No good could really come to a lady sneaking off to her host’s conservatory. She lengthened her stride and made her way down the passageway. Then, a good deal more freedom was permitted married women. Daisy, on the other hand, flirted with ruin sneaking about her host’s opulent townhouse.
She paused outside the room and peeked her head inside. The young woman with pale golden ringlets sat on a bench examining a torn hem. Slim, blonde, with blue eyes and flawless skin, the beauty represented everything plump, freckled, Daisy with her plain, brown hair would never be. She’d accepted her lack of uniqueness amongst diamonds of the first water. Yet, in this instant, in this very moment, she would trade her two smallest fingers for a smidgeon of the perfect, English beauty possessed by the young woman.
“Blast and double blast,” the woman muttered.
Daisy paused. For with that single curse, it removed the air of perfection Daisy had ascribed to the lady and made her human, and more…approachable. She cleared her throat. “My lady?”
Lady Stanhope shrieked. The bench beneath her tipped precariously backward and, for one horrifying, infinitesimal moment that stretched to eternity, Daisy suspected the woman would tumble backwards.
Then miraculously the bench teetered forward and righted itself.
Filled with horror, Daisy rushed over. “Oh, my lady, forgive me.” Mortified heat blazed in her cheeks. She’d nearly upended the lovely countess. Accustomed to the cool rigidity of other ladies of the ton, Daisy braced in anticipation of a scathing reprimand.
Instead, she received a smile. “Oh, worry not.” The recently wedded young lady waved a hand “It certainly would not have been the first time I’d toppled myself over.”
She’d spent the better part of three weeks resenting this woman. Daisy wanted to hate her, wanted to despise her for having had everything Daisy herself desired. But she couldn’t. Not with her smile and humility. “That is kind of you to say, my lady,” she said pragmatically. “But it was entirely my fault.” She’d always had a rather unfortunate tendency of knocking objects over. It would seem she’d now add people to that rather bothersome habit.
“Hardly,” Lady Stanhope assured her. She motioned to her frayed hem. “I tore my gown and sought a moment of privacy.” A pretty blush stained her cheeks and Daisy knew nothing about matters of stolen interludes and clandestine meetings, but she knew the countess waited for someone.
Envy, dark and ugly, twisted inside Daisy, as she considered whom the countess had stolen away to meet. Surely the proper, polite Duke of Crawford didn’t dally with wedded ladies? Except on the heel of that was the ugly niggling thought of him dallying with any woman. Jealousy tightened her stomach into pained knots and she clasped her hands close to her waist in an attempt to dull the sensation. “My lady,” she began. “I am Lady Daisy Meadows.” Horrid name. Couldn’t have had been given a light, feminine name such as Anne or a regal, stately name such as Katherine.
The countess’ smile widened, the warmth of it sparkled in her blue eyes. Blue. Not brown. “Please, no need for such formality. It is just Anne.”
A woman of her beauty, with her husky, melodic tone, could never be just anything. Which brought her back to the matter of this orchestrated exchange. To calm her trembling fingers, Daisy smoothed her palms over her pale yellow skirts. “My lady…Anne,” she amended. She took a deep breath and then looked around. When she returned her attention to the countess, she found the other woman studying her, head cocked at a slight angle.
“Is there something I might help you with, Lady Daisy?”
“Daisy,” she corrected. “Please, just Daisy.” No other lady, certainly not any of Daisy’s acquaintance anyway, would offer assistance with such sincerity. Which made it vastly easier to continue. “I heard tell of a necklace,” she said softly. Even as the words left her mouth the inherent silliness in believing in such a talisman struck.
Lady Stanhope stared, unblinking. “A necklace?” The question came haltingly.
Daisy nodded. She touched her neck. “A heart pendant, to be precise. I heard it had been worn by you and your sister and…and others. That whoever wears this pendant will possess the heart of a duke.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she bit the inside of her cheek. Cool practicality reared its head once more and the shame of both her boldness and foolishness in believing in enchanted objects. “Er, forgive me,” she said hurriedly. “I…” am a fool. She turned to go.
“Wait,” the woman’s exclamation stayed her movement.
