“No. It is not all right.”
Yet, selfishly a part of her had wished to have some guidance on those inane matters that, well, mattered to other ladies. A lovely gown. A proper coiffure. Only she’d known in the scheme of what her family had lost, how trivial, how nonsensical those wishes had been.
Then her mother’s lips turned up in the first real smile she remembered since Lionel’s death. She took Daisy by the hand and wordlessly began pulling her to the door.
“Where are we going?”
Mama shot a glance back over her shoulder, a twinkle in her eyes. “Why, we are going to visit the modiste, my dear. It is time to capture the heart of a duke.”
Chapter 10
Auric had not heard a hint or whisper of Daisy in three days. Not since he’d taken his leave of her, which was certainly not for a lack of effort. He’d attempted to visit the lady three times.
He gave his head a shake. The ladies. He’d intended to visit with the marchioness and her daughter. Each time they had been indisposed. At first he’d been filled by panic. As long as he’d known Daisy she’d been lively and healthy and possessed of a strong constitution. On the second day, he’d begun to believe he’d inadvertently offended her with the gentleman he’d put before her. After all, Astor was not resolute and…Well, not resolute, and Auric was certain there was a host of other grievances he could level against the other man if he was inclined.
On the third day, he was forced to accept that Lady Daisy Laurel Meadows, who’d dogged his footsteps, not once fawned over his title, and teased him mercilessly, was avoiding him and he missed her. He’d convinced himself these past years that she was nothing more than an obligation, a debt he owed Lionel paid with weekly visits. Yet, some shift had occurred in him, between them, and the need to see her was a physical ache.
He passed a deliberate gaze throughout Lord and Lady Ellis’ crowded ballroom, and looked for Daisy. Where in hell was she? He had it on the authority of his butler, who had it on the authority of the Marchioness of Roxbury’s butler, that the lady was, in fact, the model of health and planned to attend Lady Ellis’ annual ball. These were sorry days indeed when the Duke of Crawford was reduced to putting inquiries to his servants and relying on the discretion and inquiries of another man’s servants.
Surely, Daisy recognized he intended to help her make a match. Nay, not just any match, but one with a devoted, caring, and now, resolute gentleman. Auric curled his hands into balls at his sides only now recognizing he couldn’t identify a single man present who’d fit the lady’s requirements, because not a single gentleman deserved her. And more, it would shred him if he were to choose anyone that was not him…
The air burst from his lungs on a hiss. God help him. He—
“Are you looking for someone in particular, Crawford?” the Viscount Wessex drawled as he came to a stop at his shoulder.
Auric startled at the other man’s unexpected appearance. He swallowed a curse and pointedly ignored him.
“Perhaps someone who fits with your strict, unrealistic expectations for a certain lady?” Again, jealousy built in his chest.
“They are not my expectations,” he bit out. Rather, they’d been Daisy’s. He’d not betray her confidence. Not even to one of their closest friends. “What brings you here, Wessex?” Every last lord and lady in London knew that the viscount studiously avoided polite Society functions. Yet, just this Season he’d taken to attending dinner parties and balls. “Never tell me you’re in the market for a wife?” he asked in an attempt to shift attention away from talks of Daisy and all the men Wessex would pair the lady with.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” the viscount scoffed. Something in the dull flush on his cheeks, however, told a different tale. “Regardless.” Yes, it would seem there was more there. His friend neatly turned the conversation to that dangerous, undesirable topic. “Rumors have circulated that Lord Astor paid a visit to Daisy?”
He swung his attention to Wessex. A dark, unpleasant sensation swirled in his chest. “When?” The question burst from him. She’d turned him away but was receiving the earl?
A servant stopped before them with a tray of champagne. With a murmur of thanks, the viscount accepted one of the flutes. “I daresay you should remember,” he said when the footman continued on. “You did after all, join the gentleman there.” Some of the tension seeped from Auric’s frame. “I expect you had something to do with Astor?”
