Daisy widened her eyes. “But she’s been exceptional.”
“It wouldn’t be fair to her to take her to a new country,” Papa said.
“She’d probably enjoy it more than I would.” Outrage moved swiftly through Daisy, and her voice shook uncharacteristically.
Papa shrugged. “We have to economize somehow.”
Daisy moved her lips into a straight line.
If only she hadn’t accepted Reggie’s invitation to dance. If only she hadn’t been curious to know what it would feel like to sway to the music in his arms. If only her heart hadn’t behaved so abominably, thumping with overall force when calmness and professionalism were required. Perhaps the duke had seen the desire in her face. Perhaps, he’d kissed her out of pity, complimented her out of pity.
After all, he hadn’t intended to propose to her.
She wrapped her arms together, as if they could form a makeshift shield against the inanities of which her parents were speaking.
“But you don’t speak French, Papa,” she said.
He shrugged. “I’ll learn it. Besides, it’s all about hiring servants who can speak the language. Your mother and I are hardly going to go into a charcuterie or patisserie ourselves.”
“Well. It seems all settled,” she said finally.
“It is,” Papa said, his voice once again firm. “It will be good for you. Perhaps the sunlight will cure you.”
Daisy closed her eyes.
Perhaps France wouldn’t be terrible. If she hadn’t met Reggie, she might even have been excited.
And yet... She would be leaving her friends, leaving her country, leaving her hopes for creating her own business, leaving him... And even if there might be no actual romantic connection between them, her heart still ached at the thought she would never see him again.
No. This was most disastrous.
MRS. POWELL MOVED DAISY’S attire into the large, battered trunk that Daisy always used when moving between Bath and London. She folded Daisy’s clothes methodically.
“I’m going to miss you,” Daisy said mournfully.
Mrs. Powell’s round face pinkened pleasantly. “You can write me letters.”
Daisy nodded. “What will you do?”
“I’ll visit my mother in Bristol for a while, then look for a new position.”
“Is that what you want?”
Mrs. Powell shrugged and returned to her task. “It’s the easiest solution.”
Daisy tapped her fingers against her chair rail. Though she complained about going to take the waters, now that she hadn’t for a few days, she felt stiff and awkward. Papa seemed under the impression she would collapse if she left the house.
Mrs. Powell frowned, and her thin gray eyebrows furrowed together. “Perhaps you should write His Grace.”
Thoughts of dancing with the duke inundated Daisy’s mind, but she raised her chin. “If he wanted to see me, he would.”
Mrs. Powell was silent.
Doubtless she agreed. Daisy’s heart twisted.
The duke wasn’t going to see her again. She imagined he was relieved Daisy had rejected his impulsive offer. The duke had confused being comfortable with being in love.
Daisy averted her gaze. Sunbeams flooded Daisy’s small window. It had rained almost every day this month, but now, when Papa refused to let Daisy to leave the house, the weather was warm and wonderful.
Daisy closed her eyes, indulging in the feel of sunbeams against her skin.
There had been some romance. That was more than she’d ever expected, and considering the current discomfort of her heart, she hardly required any more. She wrapped her arms together against her chest.
Mrs. Powell furrowed her brow but continued to pack. Daisy’s ball gowns were folded, but she wouldn’t need them anymore. There would be no more balls at the Assembly Room, no more balls at the Tortworths, no more balls at the duke’s.
Her chest tightened, and she forced herself to banish thoughts of Reggie from her mind.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
No note came for Reggie that evening, and no note came for him the next day.
By the next morning, he was pacing the breakfast room. Though earlier he might have been relieved at his sudden propensity for walking without pain, now the fact brought him no solace.
He’d already canceled the rest of his boxing tournament schedule. Perhaps he’d only realized he no longer enjoyed it when he’d taken a break from it.
“Did the mail arrive?” he asked Alistair eagerly.
A pained expression crossed Alistair’s face. “Yes. There were—er—some bills, I believe.”
