Daisy thought it wiser, as well as kinder, not to point out that her father had left a mess of a different kind. Shattered by the death of Gervaise, he had failed to alter his will to provide for Daisy, having earlier assumed that her brother would take care of her. Though, when the flu pandemic bore him off in his turn, Edgar had been willing to correct his omission, Daisy had not been willing to sponge on her then newly discovered relative.
Choosing to work for her living had led to her meeting Alec, so all had turned out for the best—in her eyes, if not the dowager’s.
Avoiding her mother’s outraged look, Daisy took a sip of sherry, which she didn’t really care for, and glanced round the sitting room. It was somewhat larger than Geraldine’s, but the Dower House didn’t have a separate drawing room, another source of continual complaint. The furnishings were equally elegant, however, since the dowager had bagged the best of the smaller pieces when forced to move—“forced” by her own refusal to reside with the usurper, as he had proposed.
Having done likewise, Daisy didn’t blame her for refusing. It was about time she stopped complaining, though.
A bowl of glorious pink and yellow roses caught Daisy’s eye. Eager to change the subject, she got up and went to smell their fragrance. “Gorgeous!”
“That little Welsh gardener you recommended to me is still with me, surprisingly. Of course, my little plot is nothing like the Fairacres gardens. It’s so tiny, Morgan doesn’t have a great deal to do. He has no excuse for anything short of perfection.”
“Mother, no garden can ever be perfect, what with insects and diseases and weeds and the vagaries of the weather.” Not to mention that the Dower House boasted a sizable vegetable plot and orchard, not just a lawn surrounded by flowering shrubs and borders.
“Don’t change the subject. It’s a bad habit I have had to reprimand you for since you were a child. You say this jewellery pedlar is calling tomorrow afternoon? I’m free until six, I believe. It’s time I paid that woman a visit.”
“I didn’t know you and Cousin Geraldine were on visiting terms.”
“I know my duty.” Drawing herself up, the dowager spoke frostily. “I’m aware that my accommodations are vastly inferior to Fairacres, but when my daughter prefers to stay with Edgar and Geraldine—” Her tone suggested that though it pained her to use their christian names, she simply could not bring herself to refer to them as Lord and Lady Dalrymple. “However, it’s not for me to complain.”
“They invited me.”
“Only because Edgar is unfit to evaluate the claimants and Geraldine is unwilling. That lawyer friend of yours should have requested my assistance. I can’t think how you came to take it upon yourself—”
“I didn’t, Mother. Geraldine asked me because I’m a Dalrymple by birth, which neither she nor you are.”
“Well, I must say…!”
For once Daisy had left her mother speechless. She took her leave with all possible celerity.
Walking back across the park to the big house, she looked forward with dismay to the morrow. Bad enough that Cousin Raymond had not so far shown himself a sympathetic person; the prospect of the dowager viscountess and the present viscountess crossing swords over the teacups made Daisy cringe.
* * *
Saturday morning promised another sunny day and Daisy’s spirits rose. After breakfast, she went for a walk along the riverside path. Edgar’s spaniel, Pepper, went with her, as Wharton, the bailiff, had cornered his lordship and driven him into his study to accomplish several overdue tasks.
The Severn slid by, reflecting the blue of the sky and the green of the willows leaning over it. A dark red butterfly with white edges to its wings flitted past. Swallows darted and swooped over the water. Daisy hoped they would confine their diet to midges and not go for the butterfly.
The water level was about eight feet below the path, but Pepper, undeterred, scrambled down to go for a dip. Presuming he knew what he was doing, Daisy didn’t call him back until he started to paddle determinedly after a pair of crested grebes. He took no notice, giving up only when the birds submerged and swam off underwater. Then he turned downstream on a diagonal towards the bank.
By the time Daisy caught up with him, he had climbed out onto a dilapidated floating landing stage. After shaking vigorously, he scampered up the equally dilapidated wooden steps and greeted her with more enthusiasm than she quite cared for.
“Down, boy! I’d better ask your master if he wouldn’t mind having the steps and dock repaired. I bet Derek and Belinda are getting too old to be satisfied with puttering about the backwater. The boat probably could do with an overhaul, too.”