A Fragile Chain of Daisies: Flowers of the Aristocracy (Untamed Regency Book 4)

by Jackie Williams

  “Her Grace’s room.” She didn’t try to hide her disapproval and Pierce could understand her reason for it. There must have been fifty bedrooms in the house. The maid must have wondered why he couldn’t use one of them. The thought gave him pause. Why had Daisy told him to use her room? There would be a scandal of epic proportions if he were discovered half dressed within it.

  “I can use a different room.” He nodded towards the numerous doors along the corridor, but Bess shook her head.

  “No, you can’t. Well, not easily. They are still full of his Grace’s collections. Lord knows when we will get around to clearing it all. And then we have to find a place to put it.” She went on to explain as Pierce looked at her curiously. “You saw what Musgrave was dealing with? Well, there’s a lot more of it. Dust gathering dead creatures everywhere and hardly room to swing a cat in any of them. Her Grace’s room is one of the few habitable ones in the place.”

  Good grief! Things were clearly worse than Pierce thought. What kind of man had Daisy saddled herself with? Not who he had originally thought, that was clear, but not wishing to insult the maid’s dead master, Pierce only made a general comment.

  “I take it he was an avid enthusiast,” he said dryly.

  Bess snorted.

  “If you’re trying to be polite.” She threw up her arms in despair. “Lord knows how we are going to fix up rooms for the Dowager and her friend. Her Grace’s chamber is the only one fit for habitation on this floor, though I suspect that with his Grace gone there’s going to be a lot of change. Hopefully for the better. But I cannot hang around gossiping with you. We’re short staffed as it is. Half the household remained in town. Having the Dowager and her guest here is going to mean a lot of work for everyone, so it’s best that you dress in here and make sure you don’t get in the way.” She waved her hands impatiently, ushering him towards the bedroom. “And when you are ready, don’t come down the front stairs. The servants’ passage is at the end of the corridor. The back stairs run directly into the kitchen. I’ll have Armstrong come and give you a quick lesson in being a footman as soon as you’re dressed and ready.”

  Desperately trying to think what he expected his own footman to do on a daily basis, Pierce nodded nervously and walked inside the bedroom. He did not relish a lesson from the man with the overlong nose who had clearly been put out by his sudden arrival at the kitchen door. Nor did he look forward to meeting Daisy’s mother while disguised as a lowly footman.

  He recalled her from his childhood and their family summer parties together. The woman was enthusiastic about all things and could speak confidently on any subject, even if it was only to admit that she knew nothing about it.

  She also loved to gossip and could be counted on to know the most scandalous news before everyone else. From what Pierce remembered, women could always be found gathered around her at parties and balls, eager for the latest en dit, which she whispered loudly enough for everyone to hear from behind her fan. She was observant and quick witted, and he didn’t for one minute believe Daisy’s assumption that she wouldn’t recognize him.

  Until he turned and caught sight of a reflection of himself in Daisy’s dressing table mirror. The clothes fell from his arms as his mouth gaped open. Good Lord! The stables hadn’t the luxury of a mirror. He barely recognized himself. His hand went to his face. New facial hair covered a lot of the changes, but he could see how hollow his cheeks had become, how the line of his jaw appeared to be far more angular. And his eyes, always dark, with his lack of recent sleep, now looked brooding and almost haunted.

  He gazed at his reflection before the sound of a commanding female tone coming from somewhere downstairs, shook him from the shock of his appearance. It seemed that Daisy wasn’t wrong. The Dowager Duchess was demanding to see her son’s room. Relieved that he had escaped being discovered taking cast off clothes, he began rapidly sorting through the heap on the floor.

  Selecting a plain white shirt and buff trousers, he threw them on the bed and tore off his old, stale clothes. With no time for niceties like washing, that morning’s ablutions at the stables would have to suffice. He tugged the shirt over his head and hopped about while pulling on the trousers. He grabbed up a deep blue jacket and plain cravat to finish his ensemble. He had no other shoes than his own riding boots, so he grabbed up his own old shirt and buffed off the worst of the stable dirt as best he could before lugging them back on and tucking the too short trousers into them.

