Chapter 6
Seated on the robin’s egg blue sofa in the Blue Parlor, Daisy made quick work of her embroidery. She jerked the crimson thread through the fabric. Well, she made work of it anyway. With a sigh, she paused to assess her sixth attempt at a heart that week. There was some improvement. This one rather resembled conjoined teardrops, which was a good deal better than a dejected circle with a droop in the middle.
She tossed the frame down and came to her feet. The sun’s rays filtered through the opened curtains and illuminated the room in a soft, ethereal glow. Drawn to the warmth, she wandered over to the window and drew the curtain back even further, welcoming the soothing caress of the sun on her cheeks. After days of rain, the thick clouds overhead broke to allow a trace glimpse of sun. Daisy studied the bustling streets below. She’d not found the heart pendant. Of course she’d not been so naïve to believe she’d manage to find the old gypsy, amidst a sea of gypsies after one rather unproductive afternoon.
Not altogether unproductive. A smile pulled at her lips, while her heart thumped wildly. For yesterday, in the cold, dreary London morn she’d come to a staggering revelation. As much as she’d believed Auric had failed to see her all these years, she was not invisible to him, either. If his connection to her was strictly one of obligation, the moment he’d called and found Mother indisposed and Daisy out, he could have turned on his heel and sought out his clubs or done whatever it was gentlemen did. Instead, he’d set out after her.
Nay, he’d pressed Frederick for details of her whereabouts and then set out after her. If she were being truthful, after years of not being seen, heard, or noticed by anyone, there was something enlivening in the discovery that to those who mattered, she’d not ceased to exist, as she’d believed for so long. Granted he’d been brusque and rude and dukelike, but there had also been those traces of gentleness. Her still-sore hands thrummed with the memory of his fingers upon the soft skin of her palm. Her grinning visage reflected back in the crystal pane.
She spun to face her maid Agnes in the corner. “We’re returning to Gipsy Hill.”
The young woman hesitated. “Are you certain, my lady? His Grace—”
“Come, Agnes,” She didn’t want to hear a word about Auric’s highhanded opinion of her excursions. “The sun is shining.” Out. Shining. It was all really the same. “Gipsy Hill is far more enticing in the sun than a dreary, cold, rainy day.”
“As you say.” Which of course meant Agnes heartily disagreed but was too polite to say as much. With all the enthusiasm of one being marched to the gallows, she climbed to her feet. She cast a dubious glance at the open curtains “I’ll have the carriage readied, my lady,” she announced.
A short while later, Daisy made her way from the parlor to the foyer. Frederick stood in wait, her green muslin cloak in his hands. She eyed him cautiously. “Frederick,” she greeted as she shrugged into her cloak. “I intend to go shopping once more.” She gave him a frown. “To Gipsy Hill.” At one and twenty she’d enjoy the freedom to shop where she would.
The ghost of a smile played on his lips. “Very well, my lady.”
“If a certain…gentle person,” duke “should happen to come by inquiring as to my whereabouts,” which she certainly didn’t anticipate as Auric had put in his requisite visit. “Would you be so good as to not mention where I’ve gone off to?” After all, she’d hardly manage to find the pendant if her efforts were thwarted by both a protective butler and a stubborn fool, too blind to see she was hopelessly in love with him.
“As you wish, my lady.” Frederick inclined his head. He pressed a hand against his heart. “You have my assurance that I shall not breathe a word of your whereabouts to His…er…some gentleman.”
Daisy eyed him a moment in an attempt to gauge his veracity. Frederick had been quite loyal to her through the years. He’d never betrayed her whereabouts to stern governesses, and even, in some instances, when Mother had been in one of her tempers, to the mistress of the house.
He arched a bushy, white eyebrow. “Is there anything else you require, Lady Daisy?”
Just his discretion. “No, that is all.” With a nod, she sailed through the open door and down the handful of steps to the waiting carriage. She accepted the waiting coachman’s assistance into the carriage and settled into the seat across from her maid.