Daisy forced her legs to move and slowly faced Lady Anne once more. Pained embarrassment coursed through her being. It curled her toes and burned her cheeks.
“Oh,” the countess said. A smile played about her bow-shaped lips. “You’ve heard of the pendant.”
A thrill of hope drove back all previous shame. “It is true, then.” The words escaped her on a breathy whisper. She’d learned long ago that all tales spread by gossips only contained the tiniest shreds of truth, if any, and had suspected the legend of the heart was nothing more than fool’s gossip.
Lady Stanhope stood and wandered closer to the massive worktable, littered in pink peonies and crimson roses, and two flutes filled to the brim with bubbling champagne. The fragrant scent of spring wafted about the glass conservatory, at odds with the crisp, cool of the unseasonable late spring night. “It is true.”
Hope flared in Daisy’s breast. “I knew it,” she whispered, more to herself. She’d ceased believing in magic and fate seven years ago, but in this, this she’d dared hope. Because the emotion, though buried, somehow nudged part of her heart, reminding her that it still dwelt inside her. Real and…there. Even as she denied it to herself. “May—” Daisy wet her lips, quelling the forward question she longed to ask. She was nothing more than a stranger to this woman and had no right to ask this horribly intimate favor. The woman stared on encouragingly and before courage deserted her, she blurted, “I would be eternally grateful if you would be willing to share your necklace with me.” She winced at how very pathetic that entreaty emerged. Desperate. Hopeless. A lady willing to humble herself before a stranger for the dream of a certain gentleman’s hand.
The countess studied her a long while, head tipped to the side, as though she examined an oddity just unearthed. Then a slow, dawning of understanding lit the woman’s eyes. “Why, you desire the heart of a duke.”
“No!” The exclamation bounced mockingly off the crystal windows. Another wave of heat slapped at her cheeks. “No,” she said, this time in a far steadier tone. Except, that wasn’t altogether true. “Well, yes.” Daisy clamped her lips together, eyeing the glass door leading out to the Marquess of Harrison’s enclosed garden and momentarily contemplated escape. “Not per se. Rather…” For, the truth was, she didn’t want the heart of just any duke.
She wanted Auric’s heart. Wanted it even though he still saw her as nothing more than Lionel’s sister. Wanted it even as she’d bumbled and fumbled her way through not quite one, but somehow almost three, London Seasons, with the always-polite Auric there visiting or partnering her in the requisite dances, but never a waltz.
“Daisy?”
The gentle prodding jerked her from her woeful musings. “Forgive me,” she murmured. “I was woolgathering.” She’d been brave enough to humble herself thus far by orchestrating this meeting. Daisy squared her shoulders and pressed ahead. “I need the pendant, my lady.” The fabled necklace represented the last sliver of innocence and hope—the hope of Auric, and more, Daisy’s hope for them.
“Oh, Daisy.” Sympathy flared in the countess’ expression. “I am so sorry.”
No! She didn’t want the words she knew were coming. She wanted her hope and her sliver of gypsy’s magic and lore. Her life was full of enough sad truths.
“After I wed Lord Stanhope, I had no further need of the pendant. I’d claimed the heart of the only man I’d ever wanted and gave the necklace to another young lady.” Hope flared again in her breast. The countess knew
who possessed the heart pendant—“Lady Imogen has since married.” Daisy’s mind raced. She had a name. A twinkle lit Lady Stanhope’s eyes. “Not to a duke, but she found love, which is what matters most.” All Daisy must do was approach Lady Imogen and humble herself before yet another stranger. Auric was worth the sacrifice. “We’ve since returned it to the care of the rightful owner.”
Daisy’s heart sank. Of course, Lady Stanhope recently wed, and her twin sister, the Duchess of Bainbridge, both possessed what all young ladies dared dream of—a happy, loving match; bits of fairytales that Daisy had ceased believing in.
Only now, with the truth of how very close she’d come to possessing that pendant, she was confronted again by the mocking truth of her own silliness for hoping and believing in fairytales and chasing rainbows when life had already shown her the gloom of rain. She swallowed. Gone. She’d lost her sole hope. Her only opportunity. Daisy dropped her gaze to the floor, managing a polite curtsy. “Forgive me for intruding on you, my lady. I shall allow you,” Emotion lodged in her throat as she confronted once more the ugly possibility of whose company the countess even now awaited. She coughed into her hand. “I shall allow you your privacy,” she repeated. She turned to go.
