Page 41 of Daisy and the Duke
Perhaps there were a few benefits to being a duke, he thought, recalling his encounter with Daisy. He’d never meant for it to go so far, but one thing had led to another, and Daisy’s innocent enthusiasm and her utterly bewitching lack of prudery led Tris much further than he’d intended. Before he could think twice, he was so deep into lust that he was absolutely ready to take her virginity, right there in the woods.
That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?she’d asked, not accusingly, but certainly with a clear-eyed realization that Tristan was taking advantage of her. It didn’t much matter that she wanted him to—if he’d listened to her and made love to her then, he’d still be a heel. Tristan could name a dozen soldiers in his regiment alone who had left young women ruined or pregnant, not through malice but sheer stupidity. Men did not exactly think straight when alone with a woman. This simple fact was undoubtably why the daughters of the gentry were kept under lock and key until they were engaged. If Daisy hadn’t lost her inheritance, Tristan wouldn’t have been allowed within a hundred feet of her without a chaperone.
He’d have to guard himself closer in the future, at least until he could figure out how to formally propose to Daisy without the whole shire going up in flames. Because Tristan was certain of one thing: if he wasn’t going to have Daisy, he wasn’t going to have any woman.
Tristan entered the parlor, drawn to the sound of music. Inside, candles glittered in crystal sconces while Miss Wallis played the pianoforte with admirable skill. Jack was there as well, sitting in a velvet upholstered chair, listening attentively, though a book lay facedown on his lap.
Tristan waited until the song ended before stepping through the doorway. “Good evening,” he said. “You play wonderfully, Miss Wallis.”
“Thank you,” she replied with a nod. “His grace bought this piano for me.” She stood up, tidying the loose sheets of music on the top of the pianoforte. “If you’ll excuse me, I do think it’s time to retire. Good night.”
Jack stood up as Miss Wallis left the room, and Tristan was glad his friend was feeling well enough to be able to observe the little niceties of etiquette again. Tris knew it killed Jack to be thought impolite, even though it was quite clear that his illness was the cause.
As Tris walked to the side table to pour himself a brandy, Jack sank back down to the chair. “You missed supper,” he noted. “I think Miss Wallis was worried that you’d fallen off your horse and snapped your neck somewhere. She was only playing so long to keep me company, and to keep her own mind occupied.”
“I was perfectly fine,” Tristan said with a laugh. “Just a long ride, that’s all.” But the words made him realize once again that his actions did matter to other people, even the simple action of staying alive affected the whole household and estate. He added, contritely, “I suppose I should make an effort to return before dark.” And after all, soon he wouldn’t need to haunt the woods, waiting to run into Daisy because his letters all somehow went astray. Soon, it would all be solved!
Jack gestured to the desk. “By the way, your correspondence is there, just in case you don’t want to wait till morning. Including a package from London, I note.”
He eagerly moved to the desk, putting down the glass of brandy and picking up the slightly bulky package from London. Yes, there was the name of the appraiser he sent the diamond to. Tristan felt a thrill of excitement. This note would contain the confirmation he needed to live life his way. He could take care of the declining estate. He could set Miss Wallis up with an annual income so she never need fear being made homeless. He could get Jack back on his feet and ready to open his own law office, if he liked. He could ask Daisy to be his wife, with no concern about her lack of dowry or the cries of the local worthies that he picked an unsuitable girl. Daisy—Miss Margaret Merriot—was eminently suitable, and everyone would know it when they saw her dressed as a duchess, dripping with diamonds from the duke’s very own mine.
“Well?” Jack’s voice interrupted his reverie. “Are you going to open it?”
“Yes, yes.” Tristan shook himself. “I was just…thinking of all this means.”
He could see that Jack was as impatient as himself, so he cut the string and opened the package. The diamond half rolled out of the paper it had been wrapped in, and Tristan picked it up and cradled it as he took the letter in his other hand. He skimmed the first paragraph, then…
…I wish to assure you, your grace, that I took all possible care in examining this stone, to be sure that a mistake was not made. The most detailed tests were conducted. I regret to report that although it superficially resembles a diamond in the rough, and to most eyes would be assumed to be a diamond, this stone is not of the same mineral composition as a true diamond, even a low-quality one with multiple imperfections. It is a variety of quartz, which has no value on the market for precious minerals.
Unfortunately, it is all too easy to mistake this type of stone for diamond. The fault is certainly not your own, and I am glad that I could correct any misapprehension at an early stage. A full report of the examination is enclosed. If your grace has any further questions, my firm stands ready to answer them at your convenience, and of course we are most happy to conduct business on your behalf if you are interested in purchasing or selling real diamonds. It is an honor to serve your grace in this matter….
Tristan read the words over and over, trying to fit them into his universe, and failing.
“What’s it say?” Jack asked anxiously. “What is the conclusion? Is it not a good diamond?”
“It’s not a diamond at all.” Tristan swallowed, his throat painfully tight. “It’s just a stone. A rock. A piece of trash. Cater now has ten thousand pounds of my money to dig up some useless rock.”
“Give me the letter.”
Tristan handed the Jack the letter and the folded report. He could barely think. How was this possible? John Cater wouldn’t lie, not a good friend like him, but the partner, this man who Cater met… He could be a swindler ready to steal from all of them.
And like a fool, Tristan walked right into the trap.
Paper crinkled while Jack read over the report, his legal mind no doubt taking in every word.
“I’m so sorry, Tris,” he said at last, a soft and un-lawyerly phrase that made Tristan understand that things were dire indeed.
“There’s no way to get the loan recalled, is there?” Tristan asked.
“No. By definition, any such investment is a gamble, and—”
“And I lost. God, what am I going to do now?”
“I don’t know, Tris. It was a nice thought, having a source of income that would free you from the usual expectations of your position, and the financial issues you’re facing. But I warned you…”
“You did,” Tristan said, gripping the stone in his fist. That damned stone. He’d dreamed of having it cut into a fabulous shape, put in a necklace, and offering it to Daisy on the day he married her.
But the stone was nothing. In a sudden fit of rage, he hurled it into the fireplace. It bounced against the fireback and dropped into the flames. He hoped it melted and disappeared forever.
