Page 13 of Daisy and the Duke
“Ugh.”
“And you can invite your Miss Daisy. Get those locals gossiping.”
“Oh, no,” Tris groaned, remembering the end of his conversation with Lady Rutherford.
“What’s wrong?”
“There’s another daughter too. I managed to avoid meeting her, but I did promise an invitation to all of them for some sort of dinner.” He frowned. “Which means I’ve got to plan some sort of dinner now. Hell.”
“It was inevitable, your grace. Better to dive in now than fear it forever. Miss Wallis can be hostess,” he added. At Tristan’s blank look, Jack said, “You do remember that it’s proper for a lady to preside.”
Tristan brightened. “You mean that if I set Miss Wallis up in some other home, I wouldn’t have to host a single thing?”
Kemble rolled his eyes. “Let’s table that discussion. You made a promise to the ladies of Rutherford Grange, so you’ll have to honor it. Start with a dinner, and work up to a full-fledged ball later.”
Tristan hated social events.Hatedthem.
When he’d first got back to England, there was a round of foolery in London. He had to attend several functions and greet higher-ups and tell exaggerated versions of the truth and endure the adoration of idiots who had no idea what a war entailed. He had to act pleased that fate tossed him at the top of the heap of aristocracy for no apparent reason.
He could see the doubt and distaste in the eyes of those he met, the people who knew he didn’t belong. Tristan didn’t go the right schools. He didn’t hold the right commission. He didn’t have the right jokes, or the right manners.
So finally he told them to leave him alone.
That was the one benefit to being a lord. When he told people to do something, they did. He still had enough money, apparently, to do that. He shouldn’t spend a farthing until he improved the situation at the estate.
At least Lyondale was out of the way, tucked in a quiet corner of Gloucestershire. Tristan needed quiet, because one other result of his so-called heroism was that he couldn’t hear loud noises without cringing in fear. Things as simple as drums could incite a panic, as he discovered during an unfortunate evening at the Kew Gardens in London.
Yes, it was good that he came here, and brought Jackson Kemble with him. Lyondale was just what he needed. He feared it would be dull, but now that he’d met Daisy…
“She’s not a bit dull,” he said, abstractedly.
“Who?” Jack asked, confused.
“Miss Daisy Merriot. I was just thinking that I’d like to see her again.”
“Tris, you’d better not be suggesting what I think you are,” Jack told him. “Finding pleasure where it’s offered is one thing. There are plenty of women happy to be a mistress, or just take the money for a night. But to ruin a young lady…”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Jack! What do you take me for? I’m not contemplating setting her up in some love nest.”
“Then what? If she’s a young lady of good reputation, your options are limited.”
“I’m aware of that,” Tristan muttered. “I just meant…I liked her. It was one of the first normal conversations I’ve had with a person since I got hurt.”
“If you want to see her, the honorable thing to do would be to court her. But I suppose you’ve got to think of the title now. A duke must marry a lady prepared to be a duchess.”
“Trust me, potential candidates have been flung in my path since the moment I learned I was to receive the honor. Even in London, within a week of learning of my inheritance. God damn it, there were four men ahead of me, Jack!Four!Do you realize how much bad luck it took to land me here? I should have stayed on the Peninsula. Perhaps I would have been hit by another cannonball, then some other poor sod would have to deal with this mess.”
“Don’t say that,” his friend warned. “You not only survived something that by all rights should have killed you instantly, you now have a chance to begin life again as one of the most powerful men in the country.”
Tristan sighed, shoving the paperwork away, as if that action could also push away the financial problems the papers detailed. “The title may impress people, but there’s not much beyond that. If I don’t marry an heiress, the next duke will have nothing at all.”
Chapter 4
Dear Heather,
I have put off writing to you only because I feared I had nothing new to say. But now I can fill pages, for I have met a gentleman who I never would have dreamed I might say one word to…and yet I can report to you (please burn this letter as a favor to yours truly) that not only have I spoken with him, I have ridden with him, walked with him, and (please, please burn this) even flirted with him.
Here is the worst of it: he is the new Duke of Lyon! I didn’t know, and he did not enlighten me. Until my stepmother saw him and recognized who he was! (You would understand if you saw him, for he was dressed no better than I.)
