Page 32 of If a Lady Lingers

They all might as well have patted her on the head and given her a biscuit.

But she didn’t blame them. After all, she was culpable. She’d let everyone believe that the contest plans had been created by the great Elias Daring while she’d done little more than help with ideas for the decorations.

“I just hope the attention generates new commissions for us,” she mumbled against the rim of her champagne glass.

After all, they could certainly use the income. Especially now that Whitby’s house was all finished except for the final interior finishes, now that they wouldn’t have the chance to build the second house for him. Once the money for her brothers’ tuition was repaid, along with the most pressing household accounts, they would be back where they’d started with no money in the bank for rainy days. Whitby’s commission had merely brought them a reprieve.

“Humph.” Papa’s dismissive grunt registered his displeasure. “You shouldn’t be hiding behind my name.”

“Daring is a perfectly good name, if I do say so myself.”

But he wasn’t deterred by her attempted humor. “Your name should be on those plans. These people should all be congratulating you, not me.”

She stared into her champagne and watched as the tiny bubbles rose through the pale gold liquid. She couldn’t disagree.

“It’s one thing to collaborate on plans and designs, as we’ve been doing, to make our clients happy and ensure their projects finish on time. I couldn’t have gotten through the past few years without you.”

She silently squeezed his arm. She couldn’t disagree with that, either.

“But tonight… This is different. You deserve all the credit for those plans. People should know about the work you’ve been doing and how talented you are.”

Her chest panged. He sounded exactly like Whitby. “We’ve been through this before, Papa. England isn’t ready for a woman architect, you know that.”

“Well then, they’d best become ready. The world is changing, and soon what will matter is sheer ability, not if the architect wears pantaloons.”

The world wasn’t changing that quickly. Not nearly fast enough to make her dream come true. Yet she appeased him with a hopeful smile.

Excited voices rose from the other end of the long reception room as the imposing, gold-gilded double doors swung open. An elderly man with bright white and gray hair walked slowly yet imperially into the room.

The master of ceremonies stamped his staff against the floor and called out, “Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. John Nash!”

Admiring applause welcomed him, and the crowd parted to let him advance. Excitement buzzed through the room.

Nash circled through the guests and greeted everyone, including her father, while Daisy was too awestruck to do anything more than remember to curtsy and gush out how much she admired his work. Oh, she was a perfect goose!

Papa’s eyes gleamed with amusement, and he chuckled at her after Nash had continued on to greet the rest of the special guests.

“I know,” she admitted to her own embarrassing behavior with a long, chagrined sigh. “He’s only a man who puts on his trousers one leg at a time.”

“Oh no, not Nash!” Papa’s lips twitched. “Why, a contingent of angels arrives every morning at sunrise to miraculously dress him both legs at once, and all his architectural plans spring fully formed from his head, like Athena from Zeus.”

She rolled her eyes with a self-effacing grimace.

“Haven’t you ever wondered why he never incorporates water closets into his building designs? Because he never thinks of them. He’s so divine that he never has to—”

“Papa!” She choked on her champagne.

“Let that be a reminder to you, Daisy.” He wagged a finger at her. “Architects aren’t divine creatures. We’re just men. We’ve become famous only because we’ve studied long hours to cultivate our talents and worked hard at utilizing them. No less so than you.” He softened that chastisement by placing an affectionate kiss to her temple. “Remember that when the winner is announced.”

She grimaced. “Because I’ll need to be gracious in defeat.”

“Because you’ll need to be gracious in victory!”

Finished with his circle of the room, Nash stepped onto the small dais at the front of the hall as footmen collected the easels with their plans and brought them forward. Hushed excitement fell over the attendees as more introductions were made. Nash acknowledged the aristocracy and members of the king’s household who were in attendance by naming each one individually, then the men who sat on the contest committee, and lastly, the finalists themselves.

When he nodded at her father, Papa squeezed her arm to encourage her to speak up and claim recognition for herself.

But she simply couldn’t. Instead, she perpetuated their ruse by applauding for her father.