vec.
"Good evening, Monsieur le Duc," Daisy calmly replied to a man she knew only by notorious reputation. Whatever calculated reason Isme had for forcing this introduction—the Duc was obviously in her clutches—Daisy refused to rise to the bait. In fact, had Isme known Empress's sister-in-law, she would have realized Daisy rarely showed her feelings.
The heat of the spring evening was palpable despite the high ceilings in the ballroom and the opened terrace-doors, the choking density of guests intensifying its effect. When Isme turned away, distracted by a young officer whispering in her ear, the Duc and Daisy seemed the only silent people in the ballroom awash with music, dancers, and animated guests.
"Is it this warm in Montana?" the Duc inquired, the weather always a polite way of avoiding conversation. He was already half-looking away over the heads of the milling crowd, gauging the distance to the door.
"Do you really care?" Daisy said as Isme drifted off on the officer's arm, like a spoiled child, uninterested in Daisy and the Duc now that her vengeful stratagem had failed.
His gaze came back instantly, green-eyed and mildly inquisitive. In the utter boredom of Adelaide's party, a small spark of interest flared. His voice when he answered was as neutral as hers, but his glance took in the tall slender dark-haired woman for the first time with more than his normal polite
