Heart of a Duke 04 - Loved By a Duke Read online

  Except with the relief at having paid his requisite visit, there was guilt. A new niggling of guilt that didn’t have to do with his failures the night Lionel had been killed, and everything do with the sudden, staggering truth that Daisy Meadows was on her third Season, unwed, and…he shuddered, romantic.

  Bloody hell. The girl had grown up and he wanted as little do with Daisy dreaming of a love match as he did with a scheming matchmaking mama with designs upon his title. The pressure was too great to not err where she was concerned.

  He reached the foyer. The late Marquess of Roxbury’s devoted, white-haired butler stood in wait, Auric’s black cloak in his hands. “Your carriage awaits, Your Grace.” There was much to be said for a man who’d leave the employ of the man who inherited the title and remain on the more modest staff of the marchioness and her daughter.

  “Thank you, Frederick,” he murmured to the servant he’d known since his boyhood.

  The man inclined his head as Auric shrugged into his cloak and then Auric hesitated. As a duke he enlisted the help of very few. He didn’t go about making inquiries to servants, particularly other peoples’ servants, and yet, this was the butler who’d demonstrated discretion with his and Lionel’s every scheme through the years. A man who’d rejected the post of butler to the new Marquess of Roxbury following the other man’s death and remained loyal to Daisy and her mother. “Tell me, Frederick, is there…” He flicked an imaginary piece of lint from his sleeve. “Has a certain gentleman captured Lady Daisy’s attentions?”

  “Beg pardon, Your Grace?”

  “A gentleman.” He made a show of adjusting his cloak. “More particularly an unworthy gentleman you,” I, “would worry of where the lady is concerned?” A gentleman with dishonorable intentions, perhaps, or one of those bounders after her dowry, who’d take advantage of her whimsical hopes of love. He fisted his hands wanting to end the faceless, nameless, and still, as of now, fictional fiend.

  Frederick lowered his voice. “Not an unworthy gentleman, Your Grace. No.”

  Auric released a breath as the old servant rushed to pull open the door. Except as he strode down the handful of steps toward his waiting carriage, he glanced back at the closed door, a frown on his lips as the butler’s words registered through his earlier relief.

  Not an unworthy gentleman… Not. No. Not. There is no gentleman who’s captured the lady’s affection.

  That suggested there was, in fact, a gentleman. And Daisy, with her silly romantic sentiments required more of a careful eye. “Bloody hell,” he muttered as he climbed inside his carriage. He had an obligation to Lionel, and to Daisy, his friend’s sister.

  Whether he wished it or not.

  Chapter 2

  Seated at the edge of Lady Harrison’s ballroom floor, Daisy fiddled with her skirts. Couples whirled past in an explosion of colorful satin gowns. She eyed the dancers longingly and tapped her slippers noiselessly to the one-two-three rhythm of the waltz.

  …it doesn’t matter that you’re a horrid dancer. When you love something enough as you do, it will come. Now focus. One-two-three. One-two-three…

  The gentle chiding words spoken long ago whispered around her memory so strongly she glanced about, almost expecting her brother to be there, staunch, supportive, and at her side as he’d always been. Alas, the delicate chairs alongside hers remained fittingly empty. The aching hole that would forever remain in her heart throbbed and as she rubbed at her chest. She searched for one particular gentleman whose reassuring presence always drove back the agony of missing Lionel. Alas, every other unwedded young lady waited in breathless anticipation for the Duke of Crawford’s rumored arrival as well. Except, with the rapidity in which he’d taken flight that afternoon, as though her townhouse was ablaze and he was bent on survival, Daisy was sure she was in fact, the last person he cared to see.

  She sat back in her seat and sighed. For all the bothersome business of being invisible, there were certain benefits. She touched her gloved fingers to her bare neck as the silly thought that had taken root earlier that afternoon had since grown. The pendant. She required a necklace. Nay, not any necklace, but that whispered about heart worn by the Countess of Stanhope and the woman before her—the countess’ twin sister.

  Both strangers to Daisy. She slowly stood, shifting her gaze to her mama locked in conversation. Eyes blank, lips moving, the marchioness was her usual empty shell and certainly wouldn’t note if her invisible daughter did something as scandalous as slip away from the ballroom. Alone. Unchaperoned. Nor would she likely care if she did note such a shocking aberration from Daisy’s predictable self.

