Pierce had snorted at the thought. Portland might say he wanted an heir and a spare, but he hardly looked up to the task. Though tall, the man was thinner than a garden rake. The padding in his jackets sat ill upon his narrow shoulders. – or so Pierce liked to tell himself. Portland might have showered Daisy with jewels, but looked on as she wore them with a curious glint in his eye, as though he wanted to examine the stones to check for any imperfections.
And the Duke had another curious habit. The man always travelled with his valet in constant attendance. Even in his carriage! Who in their right mind would want that kind of intrusion with Daisy on the seat beside them? Pierce couldn’t fathom.
And there was the rub. He had cursed himself anew. He hadn’t realised that he had wanted... No! He corrected himself. He hadn’t merely wanted her in his carriage as much as expected her to be sitting there. But he hadn’t bothered stating his intentions or making his feelings clear. Hadn’t thought he needed to, until it was far too late to do a damn thing about it. Fool that he was, his indolence had struck a dagger into his own heart.
But now he had a sudden reprieve from his life of constant heartache. Portland had done the unbelievable. Just when the man had announced his prospective fatherhood, when he should be cherishing his wife and celebrating the coming child, the man had risked it all to take part in Devonshire’s annual horserace. And had ended up losing his life.
Idiot! Pierce thought rather uncharitably, but he knew that if he had been in the man’s position, he would have been sitting right by Daisy’s side. Certainly not gallivanting around the countryside trying to conquer the season’s most notorious racecourse. Not that he was going to complain. No, Pierce was a firm believer in fate. It had been fate that had released him from his engagement to Angelique Lancer. And it was about time he had some luck. He had suffered three years of self induced misery knowing that he had missed his chance with the woman he had always loved, but now, due to the Duke’s misguided decision, Daisy was free once again.
Surprising since the man was generally so sensible, and also a good horseman, often riding in the hunt. What had been more surprising was Daisy’s frantic letter just before the man’s death. She had seen the announcement of Pierce’s own engagement to Miss Lancer. And had begged him to think of himself, to reconsider his decision. She needed to see him, talk to him, and to make sure that he was happy before he took any irretrievable steps.
He had hardened his heart and put the letter aside. What was the point? Daisy couldn’t be his. Not then. Not ever.
But Portland had conveniently ousted himself from his own position at her side. And Daisy had written to Pierce again. She needed him. Wanted him to call upon her as soon as he could. How his heart had leapt inside his chest.
Until a man in a dark suit accosted him outside the closed Portland gates. Had she set him up to be accused of murder? It seemed so since the latest word was that Portland’s tack had been tampered with. But why would anyone think he was the culprit? It was hardly his style. Unless anyone had seen the letters Daisy had sent him. Pierce knew and forgave a lot in her enthusiastic style. After so many years correspondence, he barely gave it a second thought, but others might be shocked and think her words indiscreet. They might even hint at an affair.
He almost laughed at the thought. An affair? With Daisy Caruthers? Nothing could be further from his mind. He didn’t want a fling with the woman. Never had. He wanted it all. Everything. He wanted to court her, propose on bended knee, wanted to marry her and carry her to the marriage bed where he would take her virginity and bring her to heights of pleasure that she could not even begin to imagine.
Except that couldn’t happen now. Well, not all of it. Portland and his fancy title had seen to that, though Pierce was reasonably sure that the man would be as dull in bed as he had been in his life. Still, the thought ate at Pierce that the man had been Daisy’s first.
And then there was the question of the Duke’s fall. Those men at the Portland gate hadn’t been there to merely ask a few questions. Their intentions were quite clear. Daisy had set him up. Outrage hit him anew. She had sent the letter enticing him to come to her, only for him to be met by several constables eager to bring him to a hangman’s noose. And when he had escaped their pursuit and raced to his apartments, there had been more men there.
