“Yes. I suppose that is true.” Unbidden, her gaze wandered off in search of the viscount’s childhood friend.
“I daresay that wistful expression belongs to a lady seeking out a particular gentleman,” the viscount drawled, jerking her attention back. He quirked an eyebrow. “Mayhap the same gentleman you were searching for at the Harrison ball, hmm?”
Heat flooded Daisy’s cheeks. “No.” She gave her head a hard shake. “I wasn’t. That is to say…” His soft, blue eyes glinted with warmth. “Oh, you’re teasing me,” she finished, realizing too late that she’d confirmed a supposition that hadn’t really been any kind of supposition, but rather good-natured teasing merely continued from their last repartee.
“I was teasing you,” he added quietly. “Now I’m asking for altogether different reasons.”
Daisy shifted on her feet. “I don’t prefer you serious and protective. I prefer you—”
“Self-absorbed and uncaring?”
“I was going to say smiling and carefree,” she added dryly.
Lord Wessex lowered his voice. “In this case, it would seem carefree has, in fact, been careless.”
Daisy made a sound of protest. “Do not be silly.” She gave a wave of her hand. “You’ve responsibilities enough of your own with your sister and mother and—”
“And I could certainly have taken some care to note that some bounder had captured your attention.”
“He’s not a bounder.” The look in his eyes indicated she’d stepped very neatly into his trap. “He’s not even real,” she mumbled under her breath, which wasn’t altogether a lie. She may as well be invisible, in the ways that mattered, to Auric.
“Call me a fool,” he whispered. “But do not think me a lackwit who’d believe that weak lie.”
Daisy sighed. She should be grateful for both his and Auric’s concern and, with the rather solitary existence she’d lived since Lionel’s passing, should relish any and every bit of attention thrown her way…and yet, she didn’t want either him or Auric to act out of some misbegotten sense of obligation to her brother. Neither of them would replace him, nor did she want them, too. Particularly not Auric, whose heart she’d decided long ago she must possess.
A flurry of excited whispers cut into their exchange, saving her from responding.
Her heart quickened as Auric’s tall, imposing frame filled the doorway. Lord and Lady Windermere rushed over to greet him even as Auric surveyed the room, as though searching for someone. Most likely one of the golden-tressed trio clustered together on the sofa, sighing and ahhing in his general direction.
“It is moments such as this that I’m glad to be a mere viscount.”
An unexpected laugh spilled past her lips at Marcus’ teasing words, grateful that he was no longer the stern, disapproving brotherly type. That Marcus was foreign. This man she was accustomed to and comfortable with.
She sought out Auric once again. He stood conversing with her mother. Whatever he said remained lost to the size of the room. The marchioness, every so often, nodded. How devoted Auric was to her family. Through the gossip and the sorrow and the whispers, he’d been there. He’d been there, yet all the while failed to truly see her—just as the rest of Society.
Just then, Daisy’s skin pricked with the familiar stares. She stiffened and looked up in time. Two of Lady Windermere’s guests stared blatantly at her and gave their heads pitying shakes. Her gut tightened and she wrenched her stare away.
There they were. Those pitying, sympathetic stares reserved for her and the Marchioness of Roxbury. Daisy bit the inside of her cheek, as that potent desire coursed through her—a desire to be noticed, not for the tragedy surrounding her family, or for her relationship to Lionel, but because someone noticed that there was a young woman by the name of Daisy Meadows…a woman worthy of notice and love. Her gaze strayed once more to Auric. He remained engrossed in conversation, unaware as he invariably was that Daisy stood in wait.
“You’re quieter than I remember, Daisy.”
Marcus’ observation pulled her to the present. She forced her attention away from Auric. “It’s as you’ve said. I’ve grown up.”
The viscount opened his mouth to say something, but then he looked to a point beyond her shoulder.
“Wessex,” a bored, familiar voice drawled.
A thrill of awareness coursed through her and Daisy straightened, turning to greet Auric. Goodness, with his long-legged stride he moved quickly.
Marcus bowed, returning the greeting and then froze. “What in blazes happened to your eye, Crawford?”
