“I don’t believe it! How could the man possibly be indifferent to someone as extraordinary as you?”
Daisy gave a watery smile.
“Oh Pierce, not everyone is as generous with their compliments as you.” She paused thoughtfully before taking a deep breath and continuing. “He didn’t see me like you do. Not that I knew that in the beginning, but it soon became clear that I was merely a means to an end. I truly think he only offered for me to stop his mother’s nagging for him to produce an heir.”
Pierce’s stomach churned at the implication of her words. Portland had needed a son and there was only one way he was going to get it. Marriage. And everything that went with it. From Daisy’s words, he suspected that Portland simply got on with the act of begetting a child without consideration or passion. Pierce snorted to himself. He would lay a goodly sum that the man didn’t even remove all of his clothing during the performance. Just lifted his nightshirt to get the job done and then off, back to the ducal suite to drool over his collection of dead animals and insects. Pierce would lay even more of his fortune on the possibility of pleasure for Daisy. None. His stomach clenched. Had she ever felt passion? Or been brought to the point of intensity where dark became light and the whole world exploded inside one.
Given her words it seemed unlikely.
What had the woman been through? He put his hand over his mouth as his stomach churned at the thought of her Duke appearing in her room every night. Or her husband demanded that Daisy come to him in that mausoleum of a bedroom. Pierce shuddered at the thought of Daisy’s lonely walk along the corridor to the ducal suite. And the one back.
He forced down his shudder of revulsion. Whatever their marital arrangements, something clearly hadn’t worked between the two of them. In three years there had been no child. Until recently. He ran his fingers through his hair, unsure of what to say.
“Good God! I can hardly believe it.”
She lifted her shoulders carelessly.
“Neither could I to begin with. Prior to our marriage his courtship had been ardent to say the least, but everything changed the instant the ring was upon my finger. I thought I could cope with it, could change him back into my eager suitor, but it was a fruitless effort. After months of thinking his attitude was my fault, I simply gave up trying. What was the point of reasoning with a man who was anything but reasonable?” The hollow voice was back.
Pierce opened his mouth, then closed it. Knowing her prior spirit and vitality, her current listlessness shocked him more than he could say.
“I am so sorry, Daisy. I had no idea what your life was like. You should have told me.”
She looked up sharply.
“So you could do what? Come and rescue me like you always used to? My knight in shining armour?” She shook her head disconsolately. “You know that would have been impossible.”
He knew she was right, but there had to have been something he could have done.
“If I had but known, I would have done something, I swear it. I would have brought some excitement to your life.”
Daisy gave him a warmer smile before closing her eyes and resting her head back against the seat.
“I know you would have tried. You just cannot help yourself, but it would have been a fruitless endeavour until recently. Do you realise that I can honestly say, headache notwithstanding, I have had more excitement in the last three days than I’ve had in the three years of being Robert’s wife.”
Chapter Fourteen
Cushioning a Blow
Pierce crashed through the door of his salon and threw himself onto his settee while groaning in relief as he raised his feet onto his footstool.
“I have never worked so hard in my life!” He declared to Daisy and Clara who had rushed into the room behind him. “My feet are positively killing me.”
Daisy handed her husband a glass of brandy and eyed Bertie Cravenwood with suspicion as he entered the room with a jaunty swagger.
“I hope you know what you are doing. Pierce has not regained all his weight yet, and he is certainly unused to chasing around after you all day.”
Bertie snorted out a laugh and dropped into the fireside chair. He crossed one polished boot over the other and accepted the glass of brandy proffered by his sister.
“I swear the man has gone soft! I never heard a footman moan so much in my entire life. If his life didn’t depend on this job, I would have shown him the door three times today. You know that he has to learn how to fit in seamlessly before we send him anywhere on his own, or he will be thrown out on his ear. Besides, the lazy fool hasn’t done half the work of my other staff. Geoffrey, my butler, thinks he is a sluggard and only out to purloin the family silver.” He swirled the amber liquid in his glass before drinking it down with obvious pleasure.
