Wooing the Wallflower (Regency Blackmail Book 1)

by Emma Kaye

  Unfortunately, Ben had not been able to identify the coconspirator as of yet.

  A cooling breeze blew through the open patio doors and brought with it the smell of paint. He’d never enjoyed the scent before, but he’d grown used to it over the past week. He had, in fact, come to look forward to it.

  He barely held in a snort at the ridiculousness of that thought. It most certainly wasn’t the paint he’d come to enjoy so much. That the smell accompanied the lovely Miss Worthington? Now, that was something to look forward to.

  Despite telling his employer that he saw no reason for Miss Worthington to vacate the room in order for him to complete his work, he found himself increasingly distracted by her presence.

  Each morning began with a quiet greeting and a kind smile that lit up the room more than the sun shining through the windows. He didn’t think she was aware of it but occasionally, he’d hear her sweet voice humming as she painted.

  He had no right to think of her at all, yet he couldn’t help himself. She was the loveliest woman he’d ever met. In both figure and spirit.

  And her art. Well, her talent was divine. He could watch her paint for hours. Moreover, he’d found himself gazing at her repeatedly the past few days as he was supposed to be concentrating on the papers before him.

  Perhaps insisting on being in the same room as Lord Worthington’s beautiful daughter hadn’t been the wisest course of action.

  Thankfully, he’d made enough progress that his distraction should not be noticed. Today, he would inform Lord Worthington that Mr. Marsh was a thief. The news would not be welcome, but as he’d given updates to the viscount repeatedly over the past few days, they’d both come to suspect that it was, unfortunately, the truth. This information would not come as a surprise to his lordship.

  “Your frown is so fierce, I fear you have discovered something untoward in your work?” Miss Worthington’s sweet voice touched his ears.

  He lifted his head and met her piercing gaze. Words escaped him for a few seconds. Hopefully, his jaw remained shut, rather than dragging along the desktop as he searched for an answer that would satisfy her curiosity but not reveal what he had learned. Lord Worthington had been very clear in his desire not to worry his family with the matters Ben investigated.

  “I apologize if my countenance frightened you. I’m afraid my head has begun to ache quite dreadfully.” He gestured toward the dimming light outside. “I should have lit the candles an hour ago.”

  “Oh dear. How horrible.” She crossed the room to stand before his desk. A streak of blue marred the delicate pale pink of her cheek where she’d brushed away a stray hair earlier in the day. He’d noticed the mark quite some time ago, but had not said anything about it—not wanting her to realize he’d watched her throughout the day.

  And now she worried over his health. “It is not all that terrible. I have had much worse. I rarely am blessed with such delightful accommodations when I visit other clients.” He normally did his work at his own offices, but as this project was of a longer duration and his client’s books were out in the country, he’d rented a room in the nearby village and spent his days at Worthington Manor.

  “Well, I must insist you take a break to rest your eyes.” She emphasized her point by flipping the ledger before him closed with a snap. “A walk in the garden will do you a world of good. Come.” She gestured toward the door and took a step in that direction.

  Was she inviting him for a stroll through the rose garden? He hesitated.

  He’d like nothing more. But was this a wise idea? He prided himself on making practical decisions. Taking a walk with his employer’s daughter was not a wise decision.

  Yet he felt powerless to refuse. Not that she would demand his presence, she would never do such a thing, but because he knew his time in her company was limited. She would marry and such an opportunity would never again occur.

  “That would be nice, thank you.” He stood and followed her into the garden.

  They strolled side-by-side in silence for several minutes. The air was heavy with impending rain. He should really head back to the village soon or he might be caught in a storm.

  He couldn’t bring himself to cut their walk short.

  Daisy mostly kept her word and left him to his own devices during the day. He could see the piece she painted was important to her. Beyond what one might expect of a painting created merely for the joy of creation. Each brushstroke was placed with tremendous care. She mixed and remixed colors until she created the perfect shade. “Do you have plans for the painting you are working on? Is it a present to someone important?” Would she give it to her future husband? Was it an engagement gift of sorts? A white-hot flash of rage shot through him, shocking in its intensity. An angry buzz echoed in his ears as heat engulfed his cheeks.

  She glanced at him from under lowered lids. A flush of red rose to her cheeks and she bit her bottom lip. “Can I trust you not to tell anyone?”

  What could she possibly tell him that needed such a promise? A secret lover, perhaps? But why would she ever tell him? He frowned in indecision.

  “It’s nothing untoward in my opinion,” she assured him. “But I’m afraid it’s not something my parents would like overmuch.”

  “Then you may certainly trust me.” The idea of being in her confidence pleased him more than it should.

  “The painting is for Lady Fletcher.”

  The explanation meant nothing. Why would her parents not approve of her creating a painting for one of her friends? Lady Fletcher was from a fine family. He couldn’t imagine any parent not wanting their daughter to associate with the young woman. “I’m afraid I don’t understand the need for secrecy.”

  “She has paid me quite handsomely for it.”

  Ah. Now he understood. Lord Worthington would most definitely not approve. It was one of the inexplicable aspects of life among the ton Ben couldn’t understand. Fathers sold off their daughters to decrepit old men with proper titles rather than allow them to live a life they chose for themselves using their own talents to find their way.

