She pressed her eyes closed, her body wracked with silent sobs, as at last it all made sense. “Th-that is why y-you came around,” she managed to rasp out between shuddering cries. That loyalty, that sense of obligation to her, and Mother, and Father, had been his attempt at an absolution of his guilt. And ultimately, that guilt had led him to marriage—to her, neglected and uncared for, sad, lonely Daisy Meadows.
Auric reached out for her and she swatted his hand away.
“Is that why you came ’round all these years?” she demanded in a soft, steady voice.
He allowed his fingers to drop to his side. “At first,” he conceded, his eyes tortured. He was tortured? He who’d lied, and then ultimately wedded her, out of guilt, was tortured? He cared nothing more than she’d discovered the truths of his deception.
Daisy wrenched her gaze from his and alternated it to the book in her hands. “Of course, how stupid I was to not see,” she whispered to herself. “You all but threw suitors into my proverbial path, coming by with Lord Astor and speaking to me of marriage…because you felt obligated to see me cared for.” If she’d been married, then he’d not have to pay her visits.
“I enjoyed seeing you, Daisy,” he said lamely.
A mirthless laugh bubbled past her lips, scaring her with the vitriol there. “You enjoyed seeing me?” Her laughter redoubled.
Auric took another step toward her and when she again held her hand out to stop him, this time he continued coming anyway. “Stop,” she pleaded. He captured her shoulders in a grip that was both gentle and firm, staying her retreat.
“I’ll not lie to you.” He flushed again. “Any more than I already have. Guilt brought me to visit. When I saw you, I remembered everything I’d cost you and your family.” And still he’d wed her anyway.
Goodness his guilt must be great. She slid her gaze away from his. Bitterness tasted rusty and dry in her mouth.
Auric spoke on a rush. “Then I saw you at Gipsy Hill and initially I was fearful of your well-being, but then I saw you, Daisy.” He gave her a gentle squeeze. “I truly saw you. And I hated Astor and every other man who might be a husband to you, because I wanted that role.”
She shook her head, dispelling more of his lies. How could he expect her to believe anything uttered from his traitorous lips?
“I love you,” he said, lowering his brow to hers. “I always loved you, Daisy, even when you were a girl dogging my footsteps. It just took me a bit longer to open my eyes and see you’d become the woman I adored, the woman I could not live without, the woman—”
She wrenched herself from his grip and spun away from him, needing to put distance between them and the riotous emotions churning through her. “Stop,” she pleaded. For when he spoke he made her want to forget everything that had come to pass and continue on as the couple they’d been last night. Had it only been a night ago?
Daisy retreated another step and another, until she’d placed the leather, winged back chairs between them. She glanced blankly down at the damning pages that contained more truths than anything else Auric, the Duke of Crawford, had uttered in the past seven years. “You didn’t love me,” she said softly, to herself. “Not truly. You never saw me as anything more than Lionel’s sister.” She closed her eyes. “Where I, I only saw you.” All these years she’d simply wanted someone to see her, truly see her, Daisy Meadows. She’d not wanted to be an object of pity or sympathy. In the end, with Auric’s obligatory offer of marriage, he’d consigned her to a marriage based on those very sentiments she detested. Daisy opened her eyes. Auric stood, commanding and powerful in all his masculine glory. She bit hard on the inside of her cheek, wanting him to say something, anything. Except no words were coming. No profession of love. As much as she would hate him for his deception, he would always own her heart. “What a fool I’ve been,” she whispered.
“No.” That word emerged a garbled croak.
Daisy tightened her grip on the leather volume. “You speak of love and obligation, but none of that was ever about me or love, Auric.” Her lip peeled back in a sneer. “It was only about you. It was about your guilt and your regret and trying to find peace inside yourself.” She tossed the book at him, where it landed ineffectually at his feet. The thick sheen of tears blurred his image and she swiped angrily at the flowing signs of weakness. “You sought to replace Lionel, failing to realize that I didn’t want a brother. I had a brother. I had a brother and he died.” Daisy held his gaze. “I wanted a husband, Auric.” I wanted you.
