James flung himself into a chair and ran a hand through his hair. I don’t want to be Theodora, or Dora, or Daisy, either.” “Do you suppose you could try harder to call me Theo? I must have asked you a hundred times already. “I’m the only person in the world who calls you Daisy. “How could you not realize it was me?” James demanded, pushing open the door and crowding her backward, now that he knew she was decent. This embarrassment of riches really wasn’t fair. How could he? He was devastatingly handsome, rather charming when he wasn’t being a beast, and a future duke, to boot. The last thing one wants to see when in a melancholic fit is a friend who refuses to attend balls even when he knows perfectly well that all three weeks of her first season had been horrific. “Oh hello, James,” she said, unable to muster much enthusiasm at the sight of him. But an insistent “Daisy!” finally broke through her trance, and she pushed herself up from the settee and opened the bedchamber door. She was so caught up in a vision of herself in a severely tailored jacket resembling the Etonian morning coat that at first she didn’t even hear the pounding on her door.
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