“Nothing else?” Reggie grabbed the silver platter holding the mail from Alistair. He rifled through it eagerly.
Nothing was from Daisy.
He swallowed hard, then handed the platter back to Alistair. “I’ll get to this.”
Alistair nodded and placed the mail on Reggie’s desk.
“You don’t happen to know any of the servants who work for the Holloway family?” Reggie asked.
“I’m afraid I don’t.” Alistair tilted his head. “I might venture to suggest that you reach out to some mutual acquaintances. They might be aware of Miss Holloway’s current state of mind.”
Reggie leaped up. “Alistair, you’re brilliant.”
Alistair inclined his head, giving a modest smile. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
“Fetch my frock coat,” Reggie said. “I’m going out.”
“Very well, Your Grace.” Alistair disappeared, then soon reappeared with various outdoor garments. He hadn’t forgotten the importance of hats or gloves, despite Reggie’s neglect to specifically mention them.
“Splendid, Alistair.” Reggie stretched out his arms, and Alistair slid his coat on him. “Thank you.”
With that, Reggie hurried down the sweeping steps into Bath.
He soon arrived at the Tortworths’ house. This time, the only nervousness he felt was that Mr. and Mrs. Tortworth might tell him Daisy had no interest in him. He banged on the door knocker, and a surprised butler led him to the Tortworths’ dining room.
Perhaps in hindsight, appearing at their townhouse during breakfast was unideal. Mr. and Mrs. Tortworth’s eyebrows darted up, and their mouths dropped open. Reggie suspected the latter movement was not simply so they might force more food into their mouths, despite the deliciousness of the aromas wafting from the bacon, rolls, and preserves.
“I’m—er—sorry about the time,” Reggie said.
Mr. and Mrs. Tortworth staggered to their feet, blinking in bewilderment.
“Forgive me,” the butler said. “He said it was an emergency.”
“You did the right thing, Bates,” Mr. Tortworth said, and their butler beamed.
Mr. Tortworth lowered himself into a bow, and his wife occupied herself with curtsying.
“What an unexpected pleasure, Your Grace,” Mrs. Tortworth said.
“Would you care to join us?” her husband asked.
“No, no. Food is the last thing on my mind.” Reggie waved his hand at the table. “But please, do eat. I just—er—have a simple question.”
“Ah.” Mr. Tortworth added. “Well, we are experts in anything regarding Bath.”
“If you’re looking for tickets for the upcoming performance at the Theatre Royal,” Mrs. Tortworth said. “I am certain we can procure some for you.”
“My question pertains to Miss Holloway,” Reggie said.
The placid politeness faded from Mr. Tortworth’s face. “Indeed.”
Mrs. Tortworth stabbed her eggs and sausage with a glum expression on her face.
“Her father won’t let me see her,” Reggie said.
Mrs. Tortworth darted her gaze up, then glanced at her husband.
“Did he give a reason?” Mr. Tortworth asked, with a steely edge to his voice.
“Not a good one,” Reggie said.
“There’s always a good reason,” Mr. Tortworth declared.
“Forgive
him,” Mrs. Tortworth said, forcing a smile to her face. “My husband is very protective of her. We both are.”
“So you haven’t seen Daisy in the past few days?” Reggie asked.
“We haven’t seen Miss Holloway,” Mr. Tortworth corrected, stressing her honorific. “If her father will not let her see you, I’m certain they have a reason. And we cannot help you otherwise.”
Reggie stared at them. They flashed him polite, cold smiles, and he nodded.
“I’ll—er—let you finish your meal,” Reggie said finally, backing away.
“How nice of you to join us,” Mrs. Tortworth called after him. “Do come back another time.”
Reggie nodded weakly, then descended the stairs. Footsteps sounded after him, and he turned.
One of the footmen stood on the stairs. His face was solemn, and Reggie recognized him from the ball.
