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

by Jackie Williams

  He put his thoughts of warm, curvaceous flesh to one side as he hefted his most recent bag of coins and was about to tip them in with the rest, when a small sound caught his ear. He stilled and listened. All remained quiet. Perhaps it was a mouse scratching at the skirting board.

  Or perhaps it wasn’t. A sudden frown creased his brow. Had anyone followed him? The men at Lord Templeton’s house had worried him. Especially the brother. The man was a renowned pugilist. Did he know more than he let on? No, surely not. No one knew anything. And the old Duchess wouldn’t say a word. She was too wound up in her own importance to admit to anything so scandalous as giving in to a blackmailer.

  Musgrave smiled to himself. Stupid old cow, thinking she might try pleading poverty. Why, the rings she wore on her over fat fingers were worth more than he would earn in a hundred lifetimes. It was about time she gave some of them up.

  He poured the guineas into his box. They rattled and clinked and clattered, and then settled. The box was almost full. But there was room for a few more. Should he give the old woman a fright and send another demand as early as tomorrow night? He grinned at the thought of her shock before turning to his writing table. And then stopped.

  The door to his room stood open a few inches. He distinctly remembered closing it with his foot. Had a draft lifted the latch? He walked across the room, drew the door open, and stood back. He listened hard. Was that a creak of a floorboard? A footstep? Surely not. He had locked the downstairs door behind him. The key remained in his pocket. He dug into the fabric to check. Yes, his fingers wrapped around the reassuringly cool metal. He huffed out a relieved breath. It had been a long week at Lord Templeton’s and he needed a rest.

  A shiver ran up his spine as a cool draft touched his collar and he spun around quickly, his eyes darting about the room. The lamp cast shadows into the corners and around the drapes on his bed. Had his curtains moved? No. And the box of coins still sat perfectly safely on his bed.

  Just his imagination running wild. The news of Lord Trenchard’s hanging had shocked him. He never supposed they would really do it. And a day early too. Still, what did he care. The man meant nothing to him, and with him gone, Musgrave felt that he was now safe.

  But that creaking floorboard hadn’t sounded right. Every house made noises, but it had definitely sounded more like a light footstep. And could the scratching earlier have been someone picking his lock? Perhaps he had best check. He turned back to the door, took another step out into the hall, and looked towards the stairs.

  And froze as he felt something cold touch the back of his neck.

  “Murderer.” A voice hissed quietly in his ear and his knees turned to water. He barely held himself up.

  “Who are you?” He managed to ask back.

  Daisy kept her voice low.

  “Just do as I say and perhaps I won’t put a bullet through your neck. Now, slowly turn back to your room. And don’t think of trying to run or over power me. I am not afraid to use my gun.”

  Musgrave followed his orders and stood shaking in the middle of the room.

  “What do you want of me?” His voice wavered with fear.

  “Just your confession. You have killed two men and frightened an old woman half to death.” Daisy kept the gun as steady as she could, but it was heavy. She had to do this fast.

  Musgrave gave the tiniest shake of his head.

  “I didn’t k, kill anyone, haven’t threatened any old women. You have the wrong man,” he blustered as he stared at the heaped box of gold still sitting on his bed.

  Daisy snorted her derision at his denial.

  “The evidence is there for anyone to see. Thousands of guineas, and all of them stolen. Did you think you would get away with blackmail as well as murder?” Daisy nudged the pistol further into the man’s neck.

  Musgrave let out a cry of fear.

  “All right, the blackmail I’ll admit.”

  “And the murders?” Just say it! She lifted her other hand to steady the shaking gun.

  Musgrave gave another small shake of his head.

  “It wasn’t murder, I swear!”

  “Then what was it?” A deeper voice spoke from the other side of the bed as a glowing white figure appeared from behind the drapes.

  Musgrave screamed and covered his face with trembling hands.

  “A ghost! Come back to haunt me!” He cried as he fell to his knees.

  Daisy stared at the apparition. Light behind the figure, and what appeared to be a sheet, obscured its features, but surely that voice belonged to... No, she shook her head to clear her mind. She was hearing things in her grief. But the ghost spoke again.