Pierce held his own glass up for a second measure.
“Blasted cheek of the man! As if I needed any more silver. My housekeeper is always going on about the time spent buffing my tea service.”
Clara glared at her brother as she reached down to tug on one of Pierce’s boots.
“Well, I think Pierce is doing admirably. At least he won’t take his own staff for granted any longer.”
Pierce waved her attentions away and tugged on his own boot before reaching beneath the settee for the slippers he knew Victor would have put there.
“I don’t take my own staff for granted, though I confess that I never realized how much I expected of them. Those tea trays are just the worst. So cumbersome and heavy when laden. How the women manage the door handles when burdened so, fairly boggles my mind? I have had to put the tray on the floor three times today. Has no one ever thought of placing anything so convenient as a stand beside the door?” He wriggled his toes inside the soft leather footwear, grateful that his valet had seen his discomfort the first evening of Pierce’s new job. The man had taken matters into his own hands and made sure Pierce’s slippers were at the ready in the drawing room ever since.
At the end of his third day training to be a footman, Pierce was ready to give it up through sheer exhaustion rather than lack of progress finding the Duke of Portland’s murderer. His tongue had twisted within his mouth from trying to sound less educated, his back ached, his feet were sore, and he swore his backside had several bruises from the over enthusiastic parlour maids who delighted in pinching his bottom at every available opportunity.
But Bertie clearly couldn’t have cared less about his efforts.
“At least we have taken the edges from your accent and you now sound more like a servant, but your whining rivals that of a litter of new born pups! You won’t be hired by anyone of any interest if you go about lamenting your lot all the time. The aristocracy hate a complainer. You won’t last a day, let alone a week if you carry on like you did today.” Bertie nodded as if he knew what he spoke about.
Pierce’s eyebrows lifted in horror.
“A week! I am hoping for results a lot sooner than that. I only need to go about unrecognized and listen to the conversation at any balls and routs for a few nights. Someone must know something. They must have heard rumours, and we all know that the matrons cannot resist passing on such news. But if our own set don’t have any gossip, the servants are my next best bet and being able to slip in and out of their domain is priceless. They always seem to know everything before anyone else. I know that my own mother swears by her parlour maid for all her most lively en-dits.”
Clara tapped her finger to her lips.
“I think the servants are far more likely to have some solid intelligence. The trouble with listening to the matrons is that not only is everything embellished to within an inch of its life, you are only likely to hear yesterday’s news. The Duke’s death was over a month ago. Forgive me, Daisy, but with the latest mystery involving Lady Amelia Fairbanks circulating, he is all but forgotten. And his murderer with it.”
Shocked beyond all measure, Daisy bit the inside of her cheek at hearing the unfortunate woman mentioned,
but steeled her features to look more hopeful.
“So you believe that Pierce will be safe?”
Bertie blinked away his horror at having his secret paramour’s name bandied about his friend’s drawing room, and laughed loudly while desperately wondering what the aforementioned scandal involved. Hadn’t Amelia told him that she was going on a short trip to see her aunt in the countryside? He put his sister’s snippet of information to the back of his mind. There were more important things to think about. Pierce’s neck being the most urgent of them.
“Pierce is safe from the matrons by now, no doubt,” he scoffed. “But unfortunately not from the hangman’s noose. He is still at the top of the authorities most wanted list.”
Daisy sat down beside Pierce and dropped her head into her hands.
“Don’t even say it. The thought of Pierce being hanged makes me feel quite unwell.”
“You must not distress yourself. It’s not good for women in your condition.” Clara took Daisy’s hand and squeezed it sympathetically, clearly under the impression that her friend still carried her baby. “And as to feeling unwell, any illness is far more likely to be due to your pregnancy than imagining what will happen if Pierce is arrested. Felicity was as sick as a dog for months when she was carrying the twins.”