His shoulders sagged in relief. There had been just that visit, then. Not another. Only…He reflected on the flash of appreciation in the man’s interested gaze. And his fawning. And nauseating compliments. What a bloody damned fool he’d been all but serving the lady to him upon a silver tray. “I merely coordinated a meeting with,” the unoriginal bastard, “the earl and Daisy.” Any subsequent visit was a product of Daisy’s allure and charm. The lady deserved a good deal more than Astor. A resolute gentleman wouldn’t have been run off by a duke’s displeasure, or anyone’s displeasure. “Astor will not suffice,” he said at last, out the corner of his mouth.
Wessex was determined to make a bother of himself. “Ahh, I expected you’d say as much.” He inclined his head. “I’ve composed another list.”
How many men did the lackwit truly believe he could drum up that might make Daisy an appropriate match?
“A mere three names this time.”
“That is all?” he said, forcing a droll tone when he’d really stake the blasted list and stuff it down his friend’s throat.
Wessex continued as though he’d not spoken. “The Earl of Warwick.”
“Too fond of the faro tables.”
“Baron Wright,” he returned.
“A mother’s boy.” Daisy deserved far more than a gentleman who was devoted, caring, and resolute to his mother and not one person more.
“The Viscount Reddingbrooke.”
Auric frowned. Reddingbrooke was…And then there was…His frown deepened. “He’s too old,” he said at last. Why, the man must be…?
Wessex laughed, attracting unwanted notice. “He’s a year younger than your miserable self, Crawford, which I suppose explains your need for the quizzing glass.” His laughter redoubled.
The delicate piece he carried at the front of his jacket pocket, a gift given him by Daisy, lent a silent mockery to Wessex’s words. “Shove off,” he bit out. “I…”
Wessex’s merriment faded, and he looked to the doorway, unblinking. “Here.” He thrust his crystal flute in Auric’s hands.
“What?” Perplexed, Auric glanced between the glass and his friend.
“Take a drink,” Marcus advised.
A flurry of activity at the entrance of the ballroom captured Auric’s notice. The hum of noisy whispers flooded the room, as ladies and gentlemen strained their attention to the front of the hall.
Auric didn’t give a jot about Society gossips and their latest on-dit. There was the matter of Daisy to attend. When she set aside her not at all Daisy-like temper and admitted him once more.
Wessex made a strangled sound in his throat.
Auric eyed him, concerned, and made to slap him on the back. “What—?” Then, he followed the other man’s shocked stare to the front of the receiving line. The air left Auric on a swift exhale. There was something familiar in the heart-shaped planes of her face, and yet somehow altogether different. By the splash of color on her freckled cheeks and tightly coiled, dark brown curls, he recognized Daisy’s visage with the same certainty of recognizing his own. And yet the voluptuous woman in ice blue satin, with the fabric clinging to generous hips and bountiful breasts, was a siren.
Wessex let out a soft whistle. “By God, the duck becomes a swan.”
No, the lady was no swan. His mouth went dry as a wave of longing so deep and powerful threatened to consume him there before all of Society. She carried herself with the same comfort and ease, a smile on her plump lips, a sparkle of excitement in her eyes. His Daisy. His girl of the flowers. Their host and hostess
, Lord and Lady Ellis, said something to her. She nodded and then, with her mother at her side, moved to take their spot at the side of the ballroom.
Then, her fool mother stepped away to converse with Lord and Lady Ingold. What manner of parent would leave her unattended so any worthless, shiftless bounder could—?
A rush of gentlemen converged upon her. “Bloody hell,” he bit out. Something primal stirred to life inside him. A seething fury that boiled hot and threatened to burn him with his own rage at the sight of the unworthy bastards scribbling their names onto that delicate card upon her wrist.
“Indeed,” Wessex muttered.
“Bloody hell,” he cursed once more, ignoring Wessex’s startled look.
The viscount jerked his chin in her direction. “This will pose a problem in singling out the best match for the lady.” Despite the flippant deliverance of those words, the hard set to his mouth indicated Wessex’s concern with the transformation of Lady Daisy Meadows.