A mottled flush marred Auric’s cheeks. “Nothing,” he bit out.
Amusement flecked in Marcus’ eyes that could only come from a familiarity shared these many years that defied Auric’s lofty title. “It certainly does not appear as though noth—”
“Shove off,” Auric snapped in an entirely un-dukelike way. Not for the first time, a wave of remorse slapped at her for his injured face. The heated intensity of his gaze never left her and she swallowed. “Your Grace.” She dropped a curtsy. “I hope you are well.”
She hoped he was well? By God, would she offer him tea and biscuits, next? She’d reserve a carefree smile for Wessex and to him, dip an insolent curtsy and a two-word utterance in the form of his title?
“Undoubtedly,” he said in his most clipped, ducal tone that a frown came to her lips. Yet, he was not undoubtedly well. He was… He didn’t know what he was. Annoyed, perhaps. Outraged? Furious? Perhaps a combination of the three. For some, unknown reason her familiarity with Wessex rankled. Which really made little sense. Drawing on the years of polished, ducal politeness drilled into him, he managed to bite out, “You’re well, Wessex?”
“Was that a question or a statement, Crawford?” Droll humor underscored the viscount’s question.
“Oh, it was undoubtedly a statement,” Daisy said with entirely too much amusement in her words.
At their amusement at his expense, Auric gritted his teeth so tight, pain shot up his jawline. Alas, the two appeared either unaware of or unfazed by his displeasure. By the mischievous look that passed between Daisy and Wessex, it was likely the latter.
Then Marcus lifted his head. “I, too, am well.” Then a half-grin formed on his lips. “We’ve now ascertained we are all three,” he waggled his eyebrows, “well.”
A sharp bark of laughter escaped Daisy and Wessex joined in. Auric wanted to bury his fist in the other man’s belly for being so blasted entertaining and charming and a blasted paragon to make Daisy smile. Which shouldn’t matter. He should just be bloody happy that the lady was smiling. But he wasn’t. He was enraged and seething with a lifelike fury.
He was never more grateful for the interruption of the servant who entered the room to announce dinner. With respect for the commitment to rank, the hostess, Lady Windermere, came over. With a final look at Daisy, he held his arm out, damning the silly pomposity of a mere meal. Hating that she placed her arm upon her partner, Wessex’s, sleeve and filed along behind Auric.
As the couples took their respective seats at the vast table that was covered in a stark, white tablecloth and awash in the soft glow from the four evenly distributed, silver candelabras, Auric stole a sideways glance at Daisy seated to his left. Wessex engaged the young lady at his right in conversation. The host and hostess’ daughter, Lady Leticia, blushed and tittered at the attention. Daisy, however, sat in silence, staring at the silver candelabra and he was brought back to a different table, to a different time, he’d not remembered until this very moment. A Daisy of ten or eleven years with her elbows propped forlornly on the tabletop.
The memory slipped free as he considered the woman she’d become. The candle’s glow bathed her cheeks in a gentle softness and he started. She really was quite lovely and yet, despite that fresh, uncommon beauty, there was something so very wistful, so sad about her. A viselike pressure tightened about his heart, as a familiar guilt crept in. Through his self-centeredness on that horri
fic night, he’d reduced her to this and… He glanced momentarily at her laconic mother, he’d reduced the older woman to the wan, somber creature she’d become.
As if feeling his gaze on her, Daisy looked up at him, a question in her eyes.
Auric leaned down and whispered close to her ear. “Is the tureen too far from your reach, Daisy? I’d not have you knocking down the candelabra and setting the table afire.”
Surprise lit her eyes. “You remember?”
“How could I forget?” He chuckled. “Certainly the most memorable of all the picnics enjoyed by our families.”
A wistful glimmer lit her eyes, transforming them from a simple brown to a rich, chocolate hue that put him in mind of the warmed beverage on a cold day and… He gave his head a hard shake, dispelling the maddening direction his thoughts had traversed. All of which involved the young lady beside him and her full breasts exposed for his worship.