“Please—”
“Please what?” She arched a single, cynical eyebrow. “Forgive you? For lying to me? For Lionel?” With a rusty, broken laugh she gave her head a shake. “I won’t forgive you any of that, Auric, and I suspect that won’t matter much to you, anyway. The only one who can give you the absolution you need is you…and you’ll never find it.”
With that, she swept from the room, leaving him with the remnants of her broken heart for his company.
Chapter 21
Daisy sat at the edge of the Serpentine River. Crimson red and hues of orange painted the dawn sky in a blaze of colors both majestic and sad. She looked down at the embroidery frame, the image of a heart at last perfectly captured. After seven years of struggling with the too small needle and her awkward fingers she had managed what she’d deemed an impossible feat. For so long she’d found solace and comfort in this skill that really was no skill; neither for her, nor the way it was for other ladies. When she’d lived, an invisible shadow in her parents’ household and missed Lionel, her embroidering had represented a challenge. Something so very difficult that it required her full attention and, in so doing, forced her attention on the inane.
She set aside the wooden frame and drew her knees close to her chest. She rested her chin atop her skirts and stared out at the vast, empty grounds of Hyde Park. A spring breeze rustled the beech tree, stirring the leaves overhead. Now, the task was completed, and when her thoughts should be of Lionel and the aching hole that would forever dwell in her heart, she thought of another.
A man, who by his admission, had killed Lionel. Her heart spasmed. Since she’d read those damning words on the pages of Auric’s journal and listened to his claims of guilt, she’d alternated between a mind-numbing shock and, God help her, hatred for the man who should have been a friend to Lionel, who had instead ushered him to his death. Her life, and the subsequent years of pain and loneliness she’d known, that he’d so casually written upon the pages of that book were secondary to Lionel. She would have traded every last smile if it meant she could have her brother back in her life for even one day.
After a night of too many tears, she’d fled her new home and Auric, needing to put space between them so she might sort through her husband’s damning words. She’d lain abed, staring blankly up at the mural upon the center of the ceiling. How could she look upon him and see anything but the darkness of that night? A chill stole through her at the truths he’d uttered. And yet, in the clear light of day, even as she wanted to blame him for the loss of Lionel, she could not. As long as she’d known her brother, he’d never been one to go anywhere or do anything he didn’t wish to. He’d gone of his own volition and his death was a result of his own actions.
Oh, there was little solace to be found in that. For there would always be a need to make sense of an unconscionable act committed against a man who’d been just twenty-two years of age. The wind tugged at her coiffure and loosened a single curl. It tumbled over her brow. She closed her eyes thinking of Auric and all the times he’d captured a strand in his hand, studying the lock as though it were the rarest of artifacts on display at the Egyptian Hall. Daisy opened her eyes. A pink pelican glided along the smooth surface of the river. It dipped its enormous head under the surface and emerged a moment later with a fish inside its enormous, orange bill. She could not hate Auric or blame him or hold him in contempt for that night of revelry and carousing. They’d been young and no different than most young gentleman out of u
niversity. They’d merely partaken in activities she’d never heard whispers of because of the scandalous nature of them.
Daisy picked up her completed fabric and ran her fingers over the flawless heart. She could not, however, forgive or accept this marriage of obligation he’d forced upon her. A union in which he saw her as a responsibility, a debt owed Lionel, that now he’d spend the remainder of his life paying for in the form of marriage to lonely, unprotected her. Lies. Lies. All of it.
I love you, Daisy. She winced. Had any of it been real?
She paused with her fingertip at the dip in the red heart. She’d convinced herself Auric wedded her of love, and because he felt the same desperate emotions she’d long carried in her own heart. Only the truth was their marriage had been carefully constructed upon lies and deception and a tragic past. Where could there ever be happiness in such a union? A viselike pressure tightened about her heart. She deserved more of a marriage. Just as Auric deserved more. The golden haired beauty who’d captured his affections flitted through her mind. Lady Stanhope. The kind, lovely, flawless, English beauty was the woman he would have had in his life. Oh, on their wedding night he’d spoken of his love for Daisy and issued protestations of any real emotional regard for the countess.