Daisy cast her gaze towards Pierce, who raised an eyebrow back. Should she confess? Pierce obviously thought that she should but Daisy wasn’t so sure. With the private letters still at Portland Hall, and Lady Amelia’s name already on everyone’s lips, she wasn’t yet ready to reveal all to their friends. Rumours that she had lost the Duke’s only possible immediate heir would spread like wildfire. In her desperation to remain at the highest echelons of society, the Dowager Duchess might be moved to intensify her search for whatever it was she hoped to find, whether that be money, begging letters, or vowels. What if her explorations included the locked drawer in the study? Daisy couldn’t let that happen. There was more than her own reputation at stake. She turned back to Clara and shook her head.
“No, I appreciate your concern, but feeling ill has nothing to do with any pregnancy. However, hearing about losing a dear friend to the scaffold would be more than I can bear. Especially when I know that he is not guilty of any crime.” She gave Pierce a watery smile.
Pierce’s lips felt as though they were made from clay. Was he smiling or grimacing? He couldn’t tell. A friend, she said. A ‘dear one,’ granted, but was that all she thought of him? A weight dropped into Pierce’s stomach. Maybe he shouldn’t have hoped that there could be more between them. In time. He was no fool and knew it was too soon since her husband’s death, but from what she had said to him while they were in the carriage, he believed there was little love lost between the two of them. He had hoped for a little more than friendship by now.
After their initial conversation in their wedding carriage, the journey into town had been a quiet one. Daisy had said little, seemingly wrapped in her own thoughts, and merely remarked on the weather or the passing countryside.
Andrews had taken them several more miles before he stopped at an inn where Pierce had, for proprieties sake, and to keep their sudden marriage a secret, booked two rooms. After the stablemaster had watered the horses, Andrews had said a short goodbye and had returned the way they had come.
Taking her arm as they walked inside, Pierce introduced his ‘sister’ Daisy to the innkeeper’s wife, and the woman had been only too delighted to show her up to her room.
Pierce had wanted to go with them, had wanted to check that Daisy, pale faced and wan, was all right, but respectability forbade that he do any such thing and he had sat grinding his teeth while the barkeeper regaled him with stories of highwaymen and cutpurses along the route.
Pierce had let the man talk on while his own thoughts wandered. He’d not had time to dwell on Daisy’s health, but after the previous day’s revelations knew she was keeping up a facade. Whether she had loved her husband or not, Pierce had no doubt that she would have cherished any child. Once again his thoughts clouded. Why had it taken her so long to conceive? And then to lose it so rapidly? Was there something wrong with her? He had heard of some women miscarrying time and time again. Had it happened to Daisy before? Was this why she seemed a little blasé about the loss of this particular infant?
He didn’t know, but if Daisy had been his, the mere thought of her suffering such a thing would have near killed him. And though she had made light of her quick recovery, her paleness of skin, her fatigue, and swings of temperament, made him more than a little worried.
She hadn’t come down again that evening, sending a message via a serving girl that she needed to sleep her headache off. Could she still be suffering from the affects of the brandy? Or was there something more amiss? Whichever was the case, Pierce knew that she hadn’t eaten during the day and wasn’t about to let her go to bed on an empty stomach. He had asked for a tray of fresh baked bread, a good wedge of cheese, and thick slices of roasted ham to be sent up to her while he ate his dinner alone downstairs.
Bertie Cravenwood’s own carriage and driver appeared the next morning to escort them back to London. Looking somewhat revived, Daisy lamented on the fact that she hadn’t been able to bring Bernadette to London with her, but Pierce had thought that announcing their arrival in the capital by riding her magnificent horse through the streets was probably not a good idea, especially as she would be staying in his apartments. It would merely add fuel for any wagging tongues.
