Page 47 of Daisy and the Duke
Inspired by the shifting colors of the fabric, Daisy unlocked the hidden box where she kept her most precious things, and pulled out the ruby necklace that had once been her mother’s. The delicate gold chain was strung with seven rubies, the largest at the center. Daisy had always loved the piece, for she had a faint memory of her mother wearing it on a Christmas Eve long ago.
Daisy fastened the chain around her neck and then examined herself in the mirror.
“Elaine,” she said, a little shocked at the reflection. “This dress! It’s…”
“Perfect. It looks like it was made just for you!” Elaine put a hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh.
Downstairs, Jacob stared at her with delight. “Oh, it looks like someone wove all the colors out of an autumn morning into the gown, miss,” he said, with uncharacteristic poetry.
“It’s marvelous!” Elaine agreed. “You’ll be the belle of the ball!”
“I’ll fetch the cart,” Jacob said. “Not exactly riding in style, but it will get you there.”
“I suppose that means I’m going after all,” said Daisy, feeling faint.
A ball.
A ball hosted by the Duke of Lyon.
A ball hosted by the incredibly compelling Duke of Lyon.
A ball hosted by the incredibly compelling Duke of Lyon who told her he wanted nothing more than to see her there.
She was so excited to truly be going that she couldn’t suppress a giggle. Elaine told her she’d be lucky to end up at Lyondale and not at Bedlam.
In the cart, she sat carefully, surrounded by a crop of pumpkins and squash that had already been loaded in anticipation of being taken to the village for sale the next day.
As the cart trundled down the road, she began to have second thoughts. She’d enrage her stepmother simply by attending the ball. She looked down at the mask on the seat next to her. Perhaps there was a way to defer the woman’s wrath, at least long enough to enjoy herself for a few hours.
“I’ll leave before she can really see me,” Daisy said to herself. Then she remembered the baroness had said that everyone was announced as usual, revealing their true names. “But if I give a different name…” Daisy murmured, thinking hard.
Lyondale stood tall and grand on its hill. Every window was lit, and guests were arriving from all over the area. Jacob pulled the cart to the side of the drive quite a distance away, realizing that it would look odd to pull up with a crop of pumpkins and a butterfly. “Can you walk from here, miss?” he asked.
“Certainly,” Daisy said, sliding down. “You get back home, Jacob. Thank you so much!”
“Thank you, miss,” he returned with feeling. “Just seeing you dressed up like that makes me think of your fine mother. You enjoy yourself tonight, just as you ought.”
Concealed behind her mask, Daisy walked through the front doors feeling that she was entering another world.
The wonderful dress evidently transformed Daisy to such a degree that several local people didn’t even recognize her, thinking her some aristocratic guest of Lyon’s.
“Your name, my lady?” the majordomo asked diffidently when she walked to the doors of the ballroom.
“Announce me as Lady Wildwood.”
Boomed out in the man’s bass voice, the announcement turned heads, and all eyes turned to Daisy, standing in her finery at the top of the stairs.
Daisy suddenly felt a stab of anxiety. She did not want to draw so much attention. Had she made a mistake? She wanted to slink away into the shadows, but it was too late. Tristan had seen her.
Lord Lyon left off whatever he’d been saying to another guest and headed directly for Daisy.
He looked exactly as handsome as she’d imagined he would. The concept of his costume was a medieval knight, though his main outfit was still very modern. He was dressed in a grey velveteen jacket over a simple white shirt and black pants. The more fanciful parts of his outfit were the mask, which was a silvery leather that evoked a knight’s helmet with face shield, and the “broadsword” at his waist, which was wooden but painted silver. Everything was so well-tailored that the lines of his body were unmistakable.
As he came up to her, though, he said nothing. No greeting, not a word about her outfit, and she worried that she had misunderstood something. Was she dressed all wrong?
“Lady Wildwood, is it?” Tristan asked, his lips curving into a smile as he bowed over her hand. His fingers squeezed hers, the silk gloves doing nothing to prevent the heat of his hand from shooting through her. He added in a low tone, “You look so much like another lady I know, Miss Daisy Merriot.”
“Please don’t tell everyone,” she pleaded.