The servant closed the door behind her and then the carriage dipped as he climbed atop his perch. Daisy settled into her seat with a renewed vigor. All these years she’d believed Auric failed to see her. And yet, their last exchange revealed he, in fact, saw her. Mayhap not in the light she hoped. But according to Lady Stanhope, all Daisy required was that pendant. Her lips turned up in a smile. How wonderful it felt to turn herself over to hope. She’d lamented her mother and Auric’s perpetual state of seriousness all these years, but had Daisy truly been any different? With her sad thoughts and agonized regrets, she really wasn’t unlike either of the two remaining people left to her.
Well, no more. The time for sadness and frowns and regrets was at an end. Lionel would not have wanted any one of them to move through life in a constant gloom. She stared out at the passing streets. The sun peaked through the dark, gray skies, and then was swallowed by the fast moving storm clouds. No, Lionel would have likely committed himself to eliciting smiles and laughter, because that had been the kind of man he’d been.
It was time to honor his memory—by living.
Thunder rumbled overhead—and by setting her fears free.
…Bah, afraid of thunder? Why, merely imagine all of Mother and Father’s stuffy guests playing a raucous match of Bowls…
“My lady, perhaps we should turn back?” Agnes questioned from the opposite bench. “The weather is threatening.”
She leaned across the bench and patted the other woman’s hands. “Bah, it is just a bit of thunder.” Her smile deepened. She’d no intention of giving up her search over a little rain. No, free of Auric’s austere presence this day, she would make good use of her search. Thunder or no thunder.
Thunder shook the foundations of his townhouse and Auric froze, his pen poised mid-movement, and his gaze fixed on the handful of words written.
Dear Lionel,
I’ve failed you again…
He tapped the edge of his pen on those handful of words marked upon his opened journal in a deliberate, staccato rhythm. Taking pen to paper and committing words to his friend had brought him back from the edge of madness, early on. When sleep eluded him, or the amorphous memories crept in, he wrote to his friend. He found a soothing peace in being honest—if at the very least with the pages in a black leather volume.
Except, he stopped mid-tap and stared at those six words. Today he was preoccupied. He held his pen up and fixated on the sharp tip. With two meetings this week, he’d paid more than his requisite visit to the Marchioness of Roxbury’s home. The familiar niggling of guilt he carried, a debt he could never repay those broken people, the dearest friends of his now departed parents, still unassuaged.
He released a pent up sigh. There was the matter of the still troublesome Daisy. Annoyance roused in his chest. Nay, this was something far more gripping and potent. It sucked at his breath until his fingers itched for the reassuring presence of his black leather book. He drew in several breaths. What madness had possessed her to go off on her own to Gipsy Hill? Did she not have a care for the perils that could befall a young woman venturing beyond the fashionable end of London?
Auric tossed aside his pen. He fished around the inside of his jacket and withdrew the small, silver token given him yesterday. A ray of sunlight filtered through the curtains, a splash of cheer amidst the overcast skies. The hint of sun reflected off the shiny metal and sent beams of light radiating out upon the walls. Odd how, even amidst such thick gloom and darkness, there should be a hint of lightness. He passed the quizzing glass back and forth between his hands, his mind drawn once more to Daisy.
She was still a cheeky, insolent miss. And infur
iating. And bothersome. And beautiful. He frowned. Where in blazes had that bit of madness come from?
A knock sounded at the door.
Grateful for the interruption, Auric closed his journal and set it aside. “Enter.” A footman entered, carrying a small, silver salver with a note atop it. The young man rushed forward and held out the missive. With a murmured thanks, Auric accepted the folded piece of velum, written in an unfamiliar scrawl. “That will be all,” he said dismissively, unfolding the page.
It felt essential that I inform His Grace of a certain lady’s return to Gipsy Hill—
“Wait!” Auric leapt to his feet with such alacrity his winged back chair tumbled backward.
The liveried servant froze on the threshold.
“My horse,” he barked. “Have my horse readied instantly.”
The young man nodded and sprinted off to see to Auric’s bidding. With a dark curse, he reread the handful of sentences on the unmarked missive and then stuffed it into the front of his jacket. In loping strides, he made his way from his office to the foyer.
