Page 19 of If a Lady Lingers

“Ohno,” she told herself and shoved away from the door.

Whatever madness had gripped her this afternoon was over. It was time to stop thinking about Whitby and go back to work. She set the rolled-up house plans onto her drafting table, and a piece of paper fluttered to the floor.

The contest announcement.

With a grimace, she snatched it up. Her, enter a contest like this—madness!

Just as she was about to crumple it and toss it away, she stopped. Her eyes swept over the information again, and a longing to be part of the contest flooded over her so fiercely that she shuddered. If only she could enter! Yet she knew better. An entry with her name on it would be a complete waste of time.

But one with Elias Daring’s name… That was altogether different matter.

She picked up the plans for her dream house. She’d endlessly fussed over these plans until they were perfect, right down to the tiniest detail. Her heart melted. Whitby was right. Theywerelovely…far too lovely to never see the light of day. Not sharing these plans was like owning a Beethoven sonata that could never be played.

Her gaze slid to the announcement, and she bit her bottom lip. What if she did enter them into the contest—rather, what if Elias Daring did? Certainly, it would never be the same as being able to take credit for them herself, openly and fully, but it was also the only way her plans would ever be taken seriously. When Papa won, she could say that she’d helped with them and gain some credit that way—well, notsome. Nearly none at all. But the validation she would gain from hearing others unwittingly praise her work might be the only brush with the architectural community she would ever have as an equal.

It would have to be enough. Somehow.

“They will see you,” she told her dream house as she lovingly traced her fingers over the sketches. “And they will fall in love.”

She reached for her pencil and straightedge and began to polish the plans. After all, she—that is, her father—had a contest to win.

Whitby rapped on the front door of the Daring’s townhouse, with a large bouquet of flowers in his hand. He grinned with happiness.Zounds, what a beautiful day! And made all the better by being able to call on Daisy. Because today was the day. Not just the day when he finally made her talk about what happened last week at the site—after all, she’d managed to wiggle out of discussing it whenever he’d come by since then—but so much more.

Today he planned to ask Elias for permission to formally court his daughter.

The door opened, and Mrs. Jones smiled welcomingly. “Well, Mr. Whitby! Is that you behind all those flowers?”

He lowered the bouquet with a wide grin. “They’re for the Darings.” But really for Daisy—a big bunch of daisies for one beautiful Daisy, with enough pink carnations mixed in that he could save face and say they weren’t just for her if she refused his courtship. Sweet Lucifer, he prayed she didn’t refuse! “We’re celebrating the first of the windows going into the house.”

“Aren’t you thoughtful? And what beautiful flowers, too.” She leaned over to take a quick sniff before stepping back to let him pass into the house. “Come inside and let me tell Mr. Daring that you’re here.”

“And Daisy?” he tried to ask casually as he pulled one of the pink carnations from the bouquet and handed it to Mrs. Jones. “Is she home?”

The older woman blushed as she accepted the flower. “Oh, I’m afraid not. She’s gone out to run some errands.” She raised the flower to her nose and pulled in a deep sniff, then smiled at the perfumed scent. “Said she probably won’t be back until the shops close right before dinner.”

Disappointment panged inside him, but he didn’t let his smile waver. “Well, then I’ll call on her again tomorrow, I suppose. She said she had the interior plans completed for the stair hall and dining room.”

“I’m sure she does. But Mr. Daring could discuss them with you, as well. After all, he’s the architect.”

So…Mrs. Jones didn’t know that he knew the truth. Best to keep it that way, so he nodded and agreed tongue-in-cheek, “No man better for the job.”

“Certainly not!”

Hiding the amusement he was sure sparkled on his face, he gestured into the heart of the house. “No need to bother with showing me to the parlor. I know the way, and I’m certain Elias won’t mind if I pop in unannounced.” He dropped his gaze to the flowers. “But perhaps you could fetch a vase for these, if you don’t mind?”

“Not at all!” She smiled at him. “And why not some tea, too, while I’m in the kitchen?”

“You’re a peach, Mrs. Jones.” With a wink, he handed her a second carnation. “A true peach!”

She laughed faintly with embarrassment, then left to hurry down to the kitchen.

Whitby dragged in a deep breath of courage and turned toward the parlor. It was time to face his future and her father.

But when he stepped into the room, he found Elias asleep in his chair in front of the window, his book having fallen open onto his lap and his spectacles hanging crooked from his nose. The man let out a little snore.

Whitby sighed in frustration, and his hand with the bouquet fell to his side. Well, nothing was going as planned today, but he refused to take any of it as a portent for the success of his courtship.

Instead, he’d treat it as a good time to check on the house, so he hurried upstairs to the studio.