Page 7 of Daisy and the Duke
Sighing, she continued on to the parlor. The main part of the house was of course much grander than the kitchens and servants’ quarters. The floors were marbled and the walls hung with expensive silk. However, the last several years had been difficult, and Daisy noticed some troubling signs of neglect. The corners should be dusted more often, the runners taken out and cleaned. She saw wax splotches on the floor beneath a candle sconce and sighed. If only Lady Rutherford would agree to hire a few more housemaids! The Grange deserved to look its best. But Lady Rutherford said that it was quite impossible, explaining, “The late baron, bless his sweet heart, did not invest as well as he ought. We must make do, and hope that Bella makes a splendid match.”
Bella Merriot was the product of Lady Rutherford’s first marriage (she’d been Bella Dunley until her mother married the baron, taking his family name instead). Based upon her beauty alone, it seemed likely that she could marry a prince. Next to her, Daisy felt like a little fieldmouse, dull and dingy and utterly invisible.
Now, upon reaching the parlor door, Daisy paused, hearing her stepmother talking.
“—his arrival is nothing less than a sign, Bella. Long-delayed but inevitable, and we must seize the opportunity at hand. During the London Season, all is chaos and competition, with gossips everywhere to thwart your efforts. Here in the country, you will command every room. Who is more beautiful than you, sweeting? And you must school yourself to never reveal what you may think of his own appearance.”
“Yes, Mama,” a softer voice answered.
Daisy knocked on the door, idly wondering who they were discussing. Lady Rutherford always seemed to know who among the local gentry was coming or going.
“Enter!” Lady Rutherford called in her resonant alto voice, before dropping back to the conversational tone she was using before. “Remember, darling, this is what you want.”
Lady Rutherford sniffed when Daisy came in and approached where she was sitting, as though she smelled something unpleasant. “Oh, there you are, Daisy. I asked for you some time ago.” The implication that Daisy had somehow failed her lingered in the air.
“I came as soon as I heard. What do you require, my lady?” Daisy asked politely.
“Tomorrow, Bella and I will go into Lyonton, for she is in need of some essentials and we must not delay in ordering them. I trust the carriage will be ready at nine.”
“Yes, my lady.” Daisy knew that a wheel needed to be replaced, but Jacob could do that early, if Daisy took over the feeding of the animals and fetching water.
“Just eggs and toast for our breakfasts tomorrow,” Lady Rutherford went on. “Bella is so delicate, you know, and she must not eat too much before a ride. Isn’t that right, darling?”
“Yes, Mama.” The agreement came from the young lady sitting in a chair near the window. She was embroidering while the light was strong. Bella Merriot looked like a porcelain doll, with perfect blond ringlets and wide sea-green eyes that at least one suitor had declared to be “the perfect calm turquoise of the Mediterranean,” though he himself had never been there.
Perfectandcalmdescribed Bella very well. She was the model of a young lady of the aristocracy: beautiful, accomplished, well-mannered, and well-spoken. Daisy had never once heard Bella express an opinion of her own.
Lady Rutherford went on, “The vicar is joining us for supper tonight, and he does so like mushrooms. See to it that they are in at least three of the dishes.”
Alarmed, Daisy said, “Oh, no! We haven’t got any in the kitchen. I could go get some in the village if you would give me next week’s marketing money early…”
“Daisy!” Lady Rutherford said, in a shocked tone. “This is why we must all be grateful that you do not have charge of the finances here at the Grange.Buyingmushrooms when they can be had for free in our very own woods? Nonsense. You must go and harvest them. You always seem to know where they are growing among the dirt.”
“Yes, my lady.” The added task would mean not doing something else today. Could she put off the mending? Or the repairs to the chicken coop?
“What would we do without you, Daisy?” Lady Rutherford said then, smiling in satisfaction. “To think you wanted to run back to that school. This house would not be the same if she were not here, would it, Bella darling?”
“Indeed not, Mama,” Bella agreed, snipping a thread with a pair of delicate brass scissors.
“That will be all, Daisy,” Lady Rutherford said, dismissing her from the parlor and her mind. Daisy dipped into a little curtsey and left.
“Mr. Hornthwaite here for dinner again!” Elaine cried out when Daisy returned to the kitchens and gave her the news. “That man can eat enough for ten, and you’d think he doesn’t have a perfectly good cook of his own at the vicarage. Why that woman enjoys his presence is beyond me.”
“I am going to the woods to find some mushrooms,” Daisy said. “With luck I’ll be back in time, but I think the closest patches are bare. I may have to walk quite a ways.”
Daisy put on her old straw topper to cover her hair, and grabbed the wide basket she liked to use for gathering mushrooms. Perhaps if she was fortunate, she’d find some late berries as well. Anything that could stretch the larder would be welcome.
At this time of year, the most likely place for mushrooms was along a stream in the woods that more or less defined the border of Rutherford Grange and the even grander estate of Lyondale, the seat of the Dukes of Lyon. However grand it might be though, the place usually had an air of desertion. As far as Daisy knew, no one had lived in the great house for years. The last duke chose to spend most of his time in London or abroad, until he died a year ago. Daisy assumed the new duke had the same preferences, for she’d never even heard that he came to view his holdings here.
Abandoning propriety, Daisy picked up the hem of her skirt several inches and ambled along the narrow track leading to the stream. As a child, she spent many hours there in the summer, watching fish and gathering flowers to weave into delicate crowns. The sun kissed the tops of the distant western hills, and the air was cool. She sang as she walked. Daisy’s voice filtered through the trees, but nothing answered her besides the birds. She was totally alone.
That thought brought her sadness as well as relief.
Though she appreciated these few brief moments to herself, when no one could ask her to perform yet another task or tell her one more piece of bad news, she was lately conscious of a loneliness that had never bothered her before.
Now twenty, Daisy was long past the age most daughters of the gentry would have had their debut and entered the marriage mart. She often dreamed of what that path would have been like. The beautiful gowns, the parties, the young men seeking her attention, perhaps a forbidden kiss in a moonlit garden, and perhaps a little more than that…
But what was the use of dreaming now? Daisy had none of the assets so essential for a good marriage among the gentry. She had no title, no dowry, no expectations. True, her lineage was impeccable. Her father had been a baron and her mother’s family traced its origins to the Norman Conquest. But who married for a bloodline when it didn’t come with an estate to match?
