Page 42 of Daisy and the Duke
“I’m never going to get the money back,” he muttered. The bank could come down on him at any moment, demanding repayment or taking the very land from under him. Land he now realized meant something to him after all, land that kept people working and fed. And he was so stupid that he risked it all on a whim. “What am I going to do?”
“Hold a ball.”
“What?”
“Listen to me, Tris. You tried one way, and it didn’t work. Now it’s back to the old reliable.You have to marry well. Find some eligible lady who’s got the income you need, and you’ll give her the title she needs. This is how things work.”
“I hate how things work.”
“You don’t have to love it, but you do have to do it. People are depending on you.”
Tristan knew Jack was right. He knew it all too well.
* * * *
Daisy heard snatches of rumors through the network of servants in the region, since servants made for the very best gossips. Every time something was delivered to the Grange, people talked. Every time Elaine went to the village, people talked. Apparently the duke was planning something, something big enough to get the whole county murmuring. In the kitchen of the Grange, Daisy kept to her work and was merely glad that none of the gossip was about the duke meeting a certain young lady in the woods one afternoon.
The stolen hour she’d shared with Tristan seemed more and more like a dream with every passing day. Was it possible that they’d really lain that close together and touched each other the way they did? Was it possible that Daisy exposed her body and heart in such a shameless way? Was it possible that she was hopelessly in love?
The last question was what occupied her day in and day out. Daisy worried very much that she’d let her heart run away, all the way to a duke. And considering her situation, there was no hope of winning him. He would court some daughter of the gentry in a calm and proper manner. He’d marry her and bring her to Lyondale, where she’d be the new duchess, all while Daisy watched from the servants’ quarters of Rutherford Grange, her heart broken and battered.
How could she have let this happen? The first meeting was pure chance, but after that…she’d allowed herself to believe in impossibilities. And Tristan took her interest as any man would, and enjoyed the clandestine moments without promising anything. And honestly, what could he promise? Was it Tristan’s dream to marry the impoverished daughter of a dead neighbor, who now had no title and no legacy to speak of? No. He liked Daisy, and she was clear-eyed enough to know that he had taken risks to spend time with her, risks he should have avoided.
But the end of their story was inevitable. Daisy might wish otherwise, but what good could a wish do against the full force of society and tradition?
Then one morning a footman from Lyondale arrived at the Grange with a letter for Lady Rutherford. Daisy happened to be in the parlor when the baroness received it, and thus was present for the woman’s cry of delight as she read the news out loud.
“Ah, at last! The Duke of Lyon is holding a ball. A masquerade ball, at Lyondale!”
“When, Mama?” Bella asked.
“In ten days. My goodness, that’s not much time. We shall have to ensure that you look absolutely perfect, darling. This is a very important event, I don’t have to tell you. When the duke sees you arrive, he must be dazzled.”
“If it’s a masquerade,” Daisy asked, “how would he know who has arrived?”
“Silly Daisy,” the baroness said indulgently. “You’ve never been to such an event. Yes, the guests are masked. But everyone is announced the same as ever. The costumes are merely for fun.”
“What do you want your costume to be, Daisy?” Bella asked. “I’ve got no notion what I should go as.”
“Daisy is not attending.” The baroness’s words were soft, but attracted the attention of both girls.
“Am I not invited?” Daisy asked, feeling her heart contract. Would Tristan do that, perhaps to send her a message that their brief dalliance was over?
“Technically, you are. The Merriot Family, it says, and you are a Merriot.”
I’m more of a Merriot than you, Daisy thought, rebellion, so long held in check, now rising in her all at once.I wasborna Merriot.
“But my dear, what would you wear? You have nothing and ten days is not enough time. The inclusion of you in the invitation is simply the result of how it is worded. A politeness, nothing more.”
The matter-of-factness in her stepmother’s tone made Daisy want to cry. Was that it? She was nothing, just an appendage who had been inconveniently named Merriot, so that her stepmother couldn’t simply toss her out with the rest of the rubbish.
Bella was silent, staring at them both with wide blue eyes. What thought lay beyond them—if any—Daisy couldn’t tell.
Then the baroness folded the invitation back up and smiled. “Well, we’ve a lot to do, haven’t we? Bella, we must go to your room and see what gown will be best adapted for a costume. There is just no time for one from whole cloth. That sky-blue one with the pearls is your finest. Perhaps we will make you into a snow princess? With a silver and pearl tiara and a long fur-trimmed cape. Wouldn’t that be pretty?”
“Yes, Mama,” Bella murmured, and her mother swept her along to the upper floor, leaving Daisy alone in the room.
The silence surrounded her, a vast, empty feeling that left Daisy cold. Her eyes pricked, and she was suddenly having difficulty breathing. So this was what it was like to be forgotten.