But while he worried about the possibility of their presence in town being discovered, he also wanted to shout with joy and tell everyone he knew. Daisy was his! Finally and completely his. Well, not quite completely. His happiness faltered and his stomach gave a slightly nervous wobble. They had not yet consummated their marriage, but he hoped that would come. Sometime in the future. When she was over the death of her husband, and her child.
Clara had squealed with delight when she and her brother greeted the arrival of the carriage. Bertie had helped Daisy down only to be pushed aside as his sister who dragged Daisy up the townhouse steps. Pierce remained hidden in the carriage until it turned into the mews. There may or may not have been constables waiting for him, staking out the area around the house, but he wasn’t about to present himself to them on a platter. He changed into the servant’s attire that Bertie had bundled up and concealed beneath the carriage seat, and waited until the vehicle was well inside the stable block before descending and slipping into his house through the kitchen door.
Whereupon, his cook had thrown up her hands in horror at his emaciated appearance, and immediately began busying herself about the kitchen while muttering about, roast pork and crackling, beef stew and dumplings, fruitcake, scones with jam and clotted cream, custard tarts, and any number of other things that made Pierce’s underfed belly growl and his mouth water. But though he could have devoured all the delights she mentioned, he didn’t have time for eating right then.
Escaping his cook, he made his way to his study, but held up his hands in surrender after surprising his housekeeper as she lay some correspondence on his desk. She yelled out in fright and jumped a foot in the air before reaching out and grabbing a fire tong. Brandishing the improvised weapon above her head, she threatened to repel all intruders before recognizing her master in his footman’s gear, and gave him a dressing down for half scaring the life out of her.
Her shout brought his butler and his valet running. Arthur immediately bowed and offered to take Pierce’s borrowed footman’s coat, while his valet, Victor, paled at the sight of Pierce’s outfit and looked as though he might faint.
“Good God, my Lord! Whatever possessed you to wear clothes so ill fitting! And your boots! AND THAT BEARD!” The man pointed a shaking finger at Pierce’s overlong facial hair and swayed visibly before taking a deep breath and insisting on an immediate shave and a bath.
Pierce had politely declined both. He had bathed at the inn and didn’t have time to do so again. And he certainly
couldn’t shave off his beard. His disguise might be his only defence against a stretched neck. Instead, he reassured Victor that all would be back to normal in a few days, and bent to concentrate on his correspondence. It looked to be mostly bills, which his housekeeper had already attended to. The lack of visiting cards and invites reflected his current delicate status. He wasn’t surprised and quickly decided that his mail could wait while he went in search of Daisy, Clara, and Bertie.
He suspected Clara would have secreted his wife away, and he wasn’t wrong. The women had already hurried off, clasping hands and gossiping as they rushed up the stairs to find Daisy’s room. Bertie had remained in the salon. Waiting for Pierce with a plan to clear his name that might have results very soon.
Pierce wasn’t quite so sure. But Bertie had already guessed about his friend’s lamentable efforts at being a servant, and insisted that he must have some proper practice at being a footman before unleashing his less than adequate skills upon some unsuspecting patron. Practice that could take place somewhere private. Where he could be put right without causing a scene. Somewhere where he wouldn’t be thrown out, or where the staff immediately sent for the constables.
Now he was back at his own home after another exhausting day of menial work, fetching and carrying for one of his best friends, who had obviously delighted in ordering him about when he knew that Pierce could do nothing back.
Not that he begrudged his friend some fun at his expense. Under normal circumstances he might have already been scheming to have some fun back, but right now, Daisy sat so close to him, her wonderful, familiar scent so overwhelming that his aching feet, sore back, and dreams of revenge slipped to the back of his mind.
He glanced again in her direction. She had pulled her hand away from Clara’s and her fingers now sat knotted together in her lap, twisting and turning, the knuckles turning white. Not thinking about his actions, he reached out, placed his own hand over hers and squeezed gently, reassuringly, lovingly as he lifted his gaze to her face.
A Fragile Chain of Daisies: Flowers of the Aristocracy (Untamed Regency Book 4) Page 18