“Th—”
“Astor was just taking his leave,” Auric snapped, rising suddenly.
The man angled his head. “I was?” The black glower fixed on him by the powerful duke brought him swiftly to his feet. “Er, right, uh yes.” He bent low at the waist. “My lady, if I may be so bold as to request the opportunity to call on you in the future?”
She inclined her head and gave him a smile. “Of course,” she said, as she stood.
He opened his mouth to say something more, but Auric glared him into silence. With that, Lord Astor spun on his heel and made a hasty retreat.
What was that about? “Why did you run off Lord Astor?” The gentleman he’d brought ’round? Daisy took a step toward Auric and jabbed a finger in his direction before he could speak. “And firstly, why was Lord Astor here? With you?”
A mottled flush stained his rugged cheeks. “Astor is a perfectly agreeable gentleman.”
Not that she’d had time to notice in the earl’s brief, very brief, visit. “So friendly you ran him off?” Her words instantly silenced him. That was an impressive feat considering no one servant, peer, or Prinny himself could silence the powerful, austere Duke of Crawford. “Why was he here?” she repeated, her tone firm, even as she knew the answer.
“Courting you.”
Courting her? “Courting me?” she blurted. Then a sharp bark of laughter escaped her. Daisy gave a sad shake of her head. “That was most certainly not a gentleman courting me.” Of his own volition, anyway. She widened her eyes. He wouldn’t. He had. She groaned and covered her eyes.
“What is it?” Auric bristled.
“You forced him here.”
He hesitated. “I hardly forced him.”
And she hardly believed him. Daisy closed her eyes, not knowing whether to laugh or cry at the idea of the man she loved going to such lengths to arrange a match between her and another gentleman. She opened her eyes. “Agnes, will you see to refreshments?” she asked, not taking her gaze from him.
Agnes hopped up and hurried to the door.
“I do not require refreshments.”
The maid froze with one foot over the threshold. She looked expectantly at her mistress.
He’d come into her home and play matchmaker? “I believe you do,” Daisy bit out. For she’d known him the whole of her life to know he’d not care to have his ears blistered before her maid.
Agnes completed her step.
Auric furrowed his brow in consternation. “I assure you, I do not.” He turned to her maid.
By God, if he gave directives to her maid, she’d have him tossed on his pompous, ducal arse before the whole of London Society. “Agnes, refreshments.” Auric might be an all-powerful duke who could command a room with his stare alone, but she would not be cowed by him. Nor would her maid.
The relieved young woman all but sprinted from the room.
Silence filled the parlor. Auric broke it. “Did you not care for Lord Astor?” He spoke as though selecting a potential bridegroom in the same way as choosing a chocolate biscuit over a sweet, fig pudding for dessert.
Daisy counted to five for patience. “I don’t know, Auric,” she said in calm, quiet tones. “Beyond his opinion about me not being horrid and a possible suggestion of my being graceful, he said all of two statements.” Excluding his greeting and hasty goodbye.
Auric gave a curt nod of agreement. “I quite agree. He’d make you a deplorable husband.”
Despite outrage over his highhandedness, Daisy’s lips twitched and the blistering words on her lips died. He’d determined all of that with but a handful of exchanges? Even as a boy he’d possessed the same arrogance. Then, when one was born heir to one of the oldest, most respected dukedoms, such bumptiousness was inevitable.
He took a step toward her, and then another, and another, until only a hairsbreadth separated them. Heat spilled off his muscle-hewn frame and her pulse quickened at his body’s nearness. Struggling to rein in the warring annoyance and almost pained amusement thrumming through her, she tipped her head back and held his stare.
A tight curl slipped from her chignon and almost in a reflexive movement, Auric captured the strand between his thumb and forefinger. He studied the dark tress as though he’d never before seen a single lock of hair before this one. “What else do you require in a husband, Daisy?” His voice, a deep, husky whisper washed over her and her brain had to remind her lungs to draw in air and release it once more. “Tell me and I’ll find him for you.”
She’d already found him. Only he was too blind to see her. She wetted her lips and his gaze dipped lower, following that subtle movement. “Confidence,” she managed to force the single word out.
His thick lashes swept down.
“I’d want him to be resolute.” So that a mere glower from another man, even if that other man happened to be a duke, didn’t send him fleeing with wan cheeks. Auric the boy and now Auric the man was fearless and bold in all matters.
He released her strand of hair, as though burned and then took a step away. Then another. “Resolute,” he repeated, as though to himself.
“In all matters.” Of the heart, in his beliefs, in his hopes and dreams. Just as Auric would be.
With another bow, he turned on his heel and wordlessly took his leave.
Her shoulders sank and she wandered over to the window. She peeled back the curtain and stared down into the street. The front door opened and Auric stepped outside. He paused on the top step and surveyed the street. Then, as though feeling her gaze upon him, he looked up. With a gasp, she released the curtain and let it fall back into place.
“Daisy?”
She spun around, slapping a hand to her breast. “Mother.” Whatever was her mother doing from her chambers? She so very rarely took herself from her rooms.
“He’s left, Mother,” she informed the lady. Or rather, he’d run off. The coward.
A wistful expression stole over her face. “I believe he’s courting you,” she whispered, the faintest hint of joy underscoring those words. Odd, how any and every other Society mama would be fixed upon that link to the Duke of Crawford for his title, and yet her own mother craved that connection for altogether very different reasons. Reasons that were not at all material.
Daisy loathed robbing her sad parent of the one hint of something that brought her a remote bit of happiness. “He’s not courting me, Mama,” she said gently. She could not, however, allow her to hang upon false hope.
Mother walked over in a flurry of black, bombazine skirts. She came to a stop in front of Daisy. “He visits you.”
