“Oh!” Daisy jumped back in surprise.
Victor gave a low bow.
“I beg your pardon, my Lady. I didn’t mean to cause you any consternation, but his Lordship asked me to keep you company,” he said on standing upright again.
Daisy narrowed her eyes.
“Keep me company? Oh, he did, did he? But there is no need, Victor. I am merely going for a walk in the garden. The roses are still flowering. I need no one to accompany me.”
Victor frowned.
“But my orders were to not let you out of my sight, my Lady. The master was most precise upon the matter. I believe he fears for your safety,” he added quietly.
Heat swept through her. Did Pierce suspect what she might have planned? She couldn’t see how, but he knew her well and though she thought she had kept her demeanour serene, he might have deduced the she had some scheme on her mind. Or was he simply being an over protective husband, rightly worried about deserting his new wife while he risked his neck in order to clear his name? Either way, she couldn’t have anyone following her about.
She let out a giggle as if finding the situation funny.
“How silly of him. I can come to no danger while simply taking a breath of fresh air. I merely thought to take out my pastels and perhaps capture a scene.”
As she suspected he might, Victor paled. The man might have been fine walking about, but sitting, watching her do nothing but put colour on paper was not his ideal way to spend an afternoon. She knew that he would far rather be stiffening collars and checking Pierce’s cravats.
“Ah, pastels. Drawings of flowers. Hmm. I see.” The man coughed into his gloved hand, his discomfort at the afternoon’s prospective activities obvious.
Daisy nodded with false enthusiasm.
“Oh yes, I find it most invigorating, but is there something that you would prefer to be doing? I would hate to hold you up, and I am sure that you can see the rose garden from his Lordship’s chambers. I could call or wave up at you if I needed something.” She used her sweetest voice and blinked rapidly.
The valet looked uncertain and confirmed his doubts.
“But his Lordship was most insistent, my Lady. I would be remiss in my duties if I ignored a specific request.”
Daisy giggled again.
“But surely you don’t think he meant that you had to stand right by my side for the whole afternoon and evening? You won’t have time for any of your own work. We can’t have his Lordship’s wardrobe suffering any further neglect. In fact I am determined that you carry on with your work as normal. I swear that I will call you if I have even the slightest need of your assistance.” She tried to put on her most innocent expression, and it clearly worked. Victor caved in to her suggestion far too easily. The colour came rushing back to his cheeks and he gave a tentative smile.
“Well, if you are sure, my Lady. I do have to go through his Lordship’s wardrobe. Heavens knows what he has been up to these last weeks, but he has lost so much weight that a pair or two of his trousers will have to be altered while cook fattens him up again. He looks fit to scare crows from a field of newly sewn seeds. The matter really cannot wait.” He rose and fell on the balls of his feet, obviously keen to begin sorting clothes to send to the tailor.
Daisy nodded earnestly, keen to keep the man on her side.
“I completely understand your concerns. I didn’t recognize him at all when he came to visit me last week. And that beard!” She rolled her eyes dramatically.
Victor blanched visibly.
“Please don’t remind me. The sooner the offending whiskered appendage is removed, the better. Makes him look like a peasant, if I may be so bold.” He spoke as if the beard was a personal insult.
Daisy sucked in her cheek to stop the laughter spilling from her lips. Personally, she thought Pierce looked rather dashing with the dark stubble upon his face, almost pirate like, but she wasn’t about to tell Victor her opinion. Instead she nodded again.
“Indeed. Far too much like a peasant. We can only hope that he clears up this dreadful misunderstanding quickly so that you can see to its elimination.” She smiled encouragingly before glancing at the clock. “Well, I really shouldn’t hold you up any longer. We cannot have the master of the house looking like a vagabond.”
Victor took the hint and bowed as he backed out of the room.
“No indeed. And I appreciate your understanding in the matter, but please don’t forget to call me should you need anything at all. I can be with you in an instant.”
She nodded as she followed him into the hall.
“I won’t forget. Now, the afternoon is wasting. I must gather my pastels and my shawl.”