He thanked his excellent hearing for preventing his capture. The indignant shouts of denial from his valet, his butler, and his cook giving forewarning of his imminent arrest. But then he knew that he had to run. These men weren’t going to give him a chance to explain himself. Not that he had anything to explain. He had barely seen the Duke before the race, and certainly hadn’t afterwards. Devonshire’s security measures saw to the rest. There was no way that Pierce could have tampered with the Duke’s tack.
Turning his horse around in the street, he had made his way to the other side of town. He left Brutus, his far too famous horse, in Lucas’ stables and had disappeared into the night. With only the clothes on his back, and a meagre amount of money in his pocket book.
Good grief! What had he done to deserve such charges? Without proper investigation, and with altogether unnecessary threats to his neck. He rubbed his hand around his throat and swallowed at the thought.
“I have a good tonic for sore throats. My missus swears by it.” Andrews’ voice had Pierce coming back to the present.
“What? I don’t have a sore throat.” Momentarily confused, he scooped up a spoonful of the unappetising porridge as the stablemaster explained himself.
“Sorry. The way you rubbed your neck made me think that you were suffering. The nights have been chilly. If you have been sleeping rough for long I thought you might have taken a cold.” Andrews looked down quickly and dug into his own bowl. Some of the grey gloop dribbled into the man’s beard. Pierce forced back a shudder of revulsion as he shook his head.
“No, just a stiff neck. The bed upstairs is a tad short for someone of my stature.”
Andrews gave a slow nod.
“Best I can do, I’m afraid. Don’t see many stable hands quite as tall as you. Must have been fed well in your childhood.”
Pierce snorted gently as he raised an eyebrow at the spoonful of warm oats that he had just raised to his lips. Thoughts of his butler serving him a great plateful of bacon and eggs crossed his mind. He put the spoon back in the bowl, his appetite for tepid porridge suddenly gone.
“Fed well, dressed well, educated well,” he lamented and sighed before squaring his shoulders once again. “But not a bit of it makes any difference now. I wasn’t complaining about the bed. Just making an observation. Beggars are not allowed the luxury of choosing.” He paused as Andrews glanced at the uneaten breakfast. “Except when it comes to porridge.” Pierce concluded as he pushed his dish away.
Andrews eyed the bowl greedily and pulled it towards himself at Pierce’s nod.
“Just don’t blame me when you are starving half way through the morning.” He shovelled the breakfast under his moustache.
Pierce stood and glanced through to the stables.
“I’ll manage until lunch time. I asked Bess about some extra bread and cheese yesterday. She didn’t seem too shocked. Well, I’d best start work. Wouldn’t want to be caught slacking.” He gave Andrews a quick grin.
Andrews scraped the last of the breakfast into his mouth before speaking again.
“I have to head up to the house this morning. Need to speak to her Grace about a few things. And let her know about you.”
Pierce stopped in his tracks and turned slowly.
“Well, of course, but...” Damn it, why hadn’t he thought this through properly. He cleared his throat and took a step closer to Andrews. At least he hadn’t given the man his real name. “Do you think her Grace will mind you hiring on new staff without her prior consent?”
Andrews scratched his head.
“Well normally I wouldn’t speak to her Grace about hiring stable staff at all. His Grace managed all
that kind of thing. I only speak to her when she comes to the stables, but with the Duke’s demise and his steward remaining in town with the his Grace’s mother, I don’t see that I have any choice. You’ll want paying, and that won’t happen if she doesn’t know you are here.”
Pierce nodded. A little more cash would certainly come in handy. He tried not to think of his winnings languishing in his rooms. There was no way he could retrieve them. The bags of golden guineas might as well not exist. Would Daisy want to come and meet her new hire? He hoped not. But perhaps staying out of the way for a couple of hours might be to his advantage.
“Well, perhaps I should just get on with exercising the horses while you go and see her. I’ll muck out the stalls and then take Bernadette for an early ride.” He wasn’t ready to see Daisy yet. Not without finding out more about her husband’s death, and why she had set him up to be arrested. And he certainly wasn’t ready to see her, looking the way he did. He was in sore need of a clean shirt and breeches. But Andrews didn’t appear to care about his clothes. The man stared at him, a deep crease forming across his brow.