  “I have come to hear your confession. It is because of you that I am dead.” The glow around the figure brightened further. Light shone through the spectre’s shroud.

  Daisy frowned at the form’s shadowed but familiar shape. Tall, broad shouldered, and sounding just like...

  “Pierce?” Daisy whispered.

  “Lord Trenchard’s spirit has come to haunt me!” Musgrave wailed from the floor.

  “I WANT YOUR CONFESSION! I CANNOT REST IN UNHALLOWED GROUND!” The ghost thundered as the curtains around the bed fluttered.

  Musgrave whimpered from the floor.

  “It was an accident! I swear.” His voice trembled almost uncontrollably. “The Dowager Duchess needed some encouragement to pay my demands. I only meant for the Duke’s wife to slip from her horse as a warning.”

  “What?” Daisy, asked in her normal voice, quite forgetting that she was meant to be in disguise. But Musgrave hadn’t noticed.

  “Yes, yes! I thought it would be a simple thing. If she fell from her horse the old woman would know I meant business.”

  Even the ghost sounded nonplussed.

  “You mean the Duke surely, not his wife?”

  Musgrave shook his head.

  “I would never have hurt my master.”

  Daisy frowned down at the kneeling figure.

  “But it was fine for you to hurt m... er, your mistress?” She remembered her role just in time.

  Musgrave nodded quickly.

  “Well, I didn’t want to hurt the person who was ultimately paying the blackmail. That would make no sense.”

  Daisy watched in amazement as the spirit behind the bed scratched its head.

  “So how come the Duke died instead?” It asked curiously.

  Musgrave sighed.

  “A stupid mistake on my part. I thought a fall from a horse would be easy to arrange. Just cut the saddle’s girth. I slipped down to the stables one night and sliced the tack. But I know nothing about horses. Naturally I discounted the side saddle. My mistress never rode like normal ladies.” He sniffed in disgust. “The Duke was a tall man, not massively built, but certainly a lot larger than his wife. I picked the smaller saddle.”

  Daisy lowered her gun.

  “But that would not have been Bernadette’s. She is huge and needs a far larger saddle. The smaller one would have belonged to Rob... er, the Duke’s mount.”

  Musgrave lifted his head and clenched his hands at his sides.

  “I know that now! Can you imagine how I felt when I discovered that I had cut the wrong one and had inadvertently killed my master?”

  Daisy stuck her pistol back to the man’s head.

  “You could have killed me!” She shouted indignantly, quite forgetting her role now.

  Though shocked at her words, Musgrave had the sense to keep quiet.

  The glowing spectre moved around the bed.

  “So you put the blame on me, merely because you remembered noticing that the Duke’s wife had sent me a letter a few days previously.”

  Musgrave closed his eyes as the ghost approached him.

  “What was I to do? I had to divert attention from myself. I couldn’t believe my luck. Telling that idiot Mathews that my mistress had a secret correspondent, possibly a lover, who had won the fateful race seemed the easiest thing to do. I never suspected he would
be able to make a case that would go so far as to hang you.”

  Daisy glanced at the ghost before looking back at Musgrave.

  “And the blackmail? Why did you do that? You had been in your master’s employ for years. What had he done to deserve that?”

  Seemingly oblivious of the pistol, Musgrave suddenly rose to his feet and spun round as he spat out his words.

  “Why? I’ll tell you why. Because I hadn’t had a wage rise or a day off in years. The Duke spent thousands curating his mouldering collection of dead animals and insects, made me travel with him everywhere so that he always appeared at his best. But would he give an extra penny or a day’s holiday to someone who had served him faithfully for over two decades? Would he ever!” The man scowled. “And when I saw letters from that ruined tart, so grateful that he was going to pay her a small fortune during her lying in, I couldn’t take any more. The aristocracy was about to be duped. Well, if he was going to lie and cheat, so was I.”

  Daisy stepped back from the man’s ire, the gun shook in her hand.

