the art of loving ; lord tewksbury

twenty

"Don't blame me for something I can't help. I have two left feet!"

Chapter Twenty

The overpowering scent of agar wood was the only thing Daisy could focus on. It emitted off the surely expensive cologne Mycroft Holmes wore, and she wondered if he had doused himself in it. She had never been much of a perfume fan—it made her head spin and caused her nothing but dizziness, just like it did now. The heavy smell lingered beneath her nose and made it twitch in discomfort. Before she could excuse herself, she let out multiple sneezes in a row.

"Bless you," she heard the man say as she quickly rubbed her itching nose. When she lifted her head and their eyes met, she noticed the clear disgust plastered across his expression. His mouth curved downwards as he frowned upon her.

  "Sorry," she mumbled as she hastily composed herself, feeling slightly embarrassed.

"What is he doing here?" Tewksbury asked. There was a bitter tone laced in his voice, which he didn't even try to hide. His obvious distaste towards the condescending stranger only earned him a glare from his mother. It was brief, though, and in an instant the woman's face contoured into her usual wide grin.

  "Mr Holmes has taken the liberty to come visit us before the ball commences," she explained. "As I have mentioned before, he has greatly contributed towards making it happen."

  Tewksbury scoffed at his mother's words. "How thoughtful of you. What else are you here to do? Send someone else to a finishing school like you did with your sister?"

  An uncomfortable silence draped over them at his snarky comment. Daisy shifted awkwardly from one foot to another, feeling the growing tension between the three. She didn't understand what Tewksbury was referring to or why he was being so cold towards the man, but it felt like the wrong time to ask what the story was. She remained quiet.

  Wait, what was his name again? Mycroft Holmes?

  Mycroft Holmes?

  "Mycroft Holmes!" she blurted unintentionally, breaking the silence. Her hands clasped over her mouth immediately after the words tumbled out, her heart hammering rapidly at the realisation she had just said his name out loud. All three pairs of eyes had shifted from each other and were now solely on her.

  I–I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude," the girl stammered after dropping her hands to her sides. "It's just—you're Enola's brother?"

  "Ah," Mycroft nodded his head. "So you've met my darling sister, I see. I suppose you have knowledge that I am also related to a certain detective?"

  "Yes," Daisy responded earnestly. "I've read all of his cases. The way his mind works is brilliant! Each step he takes is so meticulous and—"

Mycroft cut her off before she could continue rambling on. "I'm glad you are a fan of my brother, but I am not here to discuss him."

"Then why are you here?" Tewksbury questioned.

Mycroft cleared his throat and adjusted the top hat on his head. "I'm here for your bride-to-be, of course. I wanted to personally meet her before the ball where surely, every attendee will be vying for her attention." He turned back to the girl and she noticed him examine her from head to toe. She couldn't help but feel exposed as he took in her slightly messy hair, her wrinkled clothing, the lack of jewellery on her body apart from the obvious gemstone on her ring finger. He pressed his lips in a thin line. His eyes were swimming with pure judgement.

"Though I must say, I was expecting...more."

Daisy felt a pang in her chest, as if someone had shot an arrow through her heart with a bow. More? What did he mean by more? His statement was vague, but she didn't need a lot of brainpower to recognise that it was an insult. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tewksbury clench his fists into a tight ball. She could feel the anger radiating off his body, creating a tense aura around him.