“Daisy.”
She froze and looked back at Lady Stanhope questioningly.
“When I first discovered the existence of the Heart of a Duke pendant, I believed it would bring me the heart of a duke.”
And it had. Even if the fool woman had chosen another over the Duke of Crawford, Lady Stanhope had earned Auric’s heart. “Didn’t it, my lady?” she asked quietly. “The papers purported that Aur…” She curled her toes with embarrassment at that telling revelation. “The Duke of Crawford,” she amended, “made you an offer.” Daisy knew. She knew because she’d lashed herself with each torturous word in the scandal sheets. Knew because she’d observed Auric as he publicly courted the golden beauty. Needle-like pain pricked her heart.
Understanding flashed in the woman’s eyes. “You care for him.”
“No,” she said quickly. Because she didn’t really care for him. She loved him. And love, this deep, abiding, twisting, aching sentiment that wreaked havoc on one’s thoughts, was far greater than merely caring for a person. “I’ve known him for my whole life,” she murmured into the damning silence. And she’d loved him since the picnic at her parents’ country seat when he’d promised to make her his duchess and saved her fingers from being burned. Daisy slid her gaze away, unable to bare her greatest hopes and desires to this woman. No one knew of her love for Auric. Mostly because Daisy Meadows had ceased to exist for the past seven years, since her brother Lionel’s death.
Anne claimed her fingers and she started at that unexpected boldness. “Do you know, the pendant worn by my eldest sister, Aldora, was lost. Given back to the gypsy woman who entrusted it to the care of her and her friends.”
No, she’d not known the piece had left the Adamson sisters’ care, until now.
“It always finds its way into the hands of the lady who needs it, Daisy.” A wistful smile pulled at Anne’s lips. “For me, the pendant represented,” her gaze took on a faraway quality. “Well, it represented a good deal to me. When I discovered it gone, I pledged to find it. I dragged my sister Katherine along to the Frost Fair in search of it.” The Frost Fair. That inane event held on the frozen Thames nearly two winters ago. Anne laughed, the sound clear like bells. “All on the word of a gypsy and maid who indicated that is where it could be found.” She pierced Daisy with her gaze. “Do you know why I’m telling you this?”
Daisy shook her head. The other woman spoke with a hope and optimism Daisy had not known in seven years. A stab of envy struck her for altogether different reasons.
“You see, Daisy, I wanted that necklace with a desperation. I was not willing to relinquish my hopes merely because of the inconvenience of not being able to find it. I set out in search.” Her smile widened. “Of course, Katherine discovered it at the Frost Fair.”
All Society knew the romantic story. A broken-hearted duke plucked the then Lady Katherine Adamson from the frozen Thames and now they had a grand love, the kind of which had debutantes and dowagers sighing with envy.
“Sometimes, Daisy,” the woman said, interrupting her thoughts. “Sometimes you might have to look more or try harder, but if you do, ultimately you’ll find the heart of a duke.”
When you love something enough as you do, it will come. A cool wind slapped against the windows. Daisy folded her arms across her chest and rubbed, as Lionel’s voice echoed around her mind.
Footsteps sounded in the hall and, in unison, they swung their gazes to the entrance of Lord Harrison’s conservatory. A tall, golden-haired gentleman stepped inside.
“Hullo, lo—” The Earl of Stanhope’s words trailed off as he moved his stare between his wife and Daisy.
It was the Earl of Stanhope! A giddy breathlessness filled Daisy’s chest, threatening to lift her up and carry her from the room on the brusque breeze battering the glass panes of the conservatory. Why, it was the lady’s husband. The countess had stolen away from the ballroom to meet her husband. Not Auric. But rather, her own husband.
Suddenly feeling like the veriest worst sort of interloper, Daisy dipped a curtsy. “Forgive me,” she murmured. She should be properly scandalized at having interrupted the stolen interlude between two lovers. Except, relief dulled any other sentiment.
