Chapter 32- Daisy
F irst impressions can be lasting. They can also change.
“There you are! The guests are arriving,” Great Aunt Isabelle informs us. “That is a pretty dress, Daisy.”
“Thank you.”
“Yes, sister. She looks quite ladylike, doesn’t she?” Great Aunt Ida comments.
Not sure I’m going to thank her for that as my husband’s expression darkens. “My wife is a lady. My lady.” I loved the breathless way he stared at me when he first saw me in the rose gold gown I’m wearing with the necklace he gave me for Christmas.
“Well, we’re all relieved to see your lady escaped the bedroom at last.” Grant ignores his Great Aunt Imogen’s cheeky remark even if it makes me laugh. “Speaking of bedrooms though, there are many at Barclay Manor and my sisters and I were wondering about wintering at the estate…”
“Winters can be terribly harsh when you're our age, can’t they, sister?” Ida says.
“Oh yes and we should enjoy seeing the home of our youth… one last time,” Isabella sighs.
They are three little old ladies and Barclay Manor is large. Surely, it wouldn’t be too much trouble to-
“We’re still newlyweds. My wife barely escaped the bedroom earlier and only because I didn’t have her at my home,” Grant says, firmly. “Though perhaps we can discuss a visit later.”
“Grant…” I whisper as he leads me away from the trio, feeling second-hand guilt.
“No, Daisy. They have a home here or they can afford one somewhere else if they like, even somewhere tropical. They just don’t like parting from a single cent if they don’t have to. Trust me, if those three came to stay for a season, we may as well move into the penthouse, too. If any old ladies are moving in at Barclay Manor, I’d much prefer Mimi.”
Chuckling, I allow him to escort me downstairs. “Who are all these people?” The house is stuffed to the gills with strangers in black tie.
“A slew of distant relatives along with Lincoln and Emilia’s friends and business acquaintances. No one you’re likely to see again anytime soon. Shall we turn right back around?”
“It’s just a few hours,” I say, summoning my courage.
“That’s my girl. I’m claiming a kiss at the strike of midnight by the way and then possibly causing a scandal by carrying you upstairs over my shoulder.”
I laugh at his threat. “I think that’s more spectacle than your great aunts would enjoy. I think I was more comfortable at our City Hall ceremony.”
“You deserved more of a wedding day than that. Something special,” he says, closing his hand around mine. “Daisy, if we were to renew our vows and have a proper ceremony-”
The utterly unexpected talk of renewing our vows catches me off guard. Why would we renew vows or spend money on a ceremony for a marriage set to end in less than eleven months? “Do you mean we’d have one for your family to attend?”
“No, I-”’
Grant’s words are cut short when Emilia hurries over to join us. “Oh good, you’re here! Come meet everyone, Daisy. Grant, you’ve been monopolizing this poor girl enough since you arrived. I’ve barely got to know her at all. Would you be so kind as to refresh Aunt Imogen’s cordial though?” she says, pulling us apart.
With that, I’m swept away. Emilia sticks by my side like glue as she introduces me to her circle of friends. She’s actually quite friendly. Tipsy without a doubt but friendly.
However, I’m familiar with the sort of women her friends are, the type who would clutch their designer purses tighter and look away when they’d pass me on the street not so long ago. Tonight, I’m repeatedly congratulated on my lovely dress, my stunning hair and the stroke of luck I had in catching Grant Barclay’s eye. As if those are the greatest achievements of womankind.
As the party carries on, I notice Emilia drinking more and more. I fear she’s deeply unhappy on some fundamental level but not sure what I could do to help.
I’m asked what hobbies I enjoy so I mention my desire to return to art school. “It’s more than a hobby though. It’s a passion I hope to turn into a career with enough effort.”
The handful of men present give me politely dismissive smiles, joking about career women and the arts while the women all talk about how busy I’ll be hosting parties for my husband and giving him children soon enough. I don’t know where they got that notion. Grant hasn’t expressed any interest in hosting parties or having children with me.