  He took one last look in the mirror. Not his best look ever, and the jacket, though long in the sleeve was damnably tight over his shoulders. He rolled them for a few seconds to see if the fabric would give, but gave up as he heard the commanding tones coming closer. Would the interfering woman check Daisy’s room?

  He hadn’t paid it any attention before, but as he glanced round to find a possible place of concealment, he now took note of the fine looking furniture and decor. There were only a few books in a bookcase, but a flower press and artists paper lay on the writing table. The grand wardrobe stood with one door hanging open revealing a multitude of coloured dresses, all far more lovely than the mourning black she wore that morning. The silks looked fine, the lace delicate. He reached out a hand and let his fingers brush across them. They wafted in his wake, sending up a beautiful scent. A scent that he remembered from a lifetime ago. And again that morning as she fell into his arms. One of fresh cut grass and orange blossom. He breathed it in, filling his mind with memories, and hopes, and dreams.

  The last dress moved on its hanger and he forgot about the tantalizing scent. He almost let out a laugh when he leaned in closer and spied a pair of buff riding breeches and boots standing beneath, hidden behind all the silk and ruffles. So like Daisy. She had never worn skirts if she thought she could sneak out of the house wearing breeches.

  He turned one last time, looking at the colours and ivory curtains that pooled on the floor. Pinks, and yellows, and bright summer blues fought for attention on the walls. Some may have thought it was all too much, all too vibrant, but it was exactly right for Daisy. And just as she had intimated, with windows on two sides of the room, each facing a different aspect, the light poured in from every angle. She would love this room. Had clearly made it a haven.

  But a haven from what? The insects and stuffed animals for one thing, but that wasn’t all. Curiosity ate at him. She had the whole house that she could escape to. The place was huge. He remembered the way people spoke about Portland Hall after her wedding. One of the largest homes in the country. And he could recall himself the countless number of windows as he had walked around to the kitchen door. How many rooms did the place have? And were all the others as formal and dull as the few rooms he had seen on his way from the kitchen to up here? He had a horrible suspicion that they were. Why? Surely her husband would have allowed her some licence to decorate. Why in all of this space had she only made this room so uniquely for her?

  But he didn’t have time for speculation. An entourage was coming closer. He could now hear Daisy trying to make herself heard over the woman who clearly thought herself in charge.

  “Musgrave is still clearing, Jane. There are boxes everywhere. You can look at Robert’s room later when there is room to move and you can be alone to grieve. Why not come and have a cup of tea while Mary sees to your room?”

  The woman clearly ignored Daisy’s offer of hospitality.

  “Musgrave? Is he still here? It looks as though I have arrived in the nick of time to save you a fortune in wasted wages.”

  A short but shocked gasp of breath followed, then Daisy answered, her tone full of indignation.

  “Musgrave has been helping me clear Robert’s things. It has taken almost a month and I am nowhere near done yet. Besides, I couldn’t throw him out until he had secured another position. He has been such a help with sorting everything and he had been Robert’s valet for many years...” Robert’s mother clearly didn’t care how long anyone had been employed.

  “And now Rober
t has no need of a valet.” There was a great deal of harrumphing. “Or of anyone else sorting out his room. I will take it upon myself to decide what stays or goes. And it has an excellent view over the drive. URG!” A sudden cry split the air. “What is all of this? How disgusting!”

  A door slammed and the voices came closer.

  “I never saw the like! All those insects! And that box of giant beetles! They have quite given me the shivers. Are you sure that was Robert’s bedroom?”

  “Quite sure, but I did try to warn you. Musgrave will have the boxes packed by tomorrow. Come, you can choose where you sleep, but it may not be on this floor. Robert’s collections have rather taken over. Let’s go upstairs.” Daisy tried to placate the irate woman.