  From across the room, a flash of burnt orange skirts stood vibrant amidst the sea of whites and ivory. Daisy’s heart kicked up a swifter beat as the lovely, golden-blonde woman stole an almost searching glance about and then took her leave of the ballroom.

  Before her courage left her, Daisy skirted the edge of the dance floor and slipped from the crush of Lady Harrison’s annual event. Her slippered footsteps silent on the carpeted floors, she stole down her host’s corridor. She fixed her gaze on the burnt orange satin skirts as they disappeared around the corridor and quickened her step, detesting her rather short legs that tended to complicate the whole hurrying about business. Daisy reached the end of the hall and turned in time to see her quarry slip inside her host’s conservatory.

  No good could really come to a lady sneaking off to her host’s conservatory. She lengthened her stride and made her way down the passageway. Then, a good deal more freedom was permitted married women. Daisy, on the other hand, flirted with ruin sneaking about her host’s opulent townhouse.

  She paused outside the room and peeked her head inside. The young woman with pale golden ringlets sat on a bench examining a torn hem. Slim, blonde, with blue eyes and flawless skin, the beauty represented everything plump, freckled, Daisy with her plain, brown hair would never be. She’d accepted her lack of uniqueness amongst diamonds of the first water. Yet, in this instant, in this very moment, she would trade her two smallest fingers for a smidgeon of the perfect, English beauty possessed by the young woman.

  “Blast and double blast,” the woman muttered.

  Daisy paused. For with that single curse, it removed the air of perfection Daisy had ascribed to the lady and made her human, and more…approachable. She cleared her throat. “My lady?”

  Lady Stanhope shrieked. The bench beneath her tipped precariously backward and, for one horrifying, infinitesimal moment that stretched to eternity, Daisy suspected the woman would tumble backwards.

  Then miraculously the bench teetered forward and righted itself.

  Filled with horror, Daisy rushed over. “Oh, my lady, forgive me.” Mortified heat blazed in her cheeks. She’d nearly upended the lovely countess. Accustomed to the cool rigidity of other ladies of the ton, Daisy braced in anticipation of a scathing reprimand.

  Instead, she received a smile. “Oh, worry not.” The recently wedded young lady waved a hand “It certainly would not have been the first time I’d toppled myself over.”

  She’d spent the better part of three weeks resenting this woman. Daisy wanted to hate her, wanted to despise her for having had everything Daisy herself desired. But she couldn’t. Not with her smile and humility. “That is kind of you to say, my lady,” she said pragmatically. “But it was entirely my fault.” She’d always had a rather unfortunate tendency of knocking objects over. It would seem she’d now add people to that rather bothersome habit.

  “Hardly,” Lady Stanhope assured her. She motioned to her frayed hem. “I tore my gown and sought a moment of privacy.” A pretty blush stained her cheeks and Daisy knew nothing about matters of stolen interludes and clandestine meetings, but she knew the countess waited for someone.

  Envy, dark and ugly, twisted inside Daisy, as she considered whom the countess had stolen away to meet. Surely the proper, polite Duke of Crawford didn’t dally with wedded ladies? Except on the heel of that was the ugly niggling th
ought of him dallying with any woman. Jealousy tightened her stomach into pained knots and she clasped her hands close to her waist in an attempt to dull the sensation. “My lady,” she began. “I am Lady Daisy Meadows.” Horrid name. Couldn’t have had been given a light, feminine name such as Anne or a regal, stately name such as Katherine.

  The countess’ smile widened, the warmth of it sparkled in her blue eyes. Blue. Not brown. “Please, no need for such formality. It is just Anne.”

  A woman of her beauty, with her husky, melodic tone, could never be just anything. Which brought her back to the matter of this orchestrated exchange. To calm her trembling fingers, Daisy smoothed her palms over her pale yellow skirts. “My lady…Anne,” she amended. She took a deep breath and then looked around. When she returned her attention to the countess, she found the other woman studying her, head cocked at a slight angle.

  “Is there something I might help you with, Lady Daisy?”

  “Daisy,” she corrected. “Please, just Daisy.” No other lady, certainly not any of Daisy’s acquaintance anyway, would offer assistance with such sincerity. Which made it vastly easier to continue. “I heard tell of a necklace,” she said softly. Even as the words left her mouth the inherent silliness in believing in such a talisman struck