If it hadn’t been decided years ago, he was going to Hell. For only a bounder would dream scandalous dreams about his best friend’s sister. Auric grabbed his glass of wine and took a long swallow.
A footman hurried over and served first Auric and then Daisy a bowl of turtle soup. She picked up her spoon and gingerly stirred the contents of her porcelain, white bowl. The delicate movement drew his eyes down to her slight palms. Did she know that she’d set his world into tumult?
Auric broke the silence. “I trust you are well?” He silently cursed the pathetic attempt at conversation and wished, not for the first time, that he possessed a hint of Wessex’s ease with the ladies.
Daisy’s lips twitched.
God, he detested the need for banal, polite conversation “That is, I trust you are well following your fall?” Then, talk of the weather and other topics deemed polite were far safer than the wicked thoughts racing through his mind, even now.
She paused mid-stir. “I am.” She raised a spoonful of broth to her mouth and his eyes were drawn inexplicably to her full, red, bow-shaped lips as they parted.
Auric fought back a groan and took another sip of wine. He stared into the contents of his glass unwilling to look at her, lest the madness overtake his senses and reason. Lusting after Daisy Meadows was the ultimate betrayal of Lionel’s memory.
“Oh, dear,” Daisy said. She made a tsking sound.
He’d known the imp well enough through the years that the very last thing he should do was rise to her baiting.
Then she sighed.
“What is it?”
“I fear your vision is a good deal worse off than even I’d imagined.” She motioned to his partially empty wine glass. “You seem quite fixed on the contents and I can only imagine that is because of your declining ducal vision.”
He bristled and set the crystal glass down. “I’m hardly at an advanced age to be needing a quizzing glass.” Though for some reason he’d tucked the silly gift she’d given him inside his coat and continued to carry it there. Not because he required the fool thing. His vision was quite fine and should be for another thirty years or so.
“Auric, all dukes require a quizzing glass.” She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Especially the aging dukes, such as yourself.”
“I’m only a few months past nine and twenty,” he said, a touch of defensiveness underscored his words.
Daisy gave a decisive nod. “Certainly old enough to require a monocle.” She winked and then returned her attention to her soup.
She’d winked at him. Winked. In the midst of an intimate dinner party, and more, she’d dismissed him. He opened his mouth but then Wessex said something at her opposite side, calling her attention away. A haze of outrage momentarily clouded his vision, which had nothing, absolutely nothing, to do with Daisy dismissing him to speak with the viscount. After all, the viscount had been like a second brother to her, just as Auric had.
Only, his unwitting attention to her lush figure, better suited for bedrooms than ballrooms, did not feel in the least brotherly. He grabbed his wine and took another long swallow, eventually draining the contents of his glass. If it hadn’t been decided seven years ago, it was certainly decided now—with his lustful thoughts, Auric was going to hell.
A footman removed his untouched soup.
“Your Grace?” His hostess, Lady Windermere, looked at the bowl almost questioningly, but too unfailingly polite to dare ask a duke as to whether he’d found something unfavorable she instead offered him a tight smile. “I am most sorry to have learned of Lady Anne’s decision to wed the Earl of Stanhope.” She shook her head. “These are sad days indeed, Your Grace, when young ladies would choose the marital offer of an earl over an esteemed duke.” But not too impolite it would seem to make such a gauche statement over his courtship of the now Lady Stanhope. “Perfectly lovely, the countess is with her golden ringlets and pleasing smile.”
The servants rushed forward to set out the trays of duckling, Plover’s eggs in aspic jelly, a macedoine of fruit, and various other servings.
Lady Windermere angled closer. “Though my daughter, she too has lovely golden ringlets and the papers, of course, say you’d not ever have a lady with brown hair for your duchess. Though who can blame you?” she prattled on.