  Pierce quickly picked up the remaining clothes, and his soiled ones and pushed them all into the back of Daisy’s wardrobe. He glanced around the room again, checking that nothing looked out of place. And his stomach suddenly somersaulted as his gaze stopped on the pillows of the bed. He took a step forwards, and then another, but didn’t need to check on what he saw. A pair of button black eyes looked right back at him.

  And he was left gasping, shocked beyond all reason as he recognized his very own, now extremely ragged, stuffed bear.

  Chapter Six

  An Awkward Position

  Lady Elizabeth Caruthers, cup of tea in hand, sat staring out over the formal gardens grateful for the few minutes of silence. The journey had been long and Jane loud and opinionated. It wasn’t that she didn’t feel for the woman, but if the gossip turned out to be lies, Elizabeth was more concerned over the plight of her own daughter.

  If however, the rumours were true then there might be nothing to be concerned about, but even if that was the case, the chances were still divided between two. Perhaps the chain of male children had been broken. Daisy had been the first female child in a very long history of Caruthers’ births. Not that she acted like a girl in her childhood, or even when grown into a young woman.

  Elizabeth smiled at the memories that filled her. Of her thoroughly spoiled second born child, dashing about in her older brother’s outgrown breeches, clutching that awful old brown bear to her heart, and chasing after Lucas and his best friend Pierce Trenchard.

  The smile quickly left her face and guilt filled her. While she smiled and thought of happy memories, Dorothea Trenchard, Pierce’s mother, was in an agony of trepidation and had taken to her rooms. The distraught lady refused to see anyone but her closest friends. Those who could be relied upon to offer support rather than censure. Her only son had gone to ground. Constables had searched her house and, after finding nothing, were now scouring the land for a would be murderer. Knowing Pierce as a wonderful young man, Elizabeth had every sympathy with the woman. It was all so very shocking. So very unbelievable.

  But the constables seemed so sure. They had questioned her own son about the whereabouts of his friend. Of course Lucas knew nothing, and probably wouldn’t have said anything if he did, but the whole situation gave one pause for doubts to creep in. Elizabeth placed her cup back on the tray and smoothed the travel creases from her dress as she considered the matter.

  Could Lucas’ best friend really have sabotaged the Duke’s saddle? No, she refused to believe such a tale. Pierce had always been such a delightful boy, and an even more delightful young man. Never without a good word and a ready smile. Always teasing Daisy, and getting just as good back.

  And the letters he wrote her daughter while on his Grand Tour. Ten! Ten, to Lucas’ one. Each several pages long, full of news and exciting adventures, and sent at enormous expense. Every time one arrived, Daisy would walk around the house with them clutched in her hand. Perusing them over and over, exclaiming with amazement or laughing loudly at some outrageous tale as she recounted the details over the dining table. She must have read them over a hundred times while she waited for her brother and his friend to come home. And Elizabeth was quite sure that Daisy still kept every one.

  She let out a sigh. What had gone wrong with the two of them? She and Dorothea had made such plans. Pierce and Daisy were made for one another, and Elizabeth wondered, for what must have been the thousandth time, why he had never asked for her daughter’s hand. It was quite obvious that he adored Daisy. It was even more obvious that she was totally in love with him. But nothing ever came of it. The girl had been all but on the shelf when Robert appeared.

  And what a whirlwind that had been. He had overwhelmed them with his ardour. The flowers that filled their hall, the gifts, the extravagant balls held in Daisy’s honour. And then the sudden engagement, the wedding, their honeymoon tour.

  Elizabeth let out a long sigh. Daisy had returned from the continent a changed woman. And not in a good way. Not that Daisy had a bad word for her new husband, far from it, but the fun had disappeared from Elizabeth’s daughter. The laughter had died. Yes, Daisy always put a smile on her face and had looked well enough. No thinner, no fatter. No fear in her eyes. But there was no light there either. No sparkle of mischief or fun. She did as her husband, or his mother bid her, without argument or temper. Simply followed instructions or acquiesced to ideas as though she couldn’t be bothered to voice her own opinions or thoughts.