  “I am sure he never meant...”

  But Musgrave’s anger had outweighed his fear. He glared at her.

  “Don’t try to placate me with your drivel, your Grace. You know what I say is true. The man was a thoughtless, selfish prig. And you shouldn’t have had to put up with his behaviour too.” He suddenly reached out and caught hold of Daisy’s gun, but the ghost leapt forwards and wrestled the man to the ground.

  “Mathews! If you heard all of that, now would be an excellent time to make your arrest!” The spectre shouted and several men ran into the room.

  It was minutes before Musgrave had been handcuffed, escorted out of the door, and order had been restored.

  Mr. Mathews grinned at Pierce, who had whipped off the sheet that had disguised his solid form.

  “Cor! I have to say that you half scared me to death when you rose from the other side of the bed. I wasn’t sure you even had time to get into position before her Ladyship opened that door.”

  Pierce folded the silk and placed it on the bed.

  “If you had given me more warning, I might not have had to use one of my best bed sheets for my disguise. My housekeeper is going to have the hysterics when she discovers I cut eye holes in the middle of it.”

  Mathews laughed loudly.

  “Well, it was all in a good night’s work. I’ll have the official pardon by the morning, but there is no need for you to return to the gaol. It’s not like we can hang you twice.” He stopped chuckling and glanced at the other occupant of the room. Daisy stood motionless, staring at her husband. Mathews coughed into his hand. “Er, well, I’ll leave you to it. I think you have some explaining to do to your wife.”

  Epilogue

  Rising From the Dead

  “I’m sorry! How many times I have to say it until you forgive me? Daisy, please! I love you. Please let me in.” Pierce stood outside his wife’s locked door for the second day in a row.

  Daisy lay on the bed staring at her bear. It had been two nights since Pierce had risen from the dead, but she still wasn’t sure she could forgive his subterfuge.

  The bear looked back at her, his button eyes glinting in the candlelight, and she sighed. Sheets of paper lay beside the bear. Pierce had bared his soul in his final letter that she had opened on returning home after Musgrave had been taken away.

  Her husband had told her of his love, even from their youth. From the day she had been placed, a babe, in his arms, to the utter devastation he felt on the day of her first marriage. When his second chance had arisen, there was no way he could let it pass. He would have braved a hangman’s noose a thousand times to make her his. He had spoken of his dreams and hopes too. Prayed that their one night together had been enough to give her something, someone to remember him by...

  She brushed away her tears as she heard him slump against her door. How tired must he be? He hadn’t left his position for hours and still he was asking for her to forgive him. Of course she forgave him. The whole experience must have been far worse for Pierce than it had been for her. She had been merely distraught. He had thought he was heading for the afterlife.

  She rose from the bed and unlocked her door.

  Pierce breathed a sigh of relief as he heard the key turn in the lock at last. After Mathews had left them, carrying off the box of guineas to return to Jane Benedict, he had taken Daisy to her home to change before rushing to see his mother. Dorothea Tenchard, who had only just roused herself from her previous prostrate state, promptly fainted again when he walked into her room.

  It was hours before his mother would let him out of her sight for him to return to collect his wife. And then Daisy had ignored him. Had refused to look at him. She had lifted her chin and marched up his stairs, giving strict instructions that she was not to be disturbed unless she rang for help. Which she hadn’t, apart from the usual necessities.

  And Pierce had begun his vigil outside her door. He didn’t blame her for being upset. Being told he had been hanged must have been dreadful, especially after being reassured that Mathews would look into the case again. But two days was enough. He was going mad. He needed to see her face, to hear her voice, to touch that satin soft skin once again.

  She stared at him from beneath damp eyelashes. Had she been crying? He glanced past her shoulder and noticed the strewn sheets of his letter on the bed. That might explain her tears. He had rather poured out his soul in what he had thought would be his final communication with her. But he couldn’t feel embarrassed. He had meant every word of the love that he had vowed. Love that he hoped would be continued if their one night together had its much desired outcome.