But she had been the woman he’d courted…and there had been no Lionel or guilt or obligation prompting his suit. The pressure tightened once more, squeezing off her airflow. Whereas Daisy always was and now, as his wife, always would be, an eternal responsibility.
A little yawn cut into her sad musings and she looked over at her maid seated at a distance. The poor woman leaned against the base of one of those tulip trees, her eyes closed a moment as though exhausted.
Guilt tugged at Daisy. She’d dragged the poor woman out at an ungodly hour. She looked to her maid. Agnes shoved away from the tree and rushed over. “Do you require anything, Your—” The young servant’s mouth formed a small moue of surprise. She looked to the embroidery frame in Daisy’s hands and then back to Daisy. “My goodness, you’ve done it, Your Grace. It is a heart.”
Agnes had been with her for nearly six years. She’d seen those earlier attempts at a heart when they’d been more of an amorphous sphere, and when Daisy had required kerchiefs to blot digits wounded by her inept fingers.
“I did it,” she repeated quietly. Where was the sense of accomplishment? Where was the joy? Daisy froze. Only was this truly joy? This empty scrap of fabric with her perfectly etched heart? The one sliver of happiness she’d clung to hadn’t been this or even the memories of Lionel, but rather of Auric…as he’d been before, and who he’d been after.
Everything between them had been false. Or had it? She thought of the accusations she’d hurled at him, the hurt she’d seen reflected in his eyes, eyes that were usually indecipherable masks that gave no glimpse of thought or emotion. Daisy drew in a slow breath. For the pain she carried over their marriage crafted upon obligation and responsibility, she needed to see her husband if for no other reason than to take back those horrific charges she’d leveled at him, holding him guilty for crimes that were no one’s but the person who’d murdered Lionel.
“It is time to return home, Agnes,” she confided. She murmured her thanks as the young woman set to work folding up the blanket and packing up the handful of belonging they’d brought that morning.
And what, then? What happened after they spoke? Did they simply become friends as they’d once been? She shook her head, clearing the thought. They could never have the uncomplicated, trusting relationship they’d once known. Or were they to be one of those polite, proper dukes and duchesses who attended polite, Society functions together and hosted the requisite dinner parties and balls, while never being anything more?
“Are you ready, Your Grace?” Agnes asked.
Daisy nodded and reached for her embroidery kit, relieving Agnes of that burden. They strolled in silence through the empty park. The soft morning cry of a kestrel punctuated the peace in the empty, expertly manicured grounds. She followed Agnes to the waiting carriage and allowed the liveried servant to hand her inside. He made to close the door. Daisy held her hand out, staying the moment. “The Marchioness of Roxbury’s first.”
The driver nodded and a moment later, the carriage sprang into motion. She pulled back the curtain and peered out at the passing London streets. Empty and quiet, there was an almost eerie peace that allowed one to forget, if even for a moment, that they dwelled in the dark, dirty city of glittering falsity. She looked on as Auric’s carriage returned her to the familiar row of townhouses, before ultimately rocking to a stop before her former home. The driver pulled the door open and Daisy stepped down. “I’ll not be long,” she stated and then started forward.
Daisy drew in a slow breath and stared up at the white stucco structure and then continued forward, up the handful of steps. She rapped once.
The door opened immediately. Frederick looked at her a moment, his mouth agape and then colored. “Your Grace,” he swept aside, allowing her entry.
Daisy tugged off her gloves. “There is no need for such formality, Frederick,” she said gently to the servant who’d looked after her with far more care than even her own parents had over the years.
He widened his eyes as though she expressed her intentions to lob off the Queen’s head and make off with her crown.
She started toward the stairs and then began the slow climb. “I’ve returned for something,” she explained and marched upward, fearing if he asked questions or said even a word, her resolve would desert her. She reached the main landing and then continued down the corridor, finally stopping beside one familiar, long-closed door.
