Page 14 of Daisy and the Duke
Heather, you have always been the fearless one among us and so it is you I must ask. What should I do concerning this acquaintance, which is both dizzying and terrifying to contemplate? I am all too well aware of my social position, my lack of wealth, to even attract a gentleman, let alone one so exalted as a duke. And yet, I dare to hope that he has looked on me with a certain regard that is unfeigned. And he does not seem at all what I would have expected a duke to be. But perhaps I am letting my heart run away with my head. When he sees Bella, he’ll no doubt forget me. Advise me to forget him, dear friend, and I will heed your wisdom. Or I will try! But I must hear the thoughts of another whom I trust, for my own thoughts are a maelstrom….
Daisy put down the pen, wearied by recounting even the bare facts of her encounter with the duke. If she told her friend Heather all the truth—that the man had (maybe, perhaps) nearly kissed her while they were riding—well, even Heather might faint.
All in all, it had been a most disturbing day. Immediately after the duke had left, Lady Rutherford insisted on hearing all the details of Daisy’s encounter, mostly to divine any clues that would help her own daughter’s pursuit of him. Hence there were dozens of questions about whether he mentioned other ladies in the county, or if he expressed a preference for a certain color, or if he had hobbies.
“Well, he was riding when he came upon me. And the horse is worth a fortune on its own,” Daisy said, hoping the scrap of information would placate her stepmother. (It was difficult enough to relate a safer, more boring version of the meeting—one that did not include her memory of riding with her body pressed to his.)
“Excellent,” Lady Rutherford had purred. “Bella rides well, and she can use the good horse for any excursion with the duke. I must ensure she has a new riding habit made. Go finish dinner, dear Daisy. The vicar will be here at any moment.”
Daisy did not eat with the family most evenings, and certainly never when the vicar, Mr. Hornthwaite, came. She avoided him as much as possible. For a man of God, he was astonishingly petty and venal. Yet Lady Rutherford counted him a great friend, and often had him to Rutherford Grange. Daisy wondered if the vicar’s favor was why people in the village were always so polite to Lady Rutherford and her daughter, even the tradesmen who were constantly owed money.
As usual, Daisy ate with Elaine and Jacob and the other servants, then sat by the fire mending clothes while Elaine cleaned up the kitchen, singing Welsh folk songs. Elaine sang as naturally as other people breathed, and her choice of tune signaled her mood. Welsh songs invariably meant she was feeling out of sorts and ready to do battle. Jacob raised one eyebrow at Daisy and whispered, “The vicar’s presence always brings out her Welsh side. Don’t worry, lamb, she’ll be sunny again tomorrow.”
After the vicar left and the house was quieting, Daisy went upstairs with an armful of mended clothing. She deposited one gown on Lady Rutherford’s bed. A housemaid who was tidying up nodded in thanks. “Oh, you mended that! Thank goodness, Miss Daisy. You’ve got a finer hand than I do, and those ruffles haunt me. Her ladyship’s always treading on them and she refuses to have it taken up.”
Daisy knew why it was so. Lady Rutherford wished most passionately that she were two inches taller, and she believed a longer gown would convey the impression that she herself was taller. In fact, the only result was that Daisy mended hems regularly.
She continued to Bella’s room with the bulk of the clothing. Daisy put the gowns into the clothespress herself, which was where Bella found her when she walked in.
“Is it true that you mistook a duke for a stableboy?” Bella asked, her voice quiet but incredulous. “Mama told me just before the meal.”
“He was exercising a horse when I encountered him,” Daisy said defensively. “And he did not once mention his title until your mother saw him and shouted it from the rooftops.”
“Oh, Daisy, how could you not put two and two together? His name…”
“How was I supposed to know? He introduced himself as Mr. Brooks, not His Grace, Duke of Lyon!”
“But it’s all anyone’s been talking about for weeks. The new duke is a war hero, scarred in battle. He’s young. And he’s finally come to Lyondale, a year after gaining the title. Honestly.”
“Perhaps that’s the talk over tea, but I’m not taking tea with you and your mother and those who come calling.” No, Daisy was usually overseeing the making and serving of the tea. How could she hear any gossip among the society ladies?
Bella was regarding her with narrowed eyes. “How long did you speak with him?”
“Not long,” Daisy hedged, sticking to the story she’d offered Lady Rutherford. “He simply happened to be passing me along the track. And he slowed down and walked with me to Rutherford Grange. Out of a sense of chivalry, I suspect. He offered to carry the mushrooms,” she added suddenly, remembering her amusement at the gallantry.
“Well, it sounds as if he’s got some manners, even if his background is…odd.”
“Odd?”
“Daisy, do you listen to anything? That man ought never to become a duke. There were four—five? No, four—men ahead of him, with titles already and breeding besides. He’s a third cousin or some such.Barelygentry. He’s never spent time among society and he’s half-savage from serving in the army. But fate plucked him from the heap and placed him at the top of the ten thousand. Like putting a crown on a puppy dog.”
“Do you think the new duke needs to be housebroken?” Daisy asked innocently. “Shall we send some old newspaper over?”
“Daisy!” Bella covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. “That is a most improper subject to jest about.”
“I shan’t repeat it.”
“What does he look like?” Bella asked. “The rumor is that he’s crippled and twisted up and acts like a brute.”
“Nonsense,” Daisy declared. “Yes, he’s got a scar on his face. But he’s tall and rides well and is very hand—” She broke off, scared that she might reveal too much of her raw impressions of the man. “He was quite civilized,” she said. “A brute would not have escorted me home.”
“That’s true,” Bella mused. “All the same, I’m afraid of him.”
Daisy hadn’t felt scared in the duke’s presence. And yet she could guess that he would be very intimidating if he chose. A soldier by trade, and now one of the most powerful men in the land…perhaps Bella was right to be nervous.
But Bella would still obey her mother and try to win a proposal from him.What a strange world, Daisy thought as she headed to her own bedroom.
She had a chamber in the old Norman part of the house, a square block that towered over the newer structure. Daisy liked it, because it was out of the way and offered a fine view of the forest to the east, which made for a pleasant way to get up in the mornings. It was furnished oddly. The bedframe was a massive thing in dark stained oak, carved all over with little flowers. The bed must have been three hundred years old, and was now horribly out of fashion. The rest of the furniture—a table and chair, the washstand, a small cabinet for clothing—were all similarly mismatched, drawn from other places in Rutherford Grange. Daisy didn’t mind at all. Everything in this room belonged to her family, and thus it was part of her.