“He arrived with the Earl of Astor.”
“The Earl of Astor?” Lines of concern creased her brow. “Is he friendly with the earl?”
She didn’t believe Auric to be friendly with anyone beyond Marcus. As she saw no other way to gently let the other woman down, she said, “He’s playing matchmaker, Mama.”
“He’s matchmaking for you?” Her mother pursed her lips. “Do not be silly. Why would Auric play matchmaker?”
Likely because he felt some form of brotherly obligation to her. Except, there was nothing brotherly in his kiss. “Perhaps from some misbegotten sense of loyalty to Lionel.” Auric’s devotion to Lionel through the years in life and in death had been steadfast.
Daisy may as well have thrust a dagger into her mother’s chest. Those words, the mere mention of Lionel jerked the other woman erect. “Don’t be silly.”
She didn’t doubt, even with his death, that Auric carried a commitment to his best friend’s family. “That is all we are,” she said, needing the words more for herself. “An obligation, Mama. He must live his life.”
Her mother swirled away. “Cease this instant,” she cried, clamping her hands over her ears. “This is not about…about…”
“Lionel,” Daisy supplied, feeling a needle of guilt as her mother went wan. “And it is about Lionel, for there is no other accounting for his frequent visits.” Even as she wished there
was more, he’d proven with his interest in seeing her wed that there was not more.
There is the kiss…
Agnes entered the room, bearing a tray of refreshments. She looked between mother and daughter and then hurried to set her burden down. Daisy expected her mother to touch her hands to her temples, plead a megrim, and rush out, as she was wont to do. Instead, she claimed a seat on the sofa and proceeded to pour herself a cup of tea. “Sit down, Daisy.”
Daisy blinked and then automatically slid into the chair across from her mother. The other woman added sugar and milk and then took a sip. “How long have you loved him?”
She choked. “How long have I—?”
“Loved him. Thirteen years? Fourteen?” Twelve. “I daresay you’d not be so dismissive of Auric if you’d have his heart.” She gave her a knowing, motherly look from over the rim of her cup.
Unaccustomed to communicating with her mother in not only this way, but also any way, Daisy glanced down at her lap. “He doesn’t know I exist.” After so many years with no one to talk to and confide in, there was something sweet and wonderful in hearing her own voice and knowing someone else heard it, too.
Mother snorted. “If that was the case, then he’d not come week after week, even when I’m not receiving callers.”
“What of the suitors he’s trying to foist me off on?” Pain pressed on her heart. Why would he do that if he truly cared for her in the way she wished him to care?
“Oh, I never claimed he was smart. He is, after all, a gentleman and would no sooner know his own feelings than he’d spot the sun falling from the sky.”
A startled bark of laughter bubbled past Daisy’s lips and she delighted in a glimpse of her mother’s former verve.
Her mother gave her a smile. “Now, my dear, instead of all this wounded hurt at his presenting you with possible suitors, I suggest you do something a good deal better.”
Daisy tipped her head.
Her mother took another sip and then lowered the delicate, porcelain piece to her lap. “Why, you make him jealous.”
There was a greater likelihood of the sun falling from the sky as her mother had earlier commented than in Auric being jealous over her. Daisy made a sound of impatience and hopped to her feet. “Make him jealous?” A humorless laugh escaped her. “I do love you Mother, but you do not see…” She let the words trail off. For the same woman who’d ceased to remember her daughter’s existence these years, now looked at her through the lens of a proud mama, her judgment skewed.
“See what, Daisy?” her mother called up from her seat. “You’ve lovely hair.”
“It is brown,” she complained. Lady Stanhope and Lady Leticia and all their gloriously golden, loose curls slipped into her mind. “And tightly curled.” When every other sought after lady had those flowing, loose curls.
“It is unique. Just as your freckles.”
Unique, which was really just a polite way of saying deuced odd. Daisy wandered over to the ornate, gold-framed mirror. She studied herself with a critical eye. She was seeing those brown curls and freckles and trying, desperately trying, to see a hint of truth to her mother’s prideful words. With a disgusted shake of her head, she shifted her attention to her form. “And I’m plump,” she pointed out, not taking her gaze from the not-at-all slender, lithe figure appreciated by gentlemen. Or rather, appreciated by the only gentleman that mattered.
Her mother came to her feet and sailed over. “You are indeed plump.”
Daisy’s lips pulled up at one corner in a wry smile. “Thank you.” She wasn’t insulted. She appreciated that honesty.
Her mother rapped her on the knuckles. “Do hush, I was not finished.” She gripped Daisy’s shoulders and forced her gaze to the plump, freckled woman reflected back at them. “You have a form that any sensible gentleman would admire.” The marchioness ignored Daisy’s snort. She took her by the hands.
“What are you doing?” Daisy asked, shifting awkwardly on her feet, as her mother turned her about, eyeing her the way Cook might assess a corner hock of beef.
“Shh,” her mother urged. Mama released her suddenly and raised a hand to her chin. “Hmm.” She tapped the tip of her finger against her lower lip and, but for that meditative glimmer in her eyes, said nothing. For a long while.
Daisy shifted on her feet, in that moment finding she might prefer the lack of notice to this contemplative study. She’d become so accustomed to being invisible where her mother was concerned, that she didn’t know what to do with this scrutiny.
Then her mother took a step backward, shaking her head. “Oh, Daisy, how remiss I’ve been.” She eyed Daisy’s mauve skirts, shame fairly bleeding from her eyes.
Smoothing her palms over the front of her dress, she looked down and attempted to see what had earned the regretful look from her mother.
“I’ve failed to see you for too long, my dear.”
A swell of emotion balled in Daisy’s throat. “It is fine,” she managed, wishing her words came out clear and full of conviction.
“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 an
d 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.
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