“You sound as though you want to avoid meeting her Grace? Any reason that I should know about? You’re high bred. Do you actually know her?”
Blast! Pierce didn’t know why he was surprised. Perhaps he thought Andrews might have forgotten his previous slip of the tongue, but the man was no fool. Pierce had gathered that in the few days he had already been there. He might have guessed that he couldn’t put much past the stablemaster. Older he may be, but those wrinkles spoke of wisdom and intelligence. Perhaps it was time to open up a little. Who knew what honesty might gain. He let out a deep sigh.
“Well, if you must know, I do have a prior acquaintance with her Grace, and I would prefer that she did not meet me for the first time in several years while in these straights.” He plucked at his limp linen.
Andrews’ bushy eyebrows came together.
“You’re not here to do her Grace any harm, are you? After what happened to her husband, maybe I should have made more enquiries about you.” Suspicion laced his tones.
Pierce laughed heartily.
“Good Lord! Harm Daisy? Er, I mean her Grace,” he corrected himself. “No, nothing could be further from my mind. Obviously I know that she lives here, but it is a coincidence that I was passing at the same time. No, I am simply embarrassed by my recent downfall and would prefer to find my way out of it and into a decent set of clothes before seeing her once again.”
The stablemaster looked Pierce over and sucked his lips in while he nodded.
“Hmm, well, I can understand that. You look like a bag of bones inside a ragamuffin’s garb.” Andrews didn’t look any less suspicious but conceded Pierce’s point. “I wouldn’t want to meet her Grace looking like you do either. Not that there’s much I can do about your figure in the next couple of hours, but maybe I can procure you some other outfit at least. Her Grace hasn’t cleared all of her husband’s clothes yet. You look to be of a similar size and build. I’ll ask the housekeeper if there is anything we can do for you.”
Horrified at the thought of wearing a dead man’s attire, least of all the apparel of a man he loathed, Pierce wanted to refuse the offer, but one more look down at himself had him holding his tongue. He’d have to meet Daisy at sometime, and his current wardrobe left a lot to be desired. He glanced back at Andrews and gave a short but regretful nod.
Chapter Two
Taking Back the Reins
Daisy Benedict, formerly Daisy Caruthers and now Duchess of Portland, sat at her dressing table pressing her hand to her stomach as she fumed silently. How could Robert have done this to her! And, even more importantly, how the devil was she going to extricate herself from it!
If only he hadn’t taken part in the race. Not that it would have made any difference, she would still have been in this mess, but why had he done it? She couldn’t fathom. All she knew was that his death had been painful, ugly. And very unexpected.
The man had broken his leg, not his neck. People didn’t die from broken legs, did they? Not unless they were poor and couldn’t afford a surgeon. Or were stubborn and unhelpful. As her husband had been. But even that was being unfair. The infection had set in so rapidly and spread so fast that there had been no time for decision making or talking through options. Robert had succumbed almost without a fight. Why had it happened? And why now, just when she was about to have something go right in her life?
She stared at her angry reflection and grabbed up her brush, dragging it through her riot of curling hair. Mary, her maid, wasn’t about yet and Daisy didn’t feel like waiting. She pulled the long tresses into a semblance of a bun and stuck pins in where she thought they might hold. Not that they would for long. Her hair was notoriously difficult to tame, much as she had once been.
The anger left her features as she thought back to her long lost youth. Had it only been three years ago that she had been so young and free? It felt like more.
Tears brimmed in her eyes as she recalled all the fun she used to have, the fresh air, and the silly escapades with friends she thought she would keep forever. She choked back the wet crystals that threatened to fall. This wasn’t the time to indulge in self pity. She had to keep her chin held high. She was Daisy, Duchess of Portland. She had an estate to run with over thirty staff who relied on her for their income, their food, the roofs over their heads. Too many people to just give up and let someone else take over, though with the news she had recently received, that scenario was coming closer.