Anne shot a hand out. Daisy started as the countess captured her fingers. “The woman we returned it to is an old gypsy by the name of Bunică. I cannot tell you where she will be.” The countess squeezed Daisy’s hands. “But if it is meant to be, you will find her.”
Frustration warred with hope. The gypsy, Bunică, had been found at the heart of the frozen Thames, along the streets of Gipsy Hill, the English countryside. Why, the woman might as well be anywhere. Daisy squared her shoulders. And yet, the heart was out there. It had been handed off to the woman, Bunică, after seeing more than three ladies wedded and, more importantly, in love. A slow smile turned Daisy’s lips. Lady Stanhope was indeed, correct. Some young ladies, well, the fortunate ones, they found love without the benefit of baubles and talismans. The others, the Daisy Meadows of the world, with their ridiculous names and freckled cheeks, they had to look more and work harder for happiness, for the gentleman who’d love them. Some men were worth looking for—and Auric was indeed one of them.
Even if he’d been an absolute lout through the years. Not all the years. Just seven of them. The most important seven of them. “Thank you so much, my lady,” Daisy said softly. She dropped another curtsy, hurried to the door, and then paused a moment beside the handsome earl.
He sketched a bow and stepped aside, but Daisy paused in the doorway and spun back around. “My lady?”
“Yes?”
“You are so very fortunate.”
The sparkle of happiness in the woman’s eyes indicated she knew as much. “And you will be, too.”
Having already stolen enough of the couple’s time, Daisy slipped from the conservatory and closed the door behind her. She started down the long corridor, retracing her steps to the noisy din of the crowded, overheated ballroom. As each step brought her closer, the strands of the orchestra’s waltz and trill of laughter from Lady Harrison’s guests grew increasingly in volume.
Daisy paused at the fringe of the ballroom entrance and scanned the twirling couples, bathed in the soft glow from the chandelier ablaze with candles. She leaned against the column and took in the unadulterated smiles, the exultant laughs. Had she ever been that happy? Shoving aside the familiar melancholy, she scanned the hall. Daisy searched for and then found her mother staring sadly out at the dancers.
Just then a buzz filled the ballroom like a million swarming bees. Daisy followed the rabid stares and whispers and she stilled.
Auric stood at the entrance of the ballroom. Her heart quickened at his broad, powerful figure towering above the crowded room; a king a
mongst mere mortals. And she wished she could look away, wished she could be different than every other hopeful and equally hopeless young lady present. Alas, she’d lost her heart to him early on. The whispers became murmurs from eager mamas desperate to make a match between their daughters and the mighty duke, who’d proven with his courtship of Lady Stanhope he was, in fact, in the market for a wife.
“He is here. Pretty face, dear,” one eager mama whispered to her golden haired, just out that Season, daughter.
The young lady puffed her chest out and tipped her chin up in an attempt to capture Auric’s notice.
Daisy resisted the urge to point her gaze to the ceiling. Not that anyone would have noticed if she were, in fact, pointing her gaze anywhere, or hopping on one foot, or spinning in a circle. Least of all, Auric. Only she seemed to suspect the truth. The Duke of Crawford wasn’t just in the market for a wife. He’d been in the market for a particular wife. Two vastly different things. He’d selected Lady Stanhope and, following Daisy’s meeting with the woman in the conservatory, she could hardly blame him for the wise decision.
She claimed a spot beside the white, Scamozzi column and used the moment to study him. How effortlessly he moved through the throng of guests, with a casual grace most men could strive to emulate and never hope to master. Gentlemen dropped deep, deferential bows. Ladies dipped their eyes and touched a hand to their surely fluttering hearts.
While other ladies wanted Auric for his title, Daisy didn’t give a fig about the title of duchess. She wanted him to be the man she’d once known him to be. She wanted that man, who’d rescued a girl in need of frequent rescuing. After Lionel’s death, however, Auric had become a stiff, somber figure. The ton, who didn’t truly know him, attributed his austereness to that title of duke. She knew the truth. He’d been forever changed by the loss they’d both suffered. Now, Auric was the one desperately requiring saving and foolish Daisy had, of course, set her sights upon being that person. Whether he wanted it or not.
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