A loud clattering of silver meeting porcelain resonated through the dining room. From the corner of his eye, he detected the blush in Daisy’s cheeks, as she hastened to pick up her utensil. He was again brought back to a different table with a younger, belligerent Daisy and himself. Had the lady always had to confront the condescending sneers and snide remarks? How could members of polite Society not see with her freckled cheeks and tight brown curls, there was a uniqueness that made all other ladies pale beside her? Auric rested his arms upon the mahogany dining chair. He kept his face a cool mask. “One should take care to not rely on the gossip to be had in the scandal sheets, Lady Windermere.” Familial friendships be damned. He’d not see Daisy shamed or humiliated before anyone.
A dull flush stained her cheeks at his curt reprimand.
“And Lady Windermere?”
“Yes?” she squawked.
“Do you not believe there is something pleasing to be found in the color brown?”
She gulped loudly. “Er, uh-why y-yes, undoubtedly,” she stammered and then promptly shifted her attention back to her husband who sat at the head of the table, opposite from her.
Though he’d courted Lady Anne with intentions of offering marriage, it had been clear her feelings had been otherwise engaged. His interest had been stirred by the unconventional miss, but there had never been anything more there than a proper duchess for his position as duke.
A small elbow nudged his, knocking his forearm from its place upon the arm of the chair. Flecks of gold danced in Daisy’s eyes. “That was well-done of you, Auric.”
They shared a smile. Just like that, with one gentle nudge and an effortless smile, they became simply Auric and Daisy. And if he was being truthful with just himself, he could admit to how right that was.
Chapter 8
The following evening, seated at the private table at the back of his club, Auric stared into the contents of his brandy. He took a slow sip and acknowledged the great shift that had occurred in him, with Daisy, with them. At some point he’d seen the world in those shades of russet and he could no longer cease to notice. He swirled the glass in a small circle and then took a long sip. More specifically, he could not ignore that Daisy had grown up. And more, the young lady with romantic intentions who took herself off on her own to Gipsy Hill, unchaperoned, his best friend’s sister needed caring for. His lips pulled in a grimace and he took another swallow of his drink. That rather made the lady sound like a favored hunting dog. Except, with her generous mouth, lush figure, and husky laugh, she assuredly was no hunting dog.
With a silent curse he downed the remaining contents of his drink. He’d no business thinking of Daisy’s glorious form. He glanced up from his empty glass. From the entrance of White’s, the Viscount Wessex strode throug
h the hallowed club. He moved with a single-minded purpose. The usually affable gentleman ignored the greetings called out. He came to a stop before Auric’s table and looked more serious than he had in seven…. He thrust back the memory of Lionel.
“Wessex,” he greeted. They two shared a bond that no man would want, having together discovered Lionel’s lifeless body.
The viscount didn’t waste time with pleasantries. He pulled out a seat. A servant hurried forward with an empty glass. Wordlessly, the other man accepted it and waved off the offer of assistance. He proceeded to pour himself a tall glass of brandy and then set the bottle down hard. It thunked loudly on the table. The other man picked up his drink and downed it in a long, slow swallow. He grimaced and then reached for the bottle again. He sloshed several fingersful in the glass.
Auric frowned. Wessex had long ago earned a reputation as an indolent rogue and reprobate. However, the ton failed to look close enough at the true image before them to recognize the viscount hadn’t touched another drop after Lionel’s death.
Until now. This shaken gentleman before him was not someone he recognized. Wessex raised the glass to his lips and this time took a more leisurely sip. He broke the silence. “Daisy Meadows.”
Auric’s frown deepened. “Daisy—?”
“Lionel’s sister,” he said, as though there was another Daisy that mattered to the both of them. Wessex waved his hand about and several droplets splashed Auric’s immaculate table. He looked about, ascertaining there were no eavesdroppers close by, and then returned his attention to Auric. “There is a gentleman.”
What was the other man on about? He looked around for the gentleman referenced by his friend.
“You misunderstand,” Wessex hissed. He strained to lean over the table. “A gentleman has captured Daisy’s affections.”
Auric opened his mouth, but no words came out. A haze descended over his vision. It had been one thing when those very worries had belonged to him alone. Then, they had been unfounded fears about Daisy. It was quite another when the viscount breathed life and truth to them.
A Heart of a Duke Collection: Volume 1-A Regency Bundle Page 93