“Your Grace,” the footman said.
Reggie nodded.
“It’s not my place to say, but might I suggest you speak with some of Miss Holloway’s friends, rather than her parents’ friends? You might find they are more conducive to conversation.”
Reggie blinked. The footman had made an excellent point. “Thank you. I’ll try that.”
The footman bowed, then hastily ascended the stairs.
Reggie sighed and exited the house. He swallowed the sour taste in his mouth and proceeded back to his rooms, strolling over the cobblestones.
Daisy’s best friends were spread about the country, but she’d made the recent acquaintance of some women her own age—his potential matches.
An idea occurred to him, and he smiled, even though the action had become unfamiliar to him today.
He told his driver to hasten to the spa. Perhaps some of the women would be taking the waters. Or perhaps some of them would be accompanying their relatives.
Reggie disembarked from his carriage.
“No flowers this time?” his driver asked.
“No. You can leave now.”
The only person he was going to give flowers to was Daisy. She’d stolen his heart, and he was hers and hers alone. He paced the cobbled street. A few people gazed at him oddly, perhaps bewildered by his presence. Most people who came to the spa actually went inside.
He glanced at the door, willing one of the women from last night to exit, and willing himself to recognize one of them.
None appeared.
Well, Reggie was hardly going to wait.
Reggie strode toward the door of the spa, just as he’d done dozens of times before. This time though, he did not venture to the men’s section. This time he turned toward the women’s section.
A surprised-looking woman greeted him. “Your Grace!” Her eyebrows darted up. “I’m afraid you’re in the wrong room. You’re supposed to be over there.” She pointed helpfully toward the men’s section and leaned forward. “This is the women’s section.”
No doubt she expected him to blush and apologize.
He did no such thing. He grinned. “I’m right where I should be.”
The woman’s gray eyes widened, lending them a perhaps uncharacteristic expressiveness.
“Now, I would like to see—er—some young ladies.”
“E-excuse me?”
He furrowed his brow. “Beatrice Thompson?”
She stared at him in bewilderment.
He sighed, searching for another name. “Princess Aria?”
The woman’s mouth dropped open, and Reggie blinked.
“I’m afraid you might be under the wrong impression,” he said.
“Are you certain there is a right impression to have?”
He placed his lips in a straight line. “Perhaps not. Perhaps this is unconventional.”
“Most,” she gasped.
He nodded, assuaged by their mutual understanding.
“Well, I need to see one of them,” he said.
“That’s impossible,” she said. “They’re taking the waters.”
“Then drag them out. I need to speak to them.” Reggie grabbed his purse and plonked down some coin. “Perhaps this will change your mind.”
She stepped back, as if he’d revealed a dagger.
“We’re not that sort of establishment, Your Grace.”
“Of course not,” Reggie said, heading for the door to the waters. “Thank you for your help.”
“But Your Grace,” the woman squealed. “You mustn’t go there.”
He swung around. “Then fetch me Princess Aria.”
The woman’s face paled, but she nodded, then quickly disappeared.
He paced the room, relieved that something was being done.
The door opened, and he smiled, prepared to greet the princess.
Instead, the princess’s bodyguard stalked through the door, and Reggie’s stomach tumbled down. Right. Perhaps he shouldn’t have named the one woman who had her own bodyguard.
“Your Grace?” Sarcasm rippled through the bodyguard’s voice.
“I would like to see Princess Aria,” Reggie said.
“So you might throw her in the water?”
“I don’t do that every time I see her,” Reggie said irritably.
The bodyguard snorted.
The door opened, and the receptionist returned.
Princess Aria followed her inside. She stared at Reggie. “Your Grace.”
“Your Highness,” Reggie said. “I am sorry to disturb you. I have a matter of some urgency.”
She blinked, then glanced behind her. “It’s truly the duke.”