  “Can I come in?” He waited until she moved aside, but then stopped as he crossed the threshold. Without warning he scooped her into his arms and kicked the door closed behind him.

  Daisy let out a shriek of surprise.

  “What are you doing? Let me down!” She struggled in his arms, but he ignored her protests and simply strode towards the bed.

  “You make me loiter outside your door for two days, and you think I can wait to have you any longer!” He balanced her bottom on a knee as he swiped away the sheets of paper and flung the bear off the bed before depositing her on the covers and falling down beside her.

  “My bear!” She cried out.

  “Blast the bear!” Pierce took her in his arms, refusing to let her rise. He growled as he burrowed his head into the intriguing place between her shoulder and her neck. “You have me now. I am the only one allowed in your bed from this day forth.” His lips found her silk soft skin.

  Daisy threaded her fingers into his hair and held him to her.

  “If you ever pull a trick like that on me again...” She whispered as she breathed in the heavenly scent of him, but she didn’t finish her words. Pierce lifted his head. He gazed down at her, his eyes taking in every inch of her face.

  “Daisy, I thought I was about to die. If you think you were tricked, imagine how I felt with a noose about my neck and the trapdoor opening at my feet. I swear you were the last thing I thought of before I landed, rather heavily I might add, on an inadequate bed of hay.” He ran a fingertip along her jaw.

  She leaned into his touch.

  “And I swear I will strangle Mr. Mathews when I see him again. Lucas, Bertie, and all of our families believed the lie. Mathews never gave a thing away. Even when he told me his plan for me to get Musgrave to confess. I told him I thought it unlikely I could do it on my own, but really!”

  Pierce began pulling pins from her hair.

  “Mr. Mathews thought you might need some extra persuasion. He had tailed Musgrave from Lord Templeton’s earlier that evening. When the valet left to collect his ill gotten gains from the Dowager, one of Mathew’s men picked the lock of his house and let me in. We just had to hope that the place was his only hideout. All I had to do then was to wait and encourage Musgrave if he became reticent about confessing his crimes to you.”

 
; Daisy rolled her eyes as she recalled the ghost appearing at the other side of the bed..

  “But a ghost? With a sheet over your head? Really!”

  Pierce laughed.

  “Well, I was rising from the dead. And it seemed as good a disguise as any at such short notice. You looked almost as surprised as Musgrave.”

  Daisy poked him in the chest.

  “Only because I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I knew it was you as soon as I heard your voice. And then I knew that you were really alive and your hanging had all been a ruse. But when Lucas called earlier that day... the l...letter.” She drew a deep breath. “ Suffice it to say that the shock of it will never leave m... me.” She stumbled over her words.

  Pierce pressed his face into her hair and breathed in deeply as he held her tightly.

  “I am sorry. I can’t tell you enough times. You will never know how truly awful I felt tricking you and everyone else so badly, but Musgrave would never have confessed while I was still alive.” His fingers slid beneath her and wandered to the buttons on her dress.

  The heat, and urgency, of his fingertips made her heart race. Daisy arched her back, reached up, and placed her palm against Pierce’s cheek.

  “But you are alive. And you are mine...”

  Pierce growled as he struggled with far too much fabric.

  “And you will be mine. Once I rid you of this blasted dress.” His patience was clearly at an end. He raised himself onto his knees and with both hands took hold of the material at her shoulders. He let out a satisfied grunt as the silk ripped.

  “Pierce!” Daisy shrieked. “You cannot do...”

  He raised his eyebrows and tore the rest of the dress away.

  “I rather think I can.” He waited for her to laugh before he leaned down and silenced her with a kiss.

  Bertie Cravenwood paced his study, thoughts turning over and over in his head. The sheets of paper in front of him couldn’t be denied, but as much as they explained, he still couldn’t see how it had happened?

  The last several days had been so unreal that he felt they could have been a dream. The travesty of a trial, the hanging, Then Pierce’s miraculous reincarnation. And afterwards there had been the arrival of several serving trays built on wheels. Gifts of the Dowager Duchess of Portland, to aid his overburdened staff, that had left him scratching his head.