Auric downed the viscount’s champagne. Indeed it did. He took in this new figure being ogled by any manner of lascivious, undeserving rogues. With another curse, he set the glass down hard on a nearby tray then started after Daisy. He’d be damned if he would sit by while those gentlemen removed her silken gown with their rakish eyes.
“Where are you off to, man?” Wessex called behind him.
Auric ignored him, moving with a single-minded intent, narrowing his gaze as the Marquess of Rutland, a notorious reprobate and black-hearted scoundrel, whispered something close to the lady’s ear that raised a blush on her cheeks. He quickened his step and cut a path through the collection of dandies and fops fawning over Daisy. With a black, long-ago practiced, ducal stare, he sent a number of the men scurrying off in fear of earning his ducal disapproval. “Rutland,” he bit out.
Daisy started, the color rising in her cheeks. Annoyance stirred. Surely, the lady was wise enough to not fall prey for a predator such as Rutland.
The marquess stiffened and, straightening his shoulders, partially turned. “Crawford,” he said on an almost lethal whisper.
Auric’s desire to have Rutland away from Daisy had nothing to do with the title of marquess that would forever remind him of Lionel and everything to do with the lascivious leer in the man’s eyes as he ogled her breasts.
Daisy frowned and looked between them, a question in a gaze too innocent for the likes of Rutland.
“Lady Daisy,” Auric sketched a quick bow and then reached for her dance card and froze. He took in the filled program and then his head shot up. By God, how quickly had the vultures swooped in and claimed all but…he looked down at the card once more. A quadrille.
“A bit late,” Rutland said mockingly. The orchestra thrummed the beginning strands of a waltz. He held a hand out to Daisy.
Fury tightened Auric’s belly. By God, he’d sooner deliver Rutland to the devil than allow him to put his filthy hands upon her person. With fury coursing through his being, Auric stepped between them. “I am claiming this set.”
“Are you?” Rutland drew those two syllables out in a mocking fashion. He held a hand out to Daisy once more. “I believe you aren’t, Crawford.”
Daisy stared bewildered between the gentlemen. The mottled flush on Auric’s cheeks, the muscle ticking at the corner of his right eye, uncharacteristic for one so composed, so austere, and so perfectly ducal. And yet, the icy fury emanating from his frame hinted at a man about to come to blows with the marquess. She cleared her throat. “My lord,” she said, calling the marquess’ attention. “I had forgotten my promise to reserve this set for the duke,” she lied. A chill raced along her spine, at the dark glint in the man’s eyes.
Auric took a step closer and extended his elbow. She placed her fingertips upon his coat sleeve and allowed him to guide her onto the dance floor where the dancers were assembling for the next set. Daisy raised her hand to his shoulder and a thrill shot through her as he settled his large, warm palm at her waist.
The haunting, slightly discordant hum of a waltz filled the ballroom Auric and Daisy moved in a strained, tense silence. They, who through the years had never been without words or jests or even insults, now had no words. When her mother had proposed assembling a new wardrobe, Daisy had recognized the futility of the woman’s goals. Even as the ice blue satin creation was by far the grandest, most luxuriant, if daring, piece she’d ever donned. Yet, she’d not roused anything more than a dark glower from Auric.
He’d say nothing to her?
“I don’t want you near Rutland.”
She looked at him through the thin slits of her eyes. That is what he’d say? “I beg your pardon?” He’d order her about as though he were nothing more than a protective brother. Jagged pain ripped through her at the remembrance of Lionel.
Auric angled her closer, dipping his head lower. “This is not a game, Daisy.” Her breath caught at the nearness of his lips, remembering his mouth upon hers and shamefully longing for the heady passion she’d known in that all too brief embrace. “Rutland is a dark, vile reprobate.” His mouth hardened. “And he is assuredly not the devoted, caring, and resolute gentleman you spoke of.”
She jerked. Did he dare throw her longings back in her face? Daisy spoke in hushed tones. “You’ve spent so many years being the Duke of Crawford, ordering others about and coming to expect blind subservience, that you’ve forgotten how to speak to a friend,” she chided. His frown deepened. “You took it upon yourself, Your Grace, to decide I required a husband and even were so bold as to drum up a suitor.” With each word, the implications of his actions these past days filled her with a hot rage. She continued, speaking through gritted teeth. “You would find me a husband. For what end, Auric?”