Victor waited for her to pass him. Then they walked up the stairs, the valet a pace behind her until they parted ways at Pierce’s bedroom door.
Lord help anyone who wanted to find their coat on their way out. Pierce stared at the mounting number hanging in the vestibule and gave a careless shrug. He had long given up the system he had been taught. How was he meant to recall who wore what when there were over a hundred guests at a house meant to hold thirty at a push? Not that he would have remembered thirty coats, let alone the deluge that had been left in his charge. Why hadn’t the ladies left their outer garments in their carriages? It wasn’t as if the night was particularly cold or wet, and nobody had been left hanging around waiting at the door.
The first rush of guests was over and he glanced into the hall. One or two people milled about, clearly waiting for friends or relatives, but most had moved into the ballroom. Strains of music, laughter, and the general buzz of chatter spilled out through the open doors. It seemed that Lord Templeton’s first ball would be a pronounced a success. The thought of the extra shilling made Pierce want to laugh. Was that the most a servant had to look forward to in their life? Perhaps his own servants wished he gave them extra shillings on occasions. Not that any of them had ever protested at what he paid them already.
He scratched his head beneath the too warm a wig he wore. Stupid thing. Why did one need to wear such a thing? It was something he didn’t require of his own staff. But then he thought of Arthur’s balding pate. Perhaps the man would like a wig, especially in winter. He made a mental note to ask before glancing about the hall again.
He had seen several people he knew entering Templeton’s townhouse, but none had recognized him. Most guests had barely looked at him. He found the experience a trifle disconcerting. Never had he thought servants so invisible until he became one himself.
But he hadn’t time to think about that now. He lifted his gaze and met Bertie’s amused blue gaze as he took Clara’s cape.
“Any news?” He asked his friend quietly.
Bertie gave a quick shake of his head.
“Nothing, not even when I prodded to the point of embarrassment. Blakemore’s guests were as unforthcoming as a nun in a brothel. No one has heard a thing. Hoping for more luck here.”
Pierce wanted to laugh at his friend’s analogy but kept his face serious as he nodded.
“If you know Templeton at all, he might be worth sounding out. He has recently employed Portland’s old valet. And from what I heard earlier this evening, Musgrave is planting rumours.”
“Rumours about whom? The Duke?” Bertie risked a glance at his friend.
Pierce folded Clara’s cloak over his arm, aiming to look busy as other people loitered, waiting to leave their coats..
“I’ll let you find out. Best if you go in without any preconceptions.” The muttering of waiting guests caught Pierce’s attention. It seemed the hold up had been noticed. He moved a pace to the side and took another cloak.
Clara gave Pierce a bright, brittle smile and turned away quickly.
“Come Bertie, we are about to be announced and must leave this man to his duties.” She took her brother’s arm and steered him towards the reception hall.
‘Lord Albert Cravenwood, and Miss Clara Cravenwood!’ A footman called over the gathered crowd.
A scowl crossed Bertie’s face on hearing his full name heralded across the throng of staring guests. He was not fond of his given name, fearing it made him sound like his long dead grandfather.
Bertie glanced down at his sister.
“Where did you have my cards printed? Olivers know that I never use my full name.” He hissed his objection.
Clara beamed at some friends she recognized and raised her hand in acknowledgement of their salutations while answering to her brother from the corner or her mouth.
“Clearly not from Olivers. But I don’t know why you are making a fuss. Your given name is the one you should go by. You sound like a school boy when anyone but your family and close friends call you Bertie.”
Bertie nodded his head at an acquaintance as they traversed the ballroom.
“But I have always been Bertie. I like it.”
Clara gave an unladylike snort.
“Perhaps you would like your other name too. Timmy.”
She gave some kind of superior smile that Bertie didn’t understand. Timmy? He had never been called Timmy in his life. No matter, women often said the most peculiar things. He frowned as he glanced about the room, looking for anyone who might be able to help Pierce. His gaze alighted on their host.