When I mention the public mural painting event I’m participating in soon, one woman looks close to fainting. “But… in the city? On a regular street with strangers walking past? Why, anyone might show up or try to talk to you, my dear.”
“That’s the idea, art in public places and bringing it into the spotlight, starting conversations. It’s open to anyone. There will be a few of the local names from the art scene there but plenty of starving artists, too.”
Emilia gently extracts me from the exclamations of concern about my safety being exposed to ‘the public’ in such a way. “Many of them have lived sheltered lives.” Her warm tone makes me feel like I’ve not given her enough credit. Regardless of Anders’ gossip, she’s been so kind this evening despite the excessive drinking and yesterday’s first impression.
“It’s alright. Grant’s very protective about where I go and who I’m with.”
“Yes, I’m sure he is. Lucky, lucky, you.” Her friendly smile turns flinty in a blink and maybe I should remember that first impression. God, I miss my husband. Is it midnight yet?
“Have you seen Grant lately?” I ask, peering around the crowded room.
“I think Lincoln lured him to a card game. My stuffy husband always insists we keep a quiet room for that sort of activity at the parties I host. Suits me fine whenever he’s busy elsewhere.”
The bitterness under the remark strikes me as sad. It also reminds me of my early fears about my marriage to Grant where I worried we wouldn’t find any common ground. Yet, we have and he’s nothing like I imagined. I think I might enjoy hosting a party with him if we could invite people whose company we truly enjoy. “I imagine it’s a lot of work doing all this. I can’t believe there’s so many people here. How do you remember everyone’s names?”
“Simple. I was born for this role… unlike you.” Her biting tone puts me fully on alert. “Tell me, Daisy. Where did you really meet Grant? I’ve heard differing accounts.”
“I met him at work. And, I think you’ve had enough to drink,” I say, trying to extract the champagne flute from her hand. She stubbornly hangs on to it.
“When you were a janitor at his company or after you crept out of your cardboard box and into his bed?”
Ah, someone’s done some research. Not that surprising I suppose but, if she expects me to gasp or deny it, she clearly doesn’t know me very well. “The former initially but I assure you the latter is an amusing story, not that it changes anything. Why do you care?”
“Because Lincoln was certain he wouldn’t marry. Grant hasn’t wanted to live there since he was a boy.”
“Maybe he’s more attached to the estate than your husband realized.”
“Lincoln had plans for that land. It was going to make us a fortune.”
“One shouldn’t count their ducks before they hatch. Now, you should probably sit down and have some water.”
She ignores my suggestion. “I told him Grant would find someone to marry. We just didn’t expect it to be someone as unsuitable as you.”
“If we’re going to be nasty, let’s at least do that away from your guests. And, unsuitable or not, I am his lawful wife… and not merely a drunken fling.”
I couldn’t resist the barb and she gives me an outraged gasp but I can’t say I feel all that vindicated when she snaps back. “We might’ve been drunk but I shared one hell of a weekend with your husband, Daisy. Neither of us has ever forgotten it. It was poor timing on my part meeting Lincoln first but, at the time, his prospects appeared better than Grant’s so…”
“Are you suggesting Grant would’ve proposed to you if you’d been single?” Her furious glare convinces me that he had no such intentions. “Did he know you were Lincoln’s fiancée at the time?”
“He’ll tell you he didn’t but Lincoln will assure you he did.” That’s not enough to convince me one way or the other. “Anyway, I’ll make do with being Mrs. Lincoln Barclay. How long will you be Mrs. Grant Barclay, I wonder? I’m sure he’ll be looking to send you back to the gutter as soon as the year is up.”
“What makes you think-”
“Because everyone knows Grant never wanted to marry. He made such a thing about it. What makes you think you’re special? No matter how much he spends on clothes and salons, it’ll never hide the fact you don’t belong by his side.”
I hate how hard Emilia’s words hit me and how that hateful little voice of doubt inside of me believes her.
“You know what? I’m finished talking to you. You can take your gaudy, unnecessary party and shove it.”
“Gaudy?! How dare you!” she shrieks. I’d laugh except she has one final barb of her own. Raising her voice loud enough for every head around us to turn, she calls, “Oh, Daisy? Since I’ve finished my drink, why don’t you do what you do best and clean up for me?”