He opened his mouth to speak, but she spoke over him. “To absolve yourself of a guilt for Lionel’s death.”
He went white and a momentary wave of remorse slapped her for throwing that charge at him in this public manner. If only, perhaps, had he truly seen her and heard her through the years, he’d have heard her need for more from him. “I would see you happy, Daisy.”
“Why?” she demanded.
Auric hesitated. Tell me it is because you care for me in the way a man cares for a woman. Tell me because you’ve at last looked within your heart and realized it’s complete because of me. “You are my friend,” he spoke in flat, empty tones somehow more painful than any of that icy ducal annoyance she’d come to expect of him.
I don’t want to be your friend. That was no longer enough. “You always saw me as a sister, didn’t you?” she whispered the question more to herself.
An almost wistful smile hovered on his lips. “You always dogged our footsteps, didn’t you?” he said in a reflective manner of the past, not hearing the pained words truly spoken to him. “At one point I found you underfoot, and that changed. Do you know when that was?”
A bond of their past tugged at her, where even in this moment, that was enough. The link to the times they’d once shared. “When I put ink in your tea?”
His grin widened. It was the real, uncomplicated smile of a man who did, in fact, remember that simple expression of mirth. “Ink intended for Lionel.”
She giggled at the remembrance of the young marquess and his ink-stained teeth. “Yes, yes it was. I was quite put out from being excluded from your fishing excursion.” And with this memory there was no agony at the loss of her brother, but rather the joy to be found in those too short memories of him.
“It was not the tea incident.”
Daisy winked up at him. “There really are surely too many incidents to recall, aren’t there? Was it when I snipped up the fabric of your and Lionel’s jackets to be turned into garments for my doll?”
“She did look rather splendid in her midnight black gown, but no, that was not it.”
She discreetly pinched his arm. “Do stop being deliberately va—?”
“Your parents’ annual summer picnic. You stared down your bullies and set the table ablaze with
great strength.”
Her heart started funnily in her breast. Then she drew in a breath in an attempt to calm the fluttering in her belly. “Of course you recall that day,” she muttered. “Who wouldn’t remember a table fire?” And yet, this was now the second time he’d recalled the memory. So perhaps it meant more to him, as well?
His lopsided grin fit with the gentleman who’d glowered at the Lady Leticia bullies of the world. “Yes, it is rather hard to forget the shouts and screams of some of Society’s leading peers as the fire licked at the tablecloth. Except that isn’t what I remember of that day, Daisy.” He stared at a point over her head. “You were the only one not shouting,” he said softly to himself. “You had this faraway expression.”
Because, it was the moment she’d fallen in love with him, and even though it should surely bring her some hurt that all the years she’d joined him and Lionel, Auric had, in fact, found her a bothersome bit of baggage…until that much later day when she’d hovered on the cusp of girlhood and womanhood.
The set drew to a close. They glided to a gentle stop. As the couples about them politely clapped and then shuffled from the dance floor, they stood locked in a silent, intense scrutiny of one another. Daisy dropped a curtsy and allowed him to lead her back to the edge of the ballroom. It did not escape her notice that instead of returning her to the earlier spot she’d occupied, he sought out her mother.
“Where is your mother?” he searched the crowd. It was no secret to anyone, with the exception of Auric it seemed, that her mother hovered on the fringe of activity, wan and hopelessly withdrawn. Daisy gave a little shrug. “Ah, I see her,” he noted.
She pursed her lips. He was likely eager to be free of her. Daisy said nothing, instead allowed him to escort her to the white, Doric column where her mother stood.
The marchioness’ usually lifeless eyes lit. “My dear boy, how lovely it is to see you.” She gave them such a pointedly knowing look that Daisy shifted on her feet praying that subtle movement would somehow cause a shift in the floor and in turn swallow her whole.
Heart of a Duke 04 - Loved By a Duke Page 15