What madness possessed the lady? There was no accounting for her ill judgment in going out not once, but twice to Gipsy Hill. And when he found the worthless gentlemen responsible for those ill-thought out trips, by God he would stuff the man’s teeth down the back of his throat.
His butler stood in wait, Auric’s cloak held out in his old, gnarled fingers. “When did that recent missive arrive?” He shrugged into the thick, black garment.
“Just a short while ago, Your Grace,” the servant said, entirely too calm.
Minutes? Seconds? Hours? “When?” he bit out. For every unaccounted moment was another blasted moment the lady was out on her own, unchaperoned with some shiftless bounder… A deep growl stuck in his chest.
“Six minutes and a handful of seconds, Your Grace.” Had anyone else uttered those words, they’d have hinted at sarcasm. However, the precise, masterful servant, Justin, attended his duties with a military like precision. He pulled the door open and Auric swept through the doorway then bounded down the steps to his waiting mount, a black gelding named Valiant. “Gipsy Hill,” he muttered. The horse whinnied in like displeasure. Even his blasted horse knew better. What in blazes was the lady doing in that unfashionable end of London? Again.
The servant handed the reins over to Auric. “My lord?” he asked, with a furrowed brow.
Could she not stay on North Bond Street with every other sensible lady? “Nothing,” he bit out and then issued a belated thanks. He climbed astride and nudged Valiant forward. Then, Daisy had never been anything like every other English lady. She’d been unashamedly bold and proud and…he gritted his teeth, fearless. Such a thing had amused him at one time. Now, with her a lady grown, it was a good deal less entertaining. He squared his jaw. In fact, there was nothing the slightest bit funny about Daisy visiting Gipsy Hill. Again. After he’d expressly forbidden it. Auric urged his horse faster through the thankfully quiet London streets, onward to Gipsy Hill. With each moment, he was humbled more and more by the depths in which he’d failed Lionel, and Daisy.
He’d been of the erroneous assumption that the attention he’d paid Daisy and the marchioness over the years was sufficient. He’d carved time out of his schedule to regularly visit mother and daughter. He’d made sure to be present for her Come Out, those years ago, throwing his support as the Duke of Crawford. The pain of that, serving as the de facto protector to a then wide-eyed, young lady in too many white ruffles, standing beside her when the responsibility had belonged to another, would always be with him. It should have been Lionel.
Auric stroked Valiant on the withers and nudged him along. The faithful creature reveled in the freedom and quickened his strides. In Auric’s devotion to Lionel’s family, he’d believed such attention would lessen his sense of guilt over the loss of his friend. Time had shown him, however, that he’d never be free of those sentiments. Not a single day passed or a night was slept where Lionel’s last night alive didn’t creep in and hold on. This moment was no exception. Auric flayed himself with the guilt of his own doing.
Young, still in university he and Lionel had been rash and reckless, living in a world where their status as noblemen had made them immune to the harsh realities of life. At Auric’s urging, they’d visited a disreputable hell in the Seven Dials. Bile burned like acid in his throat. Lionel had wanted to return to the comfortable clean and safe end of the fashionable parts of London. And how had Auric responded to the other man’s unease? With mocking laughter and an offer to pay for some comely light of love. He’d sent Lionel above stairs with some scantily clad creature.
Lionel had never come back down. Not alive.
He absently scanned the shop front windows and wooden carts lining the streets and slowed Valiant’s strides. The possibility of failing both Daisy and Lionel ran him ragged. If she were hurt here in her naïve trustingness in visiting places such as Gipsy Hill, the guilt of that would destroy him.
Auric scanned the crowded streets and then his gaze collided with a riot of dark brown curls and a familiar cloak. The vibrant, green fabric served as a bright splash of color amidst the rainy day. With a black curse, he wheeled his mount to a halt, and then leapt to the ground. He motioned a young boy over, all the while keeping his gaze on Daisy.
The boy sprinted over. “Guv’nor?”
“Watch after him for me,” he instructed. He withdrew a purse of coins and tossed it to the lad who caught it with an effortless grab. “There will be more when I return.”