Knock three times…
But what if you are not around…
I’ll always—
Daisy pressed the handle and stepped inside. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the darkened chambers. The emerald velvet curtains still drawn as they’d been seven years ago. She pushed the door closed and the soft click thundered through the hallow space.
She lingered at the door. She closed her eyes a moment and drew in a breath seeking a hint of Lionel here. She didn’t know what she expected. A trace of the sandalwood scent he’d favored, perhaps? Or the echo of his laugh. Nothing but dark, empty silence met her. Daisy tossed her gloves onto a small side table and wandered the perimeter of the room. She trailed her fingertips along the plaster walls and stopped beside the mahogany armoire.
Unthinking, Daisy opened the doors. Immaculate, white shirts and sapphire and emerald waistcoats, those dark hues always favored by Lionel, hung perfectly within. But for the slightly out of fashion lines of the breeches, the garments may as well have belonged to a man still attending ton functions and visiting his clubs. She reached a reverent hand out and stroked the white linen of one shirt.
Then she gave her head a slow, sad shake and closed the door. She rested her forehead against it. “You silly, silly man. Why would you go to that place?” Silence met her pained question. She knocked her head against the wood panel. “You didn’t allow anyone to drag you anywhere, ever.” As the sister who’d dogged his steps, she knew he’d never alter whatever path he’d set.
Daisy stepped away and moved over to the untouched bed. She hesitated, afraid to disturb the coverlet he’d once lain upon and steal the ghost of his memory. With a quiet sigh, she sat on the edge. A hint of dust drifted from the fabric, the silver specks danced in the air. Auric hadn’t forced Lionel there. He had gone of his own volition. Just as Marcus and Auric had. Blame was useless and futile and wouldn’t right the past. Daisy lay down. Only, she wished they’d made altogether different decisions, for then Lionel would now live and there would still be the uncomplicated laughs and smiles they’d all once shared. She rolled onto her side and stared at the nightstand alongside Lionel’s bed. When all she craved was a tangible memory of him, something she could cling to, the mahogany piece may as well have belonged to any other young man and any other chambers, just as the armoire and gar
ments.
“You’re gone,” she whispered. Not gone. “You died.” Those two words, unspoken until now, sucked the breath from her lungs. Through the years of listening at the keyhole to her parents speak of Lionel’s murder no one had dared utter the words, as though in speaking them, they became true.
Only, they’d always been true. There could be no undoing. Whatever guilt carried by Auric would not bring Lionel back. A sob escaped her. She sat up and drew Lionel’s pillow close to her chest and rocked back and forth, crying so hard her chest hurt. He was gone and it was not Auric’s fault. And then she cried all the more, the sobs threatening to tear her in two at the guilt she’d thrown upon his already weighted shoulders. She wept until she thought she might break and then there was nothing left but a shuddery, wet hiccough. None of them had truly lived these seven years. Not her mother, not her, and not Auric, and she’d venture not Marcus. Even though she’d put forth a fine act of laughing and attempting to enjoy life, she never really had, truly, deeply. Rather hers had been a carefully constructed façade of a woman who sought to prove to her family and Society that her heart was healed and there was no need for pitying stares and whispers.
“I want to live again,” she said softly into the empty chambers. “I think you would want that, too, Lionel.” Reluctantly, Daisy sat up and remained perched at the edge of his bed. Loathe to leave for this felt more a parting than she’d ever truly had with Lionel. She ran her palm over the surface of his side table and absently pulled out the drawer. From within the darkened confines of the compartment, a stark, white kerchief embroidered in the bold, black letterings of Lionel’s name, snagged her notice. With trembling fingers, she withdrew the cloth. Something slid to the floor and landed with a metallic clang upon the hardwood. Daisy dropped her gaze to the floor and her heart stopped. A daisy pendant attached to a gold chain lay in a sad little pile upon the floor. Emotion clogged her throat and she swiftly retrieved it, involuntarily crushing the delicate piece in her hand.
A Heart of a Duke Collection: Volume 1-A Regency Bundle Page 107