“Perhaps we should act on Pierce’s information and renew our acquaintance with Lord Templeton. You should be able to wheedle any secrets out of him. Look, he is already coming our way. I knew there was something more in this invite.” He smiled widely as the man passed through the throng of guests.
Clara lifted her chin.
“I don’t know what you mean, Bertie. The man has only ever danced with me twice before. We barely spoke during either waltz.”
Bertie snorted but said no more as the dark haired man with brooding eyes came towards them.
Lord Templeton bowed over Clara’s hand.
“So pleased that you could come. You must promise me at least two dances.” He barely glanced at her brother.
Spots of red rose into Clara’s cheeks.
“Thank you, my Lord. I would be honoured.” She held out her card and Lord Templeton filled in his name.
Bertie coughed into his hand.
“The whole of London seems to be here, Templeton. You must be delighted with your success.”
Lord Templeton had the grace to look embarrassed.
“Being new to all this is taking some time to sink in. You must understand that I had no idea I was a distant relative and only heir left to the title.”
Clara saw her opening.
“Stranger things have happened, and this is the way of things sometimes. You will have heard of the difficulties the solicitors are having finding the new heir to the Portland estate.”
The man tilted his head and held out his elbow to Clara.
“Indeed, a sad affair to say the least, but in some ways I am grateful. His demise has meant that I am able to employ one of the foremost valets in the country. I must admit Musgrave has become an asset. I am not sure I could manage my cravats without him.” He smiled down at Clara who placed her hand on his arm.
Bertie grunted.
“Not sure what I would do without my own, but don’t you find the your new position a little disconcerting? So many people now have access to your life. And you become so used to them that it is easy to reveal what you normally might not. I confess that even being born and raised amongst it all, I have to keep my lips sealed. Servant’s seem to know everything.”
Lord Templeton glanced at Bertie.
“I’m not sure that I have any secrets to keep, but I know what you mean. In managing me, Musgrave has revealed how he organised his Grace. Not sure I agree with all of it. The man seemed to have some surprising traits.”
Clara dimpled up at their host.
“Really! But doesn’t that tell you more about the man’s valet than the Duke. If his valet is loose lipped about his previous master, what might he reveal about his new one?”
Lord Templeton laughed.
“Nothing. There is nothing to reveal as of yet. And I don’t yet have a wife who I might have offended enough to use murderous tactics upon me.”
Clara placed her hand to her breast as she gasped.
“Do you mean that Musgrave suspects the Duke’s wife to have sabotaged his tack? Why would she do such a thing? Isn’t she with child? It is a preposterous thing to say about her.”
Templeton raised a brow.
“Not according to Musgrave. Apparently the woman is a witch, and now that she has an heir growing in her belly, she has no need of the husband she despised.”
Clara blinked.
“Surely you jest? Even if what you say about her feelings for her husband are correct, how could she know if the child is a boy? A girl would be of no assistance to her.”
Templeton shook his head.
“The Portland’s have only ever had boys. And I believe the trait runs in his wife’s family also. Musgrave tells me that she was the first female born to the family in over two hundred years. The chances of the child being male seem too good to dismiss.” They had arrived at the dance floor.
Clara took her hand from Lord Templeton’s arm and turned to speak to her brother, but Bertie had been lost in the crush. A tug on her sleeve had her looking back over her shoulder.
“Our waltz, I believe.” Lord Templeton’s dark gaze settled upon her, the heat in his eyes stealing her breath.
Clara tried to dismiss the flutter that rippled through her stomach. The man had no idea how to conceal his emotions. Emotions that perhaps he shouldn’t express. But though she wanted to report her newly gained information to either her brother or Pierce, the heat of the new lord’s hand on her back had begun to burn through her dress. The music began, Lord Templeton swept her into his arms, and all other thoughts swirled into a mist.
