Page 27 of Daisy and the Duke
“Use your head, Bella,” Lady Rutherford said. “This Mr. Kemble is the duke’s closest friend. If you earn his good opinion, it will no doubt further your appeal in the duke’s eyes. And you will appear to be most concerned for his health, which will reflect favorably on you as well. For a successful marriage, all advantages must be considered. Now, he’s about to look over. When he does, smile and nod. Just a little.”
“Yes, Mama.” Bella cast her gaze under her lashes to watch the approach of the men without seeming too bold. Then, just as Jackson Kemble lifted his hand to the brim of his hat, Bella gave him a sweet smile.
“Good morning, Lady Rutherford, Miss Bella. And Miss Daisy.” He still looked very pale in Daisy’s estimation. “It should be excellent weather for a ride.”
“Indeed, Mr. Kemble,” Bella responded. “Do you ride often?”
“Not so much lately,” he admitted with a laugh. “Perhaps I ought to have a minder.”
“I should be glad to take on the task, Mr. Kemble,” Bella said demurely.
He looked nonplussed for a moment, but then said, “That would be very kind of you, my lady.”
Behind Lady Rutherford’s austere expression, Daisy could recognize a certain giddiness. She was relentlessly executing her plan to make Bella a duchess within a year.
And all Daisy could do was watch.
Tristan said, “The grooms have laid out a path for us. I’m still not familiar enough with the estate to pick out my own route.”
“Ah, then I shall ride beside you,” Lady Rutherford said, pouncing on this opportunity. “For I am well acquainted with the whole area. It would be my pleasure to point out the other houses and estates you’ll want to know.”
Tristan nodded in agreement, his eyes flickering only briefly to Daisy. She’d never felt more invisible.
The signal came to begin the ride, and the whole party started off, stretching naturally into a longer train as various riders found the pace that suited them. At the head of the group, of course, the duke himself rode, joined by the baroness.
Daisy, no longer a very confident rider considering it had been years since she’d ridden for pleasure, allowed her own mount to choose its speed, which was slower than most of the others.Just as well, Daisy thought.This is where I am supposed to be. Trailing along behind, only able to watch while others do what they wish.
* * * *
About a half hour into the ride, Tristan was so tired of Lady Rutherford’s chatter. The woman passed judgment on literally every topic that came up, and Tristan wondered how anyone could even have that many opinions on such trivial matters. When pointing out the distant sight of the home owned by Lady Weatherby (who rode somewhere behind them), Lady Rutherford added that the place was cramped and depressingly dark inside. When gesturing to Lord Dallmire in the course of another conversation, Lady Rutherford noted that he looked very fat. Tristan wondered what the lady said about his own appearance when he was not present—surely his scarred face was a matter of disappointment to her.
He tried to steer the conversation to a safer place, reminding the baroness that he’d still very like to arrange a meeting with the estate manager of the Grange. The baroness looked almost offended or alarmed, and then hastily promised to sort it out soon. “After all, no one wants to think about such mundane things if they don’t have to. Certainly, I don’t worry about it. Oh, look at that ramshackle building over there. It ought to be burned down.”
Seemingly, nothing and no one could please her…other than her daughter, Bella. Lady Rutherford praised her to the skies, telling Tristan that she was a perfect angel, schooled in every little thing a lady would need to know to run a great house, even one so grand as Lyondale.
It was all very obvious, and Tristan resisted the urge to roll his eyes. In fact, Lady Rutherford’s behavior actively repelled him. Bella might be the most beautiful woman in England for all he knew. But she’d be a lot more beautiful without a mother like Lady Rutherford hovering nearby.
At last, he couldn’t take it anymore. He suddenly wedged one heel into the flank of his horse, causing a startled whinny.
“Oh, no,” Tristan said. “He might have injured a hoof.” Immediately, Tristan dismounted and pulled the horse to the side of the path. “You go on, my lady,” he ordered firmly. “I’ll catch up as soon as I can. I mustn’t deny you the pleasure of the ride.”
Without a clear reason to stay, Lady Rutherford was forced to continue on with the group. Tristan knelt by Stormer’s front leg, picking up the hoof and examining it closely. The horse was perfectly fine, and clearly confused by Tristan’s behavior.
“Sorry, boy,” he whispered. “It’s a necessary deception.” A chunk of apple went a long way to mending Stormer’s mood, and the horse crunched on it happily while Tristan pretended to be worried about his leg.
Just then a young groom rode up, concern on his face. “Your grace! Is the horse lame?”
Tristan motioned him over. He was one of the brighter boys who worked in the stables, and Tristan decided he could be trusted with a small covert operation.
“Listen here, Timothy. It is Timothy, yes? Good. I want you to ride back and fetch a farrier’s rasp. Bring it back here.”
“Sir? Will that help?”
“No, but it won’t hurt. And it will give me some breathing room. Now go, not too fast… and not a word to anyone.”
“Yes, sir!” The boy wheeled about, his horse trotting back toward the house at a pace that looked more frantic than it was.
Tristan waved other riders by, telling them that a groom was already handling the issue. He actually enjoyed the moment of quiet in the woods.