  Elizabeth worried her lip. So concerned had she been by the change in her daughter’s demeanour that she had soon after asked, in hushed and sympathetic tones, if Robert beat her, or if he used the services of mistress. How Daisy had laughed. No, Robert didn’t beat her. He had never so much as raised his hand. And he certainly didn’t have a mistress. He was the perfect gentleman. The perfect husband. But she now held a different station in life. She was Daisy Benedict, Duchess of Portland and she couldn’t embarrass the family name with any wild behaviour.

  Accepting her daughter’s word on the subject had been the only thing Lady Caruthers could do. She wasn’t happy about the changes, but could see Daisy’s point. Being the wife of a Duke was a position of some authority. Wearing breeches, climbing trees, and rowing boats were no longer acceptable behaviour. Not that they had ever been, but neither her mother’s pleading or her father’s stern frowns had ever stopped their daughter before. Perhaps children would come soon to divert her.

  But they hadn’t.

  Until now. When it was far too late.

  A noise at the door had her raising a gloved hand to wipe an errant tear from her eye. A footman backed into the salon, his footsteps slow and high and his shoulders hunched as if he might be avoiding someone and didn’t want to be seen or heard. He took another high, long backwards step, placing his scuffed boot carefully on the rug rather than the polished wood floor. How peculiar.

  Elizabeth cleared her throat and spoke clearly.

  “Thank you, but there is still tea in the pot.”

  The man jumped almost a foot in the air and twirled around. Dark eyes appraised her for less than a second before he coughed and covered his mouth with his hand.

  “Begging your pardon, my Lady. I didn’t see you there. Let me take this and send for a fresh pot. Wouldn’t want it to be cold.” He rushed forward and picked up the rectangular tray with his free hand, but it tilted violently and the china upon it immediately slid to the opposite end. The footman let out a surprised gasp and attempted to counterbalance the uneven weight. Except that the sudden upward jerk of his arm sent the tea service sliding straight back towards him.

  Faced with a pot of hot liquid and several dainty cups rattling dangerously, the man let out a yell of consternation and turned in a rapid circle, his whole body bending backwards as he spun on his toes and somehow saved the china from crashing to the floor. Regaining his balance, he wove right around the table and gave her a quick nod as he walked back out of the door.

  “Extraordinary!” Elizabeth exclaimed to no one in particular, but a voice answered her anyway.

  “What was, mother?” Daisy came through the opposite doorway and bent to lay a soft kiss on her mother’s cheek.

  Elizabeth laughed and took her daughter�
�s hand, pulling her down onto the love seat situated by the window.

  “Your footman, dear. The fellow came creeping in here as though he was about to hide from someone, and then after getting over his fright at discovering I was already taking tea, he nearly upset the whole tray. Everything slid to one side and nearly fell to the floor, but he did some kind of fancy footwork and managed to keep the whole thing upright before leaving so rapidly that if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I might never have believed he was here.”

  Daisy blinked several times before answering.

  “That must be Everard. I took him on to help Armstrong, but he is a little green about the edges.”

  Elizabeth laughed.

  “Green but keen. He is bringing another tray when I hadn’t even finished the first, which was probably what upset him. The teapot was still nearly full and heavier than he expected.” She paused and looked at her daughter critically. “You look well, darling. Not quite glowing yet, but better than the last time I saw you. Though that wouldn’t be difficult. Funerals are not the easiest of things to look good through.”

  Daisy sighed.

  “No, indeed. I do apologise for not writing to you personally with the news, mama, but it has not been the easiest of times. Especially not when you have a mother in law like mine. Why did she come down here? And why did you come too? The journey must have been a nightmare.” She looked over both shoulders as she whispered.

  Glancing to each doorway before answering, Elizabeth lowered her voice to match her daughter’s.

  “Jane was at the Cavendish ball regaling everyone with her opinion on your skills at running the estate for the foreseeable future. Or I should say, your apparent lack of skills. She insisted that she was coming here to take over. It was made quite clear that she doesn’t have any faith in you. I couldn’t let her come down here and browbeat you. Especially not in your condition.”