Page 59 of Daisy and the Duke
“Nonsense. Miss Tabitha requested that we help, and that is what we’ll do.”
“How do you know Tabitha?”
“Well, I never met her personally,” Lucy said. “But let us say that we have mutual friends, who are deeply loyal, if a tad disreputable.”
Daisy found the explanation quite mysterious, but it seemed that Lucy wasn’t about to give more details. And in any case, Daisy ought not to look a gift horse (or coach) in the mouth. She needed to get away from Lyondale and the Grange, and this was how she could do it.
Lucy asked no questions about Daisy’s predicament beyond wondering if Jem should be looking over his shoulder.
“No one would dream I’d be in a coach, especially not one this excellent,” Daisy said. “I’m nobody.”
“You look like somebody to me, Miss Daisy. Do you like lamb? I’ve got a lamb pie in the hamper here. And some cheese. And some apples…”
And so it was that Daisy arrived in London well-fed and well-rested, and given a place to sleep at a lovely house on Quince Street. In the city the next day, she was able to arrange for another hired coach to take her to Wildwood Hall. This one was the standard quality coach, and held four other passengers. But the ride was shorter, and Daisy was standing at the gates of Wildwood Hall just as the sun was setting.
Chapter 16
Back in Gloucestershire, the searchfor Daisy Merriot went on, though it was increasingly clear that she was no longer in the area, having been spirited away somehow, by someone, for how was it possible that a young lady dressed as a butterfly could just disappear?
On the morning after the ball, Tristan was optimistic that Daisy would be found shortly, and that he could sort out any misunderstanding.
The second morning, his mood could be more accurately described as frantic.
The third morning, despair set in.
And finally, Tristan had reverted to his most terrible mood, the bitter rage that he lived in after his injury. He growled at nearly everyone he saw, wondering why not a single one of them could bring him news of Daisy.
It made no sense. If she had hurt herself on her flight back to the Grange, she would have been found. The fields and roads and paths between the two estates had been searched over and over again in the days following the ball.
If she prevailed upon a neighbor to host her, someone at that house would have passed the news onto the duke, whether a servant or the neighbors themselves.
And if she tried to leave the area via public conveyance, she would have been spotted on the coaches for hire that passed through Lyonton.
But she remained missing, and the manner of her disappearance only became more puzzling the longer people searched for her.
One day, a week after the initial search began, Tristan did not get out of bed. What was the point? Daisy was gone.
A maid entered to open the curtains and light the fire, but she didn’t dare disturb the master. A footman came in a bit later, bearing Tristan’s customary tray of coffee and several newspapers. And then his valet entered, asking if Tristan expected to rise before noon.
“No,” Tristan growled. Then, “What time is it?”
“Ten minutes to noon, sir.”
“Damn it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“No news?” He didn’t have to ask that, knowing that if there had been news of Daisy, good or bad, people would be knocking down his door.
“Nothing concerning Miss Merriot, sir. You do have a package postmarked from Calcutta. Arrived this morning on the London post coach.”
“A package?” Tristan couldn’t think what it would be. Perhaps it was a cobra, to put him out of his misery.
“I’ll leave it by your coffee, your grace. Do ring should you want to dress for dinner.” The valet left, with that silent swiftness only the very best servants mastered.
It was the aroma of coffee, rather than the promise of news, that got Tristan out of bed. But once he had a cup in him, he felt up to opening the package and finding out just what more horrible news John Cater had for him.
A letter was attached to the package, and Tris opened that first.