A swarm of women followed Princess Aria into the room. He recognized them at once, even though they were no longer wearing Parisian ball gowns, adorned with ribbons and lace, and even though they were no longer decked in glittering jewels.
“Have you seen Miss Holloway?” Reggie asked.
Princess Aria’s jaw dropped.
“Please. It’s dreadfully important,” Reggie pled.
“I haven’t,” Princess Aria said finally.
He turned to the other women, but they simply stared at him.
His heart sank.
“You mean,” Reggie said finally. “No one has seen her?”
The women looked at one other, perhaps perplexed by his distraught voice.
“No,” Lucy Banks finally said. “She hasn’t been here since the day of the ball.”
“And you haven’t seen her since then?” Reggie asked.
He was repeating himself. He knew it. But dash it, these questions were important.
Princess Aria’s eyes rounded. “Do you think something bad happened to her?”
Reggie jutted out his lip. “Yes. Something bad did happen to her.”
Some of the other women gasped.
“She had a bad father,” Reggie said.
“That’s terrible,” Princess Aria’s bodyguard said. “No one should have a bad father.”
“Quite.” Reggie wrinkled his brow.
“Should I kill him?” The bodyguard’s pale blue eyes flashed.
“That is probably not necessary,” Reggie said hastily.
The bodyguard folded up his sleeves. “I am very good at killing people.”
“He won medals in the war,” Princess Aria said proudly. “That’s why my father hired him.”
“And now I spend my time in an English spa.” The bodyguard wrinkled his brow.
“Well, I don’t think this is the best time to practice your killing skills,” Reggie said.
Daisy’s father was horrible, but he did think he was protecting her.
“Are you speaking about Miss Daisy Holloway?” the receptionist asked.
He nodded eagerly. “Yes. The most beautiful woman in the world!” He shot an apologetic glance at the other women, but they only smiled.
“She’s no longer a client,” the receptionist said.
“Truly?” Reggie’s stomach tumbled down.
“Her father was here yesterday,” the receptionist explained. “He said their family was mo
ving to France at once.”
“France?” Reggie yelped. France was a terrible place to go. It was far away. Dash it, it was a different country.
“I must speak with her. Thank you!” Reggie headed for the door.
“What are you going to do?” Miss Thompson called after him.
He swung around and beamed. “I’m going to make sure I marry her, if she’ll have me.”
And with that, he strolled from the spa. His feet soon touched the cobblestones. He glowered at the swarms of people lackadaisically going about their business. They didn’t realize a woman was locked in her home.
Reggie tightened his fists. He was an idiot.
He’d been wrong to think Daisy’s father would pass on his message. He’d assumed a decency in the man that was nonexistent. If Daisy didn’t want to marry him, she’d have to tell him herself.
A few well-attired people strode languidly about the Crescent, halting at inopportune times to gaze toward the view. Reggie sprinted past them and shouted an apology.
Outraged murmurs sounded behind. Perhaps no one in Bath understood the need to hurry. Perhaps mostly, there was no need.
But Reggie wasn’t going to allow himself to wait a moment longer before telling Daisy he adored her, he loved her.
Love.
He was quite certain the word wasn’t supposed to sprout so easily in his mind. Didn’t people always say men shied away from the term, with the vigor with which women were said to creep away from spiders and slithering insects?
But he loved Daisy.
He’d been a fool to not have a term for the sensation in his heart before. That was why he was eager to speak with her at all times. That was why he sought her out upon entering any room, hopeful she was there. That was why his heart glowed in her presence. And that was why, late at night, it was her upturned nose, her glossy blonde hair, and her emerald eyes that played in his mind.
With that, Reggie quickened his speed and pounded over the cobbled pavement.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Finally, he arrived in front of Daisy’s house. For a moment, he considered knocking on the door. That was how one generally made one’s presence known, and though Reggie might be a boxer, he didn’t normally avert from all common expectations.
The Duke Meets His Matchmaker (The Duke Hunters Club, #5) Page 14