Could she really be thrown out onto the street? The letter had intimated as much. In mere days if certain criteria could not be met. She glanced around her. Her room was lovely, and she would be sorry to leave it, but there were other rooms in other houses that could be made just as beautiful and charming. If she had income enough to cover such costs. And she wasn’t sure that she had. Sad thoughts for miserable times. Thoughts that she didn’t want to dwell upon.
This was the perfect time to indulge in a few happy memories as dawn chased the night away from the skies. Her lips quirked up at the corners and the tears turned to diamonds that danced in her eyes.
How her parents had despaired of her, though she noticed that they both secretly smiled. Nothing stopped her, however much they chastised or reminded her that she was meant to be a lady.
A lady? Daisy let out a short laugh. She had wanted to be a boy. To have the freedom and excitement her brother enjoyed, not sit about painting watercolours or sewing samplers. She would have done almost anything to be like Lucas and his best friend Pierce. She wanted to go fishing, to shoot arrows, and to ride her horse like the wind. She wanted to wrestle, swim naked in the lake, and to climb the highest trees. Which she did quite often, until she became unexpectedly suspended in one by the seat of her borrowed breeches.
If only Lucas had kept his mouth shut no one would have been any the wiser. She could have sneaked indoors and run up the stairs to make quick repairs to her attire, but no such luck! Her brother had marched gleefully into the parlour exclaiming that Pierce Trenchard, best friend and fellow adventurer, had just made the most daring rescue, climbing into the highest branches of the ancient oak tree to save Daisy’s life.
Her mother had screamed and promptly fainted while everyone else rushed to the door. The memory of her father’s expression as she stomped into the house with a goodly portion of her breeches stripped away and her backside bared to all who cared to look, caused her hint of a smile to drop once again. The incident had been the final straw for her exasperated parents. Being sent to Mrs. Flatterly’s finishing school had certainly been the worst kind of punishment. All that posturing and primping. Ugh! Two years of complete misery. She couldn’t bear to think of it even now.
But if she had thought Mrs. Flatterly’s regime restricting, she had been sorely mistaken. Her marriage had been worse. And now with Robert’s untimely demise... She stopped the thought instantly. The man had been murdered, for goodness sake!
Well, that’s what Lord Devonshire had told her when he came to call, but she could still hardly believe it. Who would want to murder someone so... so... She shook her head. What were the right words to describe someone like Robert? She wasn’t sure that she even knew. He had his peculiarities, but nothing to make him enemies. Or nothing of which she knew. The thought that someone would deliberately attempt to kill him was quite disturbing.
And then, after the tragic death had come the funeral, the letters of condolence. The visit from the authorities, shortly followed by the arrival of her mother in law! The woman had stormed into the house like an autumn gale, blaming everyone from Lord Devonshire to the saddle maker and demanding to know how her son had died from something so insignificant as a broken leg. She spouted retribution and indignation with every breath. And then she spouted more.
Robert had apparently given her some long awaited news. A grandchild was on its way. And it was about time too. Jane Benedict, Dowager Duchess of Portland was almost a laughing stock. Talk had been rife. Three years married and no heir, or spare! What had the pair been about all that time? People had been asking her if she had suspected that Daisy was barren.
Daisy had nearly died of humiliation. That the woman pried into things that were so private and personal was too much to bear. If Robert wasn’t already dead, Daisy had the feeling that she might like to wring his neck. How could he have discussed their private life with his mother before he had conferred properly with his own wife! Had he been touched in the head? To reveal such a secret, even if he hadn’t told the woman all, was a breach of trust. The Dowager Duchess could spread gossip faster than rats could leave a sinking ship! Daisy’s fury had nearly over spilled. With her emotions in turmoil, she was still reeling from the shock and horror of it all.
A Fragile Chain of Daisies: Flowers of the Aristocracy (Untamed Regency Book 4) Page 3