Chapter Sixteen
A Flight of Fancy
Daisy had never felt so tired in her life. Even a long stop to rest her horse hadn’t warded off the fatigue that threaded its way through her veins. How she now regretted not riding in recent years. Darkness had fallen quickly and from the way her thighs burned, and her shoulders ached, it was perhaps fortunate that she had recognized the name of the town only a few miles back. Portland Hall wasn’t far ahead.
Not that its proximity was much help. She hadn’t yet fathomed a proper plan as to how to gain entrance into Robert’s study. If the Dowager Duchess remained in residence, it might be all but impossible to go through the main house. A sneaky entrance through the window might be in order. But what if the woman wasn’t there. It would make stealth pointless and climbing through a window an unnecessary risk.
Perhaps a trip to someone who knew might be advisable. That would mean arriving via the stables. Andrews wouldn’t raise any alarm as to her being there, and she would be able to hide her horse as well as discovering if Jane remained at the hall.
With all these thoughts filling her mind, Daisy slowed the horse as the walls of her previous home and gatehouse came into sight. Now what? A bold ride up the front drive, knowing that she might be seen by those she would prefer to avoid, or should she carry on around to the back gate? The last thing she wanted was to announce her arrival to her mother in law before she had retrieved what she needed so badly. Perhaps she shouldn’t make her presence known to Andrews after all. If she left her horse at the rear entrance, she could circuit the lake and perhaps make her entrance through Robert’s study window without anyone being the wiser. There had been a broken latch that he had always been promising to have mended, but never did.
She reached into her pocket and smiled as her fingertips touched cool metal. At least she didn’t need to retrieve the key to her husband’s desk from her room. Her belongings had arrived in London only that very afternoon. Fortunately Mary had been thorough and had packed everything from the chest of drawers. Including the velvet pouch holding the key. Now she simply had to decide on the best option for gaining entrance to the study.
Making her decision, she passed the front gate and carried on along the road until reaching a route around the enclosed part of the estate. The back gates appeared some minutes later and she slipped from her tired horse.
Locked! But what did she expect. Daisy rattled the gate to make sure. Blast! Now what? An owl hooted from the tree beside the wall. A branch hung low. Temptingly low. If she stood in her saddle there was a chance she might be able to reach it, shimmy along it, and climb over.
Climbing trees at her age! She stifled a laugh as she remounted her horse and guided him away from the tree trunk to where the branch drooped to within inches of her head. She stood in the stirrups and reached up, gripping the rough bark. Her hands would be in shreds by the time her adventure was over, but she couldn’t give up now. People were relying on her.
Her already aching thighs protested as she raised one foot onto the saddle before swinging her other hand up to grip the branch. The next second she had hoisted herself up to sit astride the gnarly limb and she breathed a sigh of relief before beginning the next part of her mission.
“What do you mean, ‘She’s gone.’” Pierce whipped the ridiculous, and extremely itchy wig from his head as he demanded answers from his apparently panic stricken valet.
Victor sucked in a much needed breath and bent to press his hands on his knees as he managed gasp out a few more words.
“Exactly what I say, my Lord.” He stood straight again as his heart rate fell to somewhere near normal. “She told me that she wanted to draw, or paint, or some such activity while in the garden. I know that you asked me to keep her within arms reach, but I could see her quite clearly from your chambers where I was sorting out which pairs of your trousers should go to the tailors.” Victor shuffled from foot to foot. “Unfortunately I hadn’t known her artistic nature was all a ruse. Your guest is far trickier than I had thought possible for a woman of her size. I cannot have turned my back for more than a few seconds before she was up to something. When Arthur went to inform her that dinner would be in an hour, he discovered her pastels still in their box by the garden seat and her shawl and bonnet perched rather fetchingly on the statue of Venus, looking for all intents and purposes as though she had sat there painting all afternoon.” He sniffed as though personally insulted by his charge’s subterfuge before carrying on with his explanation. “Naturally we spent some time searching the house and grounds, but as it became apparent that her Ladyship was no longer in residence, I ran here to confess that I had failed in my duties.”
A Fragile Chain of Daisies: Flowers of the Aristocracy (Untamed Regency Book 4) Page 21