She attempts to hand me her glass. I let it fall to the floor, ignoring the gasps when I walk away. I’m not her servant and I have never wanted away from a place more in my entire life.
Searching for my husband through the crowd, I realize how many people are stopping and staring at me. If Emilia knew my background, who else here has been told? Has this all been some sick attempt to humiliate Grant?
When I look the gawkers in the eye, they turn away and Jewel’s words echo in my ear - When your mere existence makes people uncomfortable, what does that say about you?
“What does it say about them?” I growl to myself.
But, no matter how hard I try not to let it bother, it does. Does everyone know? Has anyone said anything to Grant? How will he react to the past he wanted kept secret coming out? Where the hell is he anyway? It’s nearly midnight and he promised to kiss me and take me to our room.
Unwanted tears prick my eyes. I will not cry here. I will not. I need to escape and start packing. I won’t stay under this roof another night, even if I have to sleep outside to avoid that. I need my freaking husband to appear.
Feeling unsteady from my own glasses of champagne, I climb the stairs, hurrying away from the party madness. I shut the door behind me, grateful for the silence. I look at myself in the full-length mirror across the way. Do I look so different from them? Is it written on my forehead? A couple of tears slip free. This has been a disaster just as I feared.
Two seconds later, the door opens and I’m flooded with relief. He must’ve seen me leaving the party.
“Daisy?”
No, dammit. It’s a man’s voice, a familiar man, but it’s not the one I want. “Anders? Why are you-”
“I’m sorry. I knew they’d hurt you, sweet girl,” he murmurs, his voice low and soft as he pulls me into his arms.
“Anders, I’m… I need you to… stop. I’m not-”
“It’s okay. I promise, Daisy. We’re friends, right? I just want to comfort my friend.”
I do want comfort but not from him. He hasn’t let me go as asked so I try pushing at his chest. It does me absolutely no good as he’s much stronger than me. “Anders, I want you to stop touching me and-”
“He thought he could buy a wife but he never deserved you,” he says, cupping my face and lowering his mouth to mine.
I survived the streets. I’ve survived worse than one unwanted kiss the past few years. The beautiful designer gown has a beautifully useful slit up one side making it much less restrictive than that white sundress I got married in.
Before I can act though, the bedroom door crashes open and I see my husband stalking inside. I’m momentarily stunned as Grant stares at us both, his brows snapping together like a thundercloud. “What the… get your hands off my wife!” Grant roars at Anders, looking positively feral.
His anger kicks me back into action and the driver yelps a second later when my knee makes contact with his balls. Then, Grant storms toward us and punches him. “Grant!” I can’t believe my cool, controlled husband just punched him. If I weren’t so rattled, I’d be very turned on.
Anders crumbles to the floor, clutching his jaw and his groin. Serves him right if you ask me. “Your services are no longer wanted, Anders. I’d advise you not to ask for a reference,” Grant clips before turning toward me and Anders takes his opportunity to crawl out the door.
Shook from the whole business, I rush to my husband’s side. I hope he’s not too upset about Emilia and Lincoln and who knows who else knowing about my past. “I’m so glad you’re here. He kissed me but-”
My words die on my tongue as Grant steps away from my embrace. He stares back at me with cold mistrust. “You were alone with him up here.”
“It wasn’t like-”
“What was it like, Daisy? Why the hell would our chauffeur be in our bedroom with you if you didn’t invite him up here?”
“He barged in. I-”
“I knew we should’ve stuck to our original arrangement. I knew it was a mistake to think we would ever work in the long run. I never wanted this marriage in the first place but there was one condition I insisted on.”
“Grant, it’s not like that! Will you just listen to-”
“I’ve been listening to your stories long enough, Goldilocks. Peddle them somewhere else.”
“But, Grant…” I whisper, my heart slowly splitting in two.
“But what? ‘Be faithful.’ That was my one fucking condition above any other and, apparently, that was too hard for you. Now, pack your things. We’re leaving.”