The young boy puffed his chest out and stood in wait with Auric’s horse.
Auric started after Daisy. He frowned as she carefully stepped over a particularly substantial puddle and looked about for a tall, powerful footman. He growled. Bloody hell, she’d not even had the sense to add a servant for protection. Did she not realize a coachman left at the lady’s carriage served her little good? Not when there were vicious, unscrupulous bastards about.
Just then, Daisy paused beside an enormous wagon and gestured to her neck. An old gypsy woman with stringy hair shook her head once and Daisy moved on. This time, she stopped at a cart belonging to a man of nondescript years.
With a growing rage, Auric lengthened his stride. He’d grown so accustomed to people taking his words as a ducal command that when he’d handed Daisy up into her carriage yesterday, he’d not even considered the fact she’d disobey his order—an order he’d made, intending to protect her. He quickened his stride as she continued. “I should have spoken with her mother,” he muttered under his breath, earning curious stares from the men and women hawking their goods. His boot sank into a dank puddle and he ignored the chill seeping through the leather of his once gleaming Hessians.
Because if he’d spoken to the marchioness, Daisy would be safely ensconced away within the security of her home or, at the very least, in the presence of a chaperone who’d have sense enough to bring the lady to North Bond Street where all young ladies shopped. He stopped at the opposite side of the street, directly across from Daisy. Well, not all young ladies, as Daisy’s presence indicated. The sensible young ladies, anyhow.
Auric stepped onto the cobbled road just as Daisy shoved back her hood. He froze as a beam of sunlight stole through the bilious grayish-white clouds. The ray of sun kissed her creamy skin and touched on her silken, brown tresses loosely arranged at the base of her neck. A gust of wind tugged a strand free and it slapped her cheek. She laughed at something the vendor said and brushed the tress behind her ear. His breath stuck in his chest. And he, who’d only before seen blonde saw the world in shades of russet.
Henceforth my wooing mind shall be express’d
In russet yeas and honest kersey noes.
Another threatening storm cloud swallowed the sun, just as a carriage passed by, and yanked Auric from the momentary spell she’d cast. The world resumed spinning. And with it, annoyance, a far safer sentiment for Lionel’s sister, chased away his momentary lapse in sanity. Au
ric glanced left and then hurried across the street.
Daisy tugged her cloak closer and then continued on. He started after her, quickening his stride. She stopped alongside another large, wooden cart littered with fabrics and fripperies and said something to the vendor, an old woman with white hair. With crooked, wrinkled fingers the gypsy sifted through some of her wares. Daisy’s brow creased and she shook her head.
Then the old woman shifted items around the top of her small cart. She held up a necklace. Daisy took the gold chain. She turned it over in her hands and then shook her head, handing it back to the woman. What was the reason for that forlorn little shake? Did she not have enough funds? Did she seek something more extravagant? Neither of those suppositions fit with all he knew about her.
He folded his arms and drummed his fingertips over his forearms. Perhaps he knew her a good deal less than he’d thought. For the spirited, young girl he’d once known would not have risked all for a piece of jewelry. The romantic woman who believed—He stilled, as his thoughts churned along with infinite slowness and then sped up with a frantic speed he tried to sort through. A romantic woman, who believed in love, however, would risk her safety and come out alone without the benefit of a chaperone.
With the distance between them, he still managed to detect those lush, red lips turning up in a smile. An insidious thought slipped into his mind—of some bounder, the gentleman she likely even now came to meet, claiming that mouth, exploring it…
Rage that felt very much like jealousy coursed through him, licked away rational thought, until he saw, felt, and breathed green. He grappled for control. The idea of him being jealous over Lady Daisy Meadows was preposterous. Auric had an obligation to Lionel and that was the sole reason for this mind-numbing fury. Daisy clearly had little care for her safety, but Auric owed this much to Lionel. Yet, why did the desire to take apart the nameless suitor with his bare hands remain? With fury in his steps, he strode over to her, closing the remaining distance between them. He planted himself behind her. “What have we here?”
A Heart of a Duke Collection: Volume 1-A Regency Bundle Page 91