  And Miss Worthington certainly had talent. Her painting reminded him of one he’d come across in the drawing room of Lady Comstock. The lady had gone on endlessly about having procured a painting from the leading artist of the day. The one the whole ton was talking about because no one knew the identity...

  He gaped at Miss Worthington as he realized the full extent of her confession. “Are you...? It seems the entire ton is clamoring for a painting from the famous artist society has deemed ‘The Flower.’”

  Her deepening blush confirmed his suspicions.

  “Not to worry. You can count on me to keep your secret.”

  Chapter Three

  Daisy delayed putting the finishing touches on her painting as she waited for Mr. Chapman to arrive. Her father always greeted the man first thing in the morning, then left him to his own devices for the remainder of the day. They would do a quick review of what Mr. Chapman had found the day before and what he would be reviewing over the next few hours.

  It wouldn’t do for her father to see the finished painting. True, he was not a great art lover and could barely discern the difference between a Monet and a Van Gogh, but even he could add two and two if he saw her sign this piece.

  She didn’t sign her name, of course. Instead, she included a unique spray of flowers in the bottom right corner of every canvas. Blue irises were her flowers of choice for this work. She made the signature flowers different each time, but they always formed a heart. Her first thought had been to stick with daisies, both her name and her favorite flower, but she quickly realized that could lead someone’s thoughts to turn to Miss Daisy Worthington, who was well known to spend much of her days at the easel.

  No, that would never do.

  It would probably be a good idea if her father never laid eyes on the finished painting. Not that he paid much attention to her art, but she was aware that Lady Fletcher planned to display her purchase a
t her London townhouse and he was very likely to visit the Fletchers at some point next Season. There was a slight chance he might recognize her work if he saw the completed project.

  A slight shift would do the trick. She made the adjustment and had begun mixing her blues when her father and Mr. Chapman entered. She greeted them with a quiet, “Good morning,” and busied herself while they spoke.

  Her father seemed rather more agitated than usual as the two men spoke in quiet tones that didn’t reach her area of the room. For the first time, a tinge of worry entered her heart. Was there trouble with Mr. Chapman’s work? She was well aware he reviewed her family’s finances. Were they destitute? Was that why her father was so desperate to see her married off to a man of good fortune?

  She must broach the subject later. Her father did not like to discuss such things with her in front of an outsider. Even though she had a difficult time thinking of Mr. Chapman—Ben—as an outsider anymore. He had ingrained himself into her daily life. She would miss him sorely when his work here was complete. Though they spent much of their day in silence, there was a comfort to his presence she had begun to appreciate. The air seemed...lighter, somehow, when he was present. He exuded a sense of contentment that seeped into her thoughts when they were together even though they both attended to their own endeavors.

  “Daisy.”

  Her head jerked at her father’s call. “Yes, Father?” she replied automatically.

  “I wish to speak with you. Please present yourself to my study in fifteen minutes.” His demand set, he turned on his heel and stalked from the room.

  A slight tremble started in her legs. His tone did not bode well for their conversation. What could he want?

  She tore her gaze away from the door and looked to Mr. Chapman. He gave her a reassuring smile.

  “He seems quite vexed. Is something amiss?”

  Rather than answer, Mr. Chapman shuffled the papers on his desk before placing them in a neat pile and approaching her. He came closer than was strictly proper and said, “You have a little bit of paint...” He cupped her jaw in his hand and used his thumb to brush against the tip of her nose.

  Her breath caught in her throat. His hand was so warm, so gentle. She found herself leaning into his touch. They stood so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body. Her heart raced with excitement.

  What was this she felt? Her heart beat as if uneasy, but the sensations that heated her had nothing to do with fear.

  His gaze flicked from her nose to her lips. Her pent-up breath released in a sigh. His eyes widened as her lips opened.

  He stepped back abruptly. She stumbled before he caught her. The second she was steady, he dropped her arm and retreated behind his desk.

  What had just happened?

  “You, um, should probably head over to Lord Worthington’s study,” Mr. Chapman said, his voice a bit huskier than usual if she weren’t mistaken. “He will be expecting you.”

  Confusion clouded her thoughts, but it was quite clear Mr. Chapman wanted to be left alone. “Yes, of course. Thank you for...” She touched a finger to her nose. A moment of silence and then she said, “Pardon me.” And fled from the room.

  She should have stopped to gather her thoughts, but instead found herself knocking at her father’s door with her pulse still racing and her thoughts in turmoil. Her mind on Mr. Chapman rather than on the coming conversation with her father.

  “Enter,” he called.

  She nearly recoiled from the stuffiness of the room. He rarely spent time in there during the summer months. The air was nearly unbearable. The unusually warm temperatures of the past week did nothing to ease the discomfort. Though the windows were open, the air simply didn’t circulate and left the chamber hot and uncomfortable. This was one of the many reasons she preferred her sitting room. Ample light and a persistent cross breeze made that area quite comfortable. Her father’s study had neither of those attributes.

  Nevertheless, he sat behind his desk and gestured to a chair across from him. She sat on the edge. How many times had he brought her to task in this very spot? Just looking at this chair got her defenses ready. “Is there something amiss, Father? You seem rather out of sorts today.” Pointing out his poor mood probably wasn’t her wisest decision, but she couldn’t bear waiting for him to get to the point of their discussion. She needed time to retire to think back on what had occurred between her and Mr. Chapman.

  “I have decided to declare an end to your search for a husband.”

  What? Had she heard that right? A smile blossomed, her cheeks spread so wide they almost hurt. “Thank you, Father. I know you are disappointed, but I simply could not choose any of the men—”

  He held up a hand. “You misunderstand. I have come to realize my error in not setting an end date to your deliberations. Therefore, I have decided you must choose a husband by the end of the year. More specifically, by the Duke of Marberry’s annual Christmas Ball.”

  She brought an ice-cold hand up to her chest in shock. “But, Father—”

  “I will not be dissuaded. You have put off your decision long enough. I will see the matter of your marriage resolved. If you do not pick someone on your own, your mother and I will choose for you.” He waved a hand toward the door. “You may go.”

  She stumbled from the room. There was no point in arguing with him. Once he made up his mind, there was no changing it.

  “Miss Worthington? Are you all right?” Mr. Chapman was at her side. She sagged against him and he led her to a sofa before the hearth. How had she gotten here? She didn’t recall much past her father’s declaration.

  “My father...”

  He held a cool, wet cloth to her cheeks. She leaned into his hand. Sense slowly returned to her. The overwhelming heat in her face began to cool with Mr. Chapman’s kind ministrations. She covered his hand with hers. “Thank you.” She gazed into his eyes and realized why she couldn’t choose from among the men her father chose for her.

  She wanted someone like this man beside her. Someone who cared for her wellbeing. Who listened when she spoke. Who cared what she thought.

  No. Not just someone. She wanted Ben.

  But her father would never allow such a match.

  Daisy snuck out of the house and down to the stables. She should find some solitude there. All the guests were being entertained by Miss Atwater’s lovely singing. If her parents compared her to the lovely Miss Atwater one more time, she’d...

  She wanted to scream. The past two months had been filled with one party after another as her parents thrust eligible gentlemen in her path. They ignored her repeated pleas that she didn’t want to marry any of them.

  Their country house had never seen so many grand amusements. Surely their endless entertaining would have to come to a stop soon as the weather made traveling across the countryside more difficult.

  Merely walking down to the stables proved difficult, the path muddied and treacherous despite their servants’ constant battle to keep the commonly used pathways around their manor house clear and in good working order for their guests’ convenience. There were simply too many of them to keep up with the demand.

  She shivered and pulled her thick wool wrap closer about her shoulders. She hadn’t realized it had grown quite so cold, with sunset only a few minutes away.

  Horses whinnied and the scent of hay and horse assailed her senses. She took in a deep lungful of the frigid air, her breath fogging before her face as she stood just within the walls of the main stable.

  “May I help you, Miss Worthington?” Owen, the head groom, asked, appearing suddenly at the other end of the long row of stalls.

  “No, I’m fine. Thank you. I just want to have a quick visit with Luna, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course, Miss. I’ll be in the tack room if you need me.” He disappeared as quickly as he’d appeared.

  She strolled over to the fourth stall on the right and a coal black nose popped up over the stall door and whinnied for h
er. She laughed and held her palm out for Luna to find the sugar cube she had brought for her favorite mare. “There you are, my sweet.”

  As the horse munched on her sweet treat, Daisy stroked her silky neck and rested her forehead against the horse’s mane. “They’ll be gone soon, I hope. Surely they’ll want to get home before a storm hits?”

  “Talking to the horses, Little Sister?” a deep voice said behind her.

  She shrieked and spun around, then swatted at her brother’s arm. “Daniel. You gave me such a fright. What on earth are you doing out here?” To show she didn’t feel as cross as she sounded, she pulled him into her embrace. “I didn’t even know you were home. I thought you would be with your regiment on the Peninsula for another month at least.”

  Daniel returned her hug, then pulled back with a shrug. “I was given an assignment closer to home.”

  She smiled so wide, her cheeks hurt. He looked wonderful, a little thinner perhaps, but healthy. She worried so when he was away. Each letter would bring a modicum of relief, only to have her fear for his safety return moments later. A lot could happen between the time a letter was sent and when it was received. But he hated to hear of her worries. “And returned to this debacle of a house party.”

  “Father is determined to see you married, I gather.”

  “Yes, it’s quite horrible. I must make my choice by the Marberry Christmas Ball. Can you imagine? Christmas should be a time of joy, not a time to send me off to my doom.”

  Daniel laughed. “I gather none of the proposed lords are to your liking?”

  “Not a one.” The only man who was to her liking was not one her parents would ever approve as a suitor. “I am facing a dilemma from which I have no idea how to extricate myself.”

  “You’ll find a way.” Daniel crossed the aisle to scratch Milly’s nose. The feisty filly tossed her head up and down, no doubt distressed he hadn’t brought her anything sweet as an offering.