Page 56 of Daisy and the Duke
Then, with a sob, Daisy turned and fled. Beyond the immediate circle of the house, where lanterns blazed, the world was dark, and even in her brightly colored dress, Daisy was soon lost to sight.
A moment passed, and then Tristan ordered someone,anyoneto find her and bring her back. What was Daisy thinking? Running in the dark, on uneven ground in dancing shoes? She’d trip and hurt herself within a minute.
His anger fueling him, Tristan looked over the crowd, most of them still gawking, not helping to locate Daisy in the slightest. And then there was Hornthwaite, smug and self-righteous, the butterfly mask held like a shield in front of him.
“Well, as the festivities are um, over, I suppose we ought to head home?” Lady Weatherby ventured, sounding as if she would rather be anywhere than here.
Tristan didn’t care where she wanted to be.
“No one is leaving,” he declared. “I will discover what has just happened if I have to throw every single one of you into the pond to get answers.” Any objections people might have had to his manner were silenced in the face of his anger.
With the exception of the servants, who were ordered to fan out and locate Daisy before she hurt herself, the whole group was herded back into the ballroom, though there was no gaiety in the air now. Using all his military bearing and his newfound clout as lord, he separated out those people who were involved from the ordinary party-goers, and quickly determined that nearly everyone was ignorant of the matter, with the exception of Hornthwaite and Lady Rutherford. Hornthwaite was the one who unmasked Daisy, claiming it was an accident, and he was the one who first called her a thief. Lady Rutherford staunchly defended the vicar’s claims, adding that many valuable items had gone missing from Rutherford Grange over the years (a fact that Bella hesitantly confirmed).
Tristan didn’t believe the accusations for a minute, but it was clear that Daisy’s running away made the matter worse. The guests were whispering among themselves, and casting glances Tristan’s way, and he heard the nameLady Wildwoodmore than once.
At Jack’s suggestion, most of the guests were dismissed to return to their homes. Tristan added that anyone seeing Daisy on the road should report to Lyondale immediately.
“Or to the magistrate!” one of the guests added helpfully.
“No, to me,” Tristan snapped. He didn’t even know who the magistrate was around here, and he didn’t trust anyone else to help Daisy now.
Then Tristan ordered his own carriage brought up, and he and Jack got in to follow Lady Rutherford’s coach back to the Grange.
Surely, Daisy would be heading home, and with luck, they’d see her trudging along the road within a few minutes.
“What was the man thinking?” Tristan grumbled, remembering Hornthwaite holding the mask. “Exposing her like that?”
“The identity of Lady Wildwood was the subject of much speculation all evening,” Jack told him. “And small wonder. She was the only woman you had eyes for. So much for finding a suitable match tonight.”
“I don’t want anyone but Daisy.”
“That is clear enough,” Jack said drily.
Tristan realized what his friend meant. The fact was that he showed far too much attention to a specific woman tonight, and that if anyone did know that he and Daisy were alone together in the house, her reputation would be in tatters.
And of course, there was also the little fact that she was no longer a virgin.
Tristan meant to talk to Daisy on the balcony earlier, to explain to her about the financial straits he was in, and how he intended to find the next heir, and if the man was suitable, Tristan would renounce the title of duke and pass it on so he could be with Daisy.
But then all hell broke loose.
He had to find her, tonight. The road to Rutherford Grange seemed interminable, and Tristan spent every second peering out the carriage window to see if he could glimpse Daisy along the way.
She was well ahead of them, though, even on foot (and not even fully shod, for a servant had quickly located one lost slipper in the fields nearest Lyondale). Jack told him to sit back, and not jump out of the carriage altogether.
“She’ll be at the Grange,” Jack said. “And you can talk to her there and get this whole theft nonsense sorted. Personally, I think Hornthwaite just likes stirring up trouble.”
However, at Rutherford Grange, Daisy was nowhere to be found. Following Lady Rutherford’s anemic calls for her stepdaughter to appear, Tristan took over, ordering the servants (how could such a large estate employ so few?) to investigate every single room, outbuilding, and shed on the property. He himself went to the stables, but was told that all the horses—only three!—plus the mule were accounted for. When asked where Daisy might be, the stable boy merely shrugged. “She’s always lived at the Grange, sir.”
That was true, and Daisy clearly felt it was her home. So where could she be?
After a fruitless search and some very unsatisfying answers from the servants, Tristan threw himself onto a chair in Lady Rutherford’s large but dim drawing room.
Bella was there, offering a drink to Jack, who had been too tired to join the search himself. Bella was still dressed in her snow princess costume, and she looked out of place in the dark, shabby room.
Lady Rutherford sat in front of the fire. Hornthwaite had left shortly after seeing the ladies home, citing the need to return to the vicarage to prepare for the Sunday service, which was three days away.
Daisy’s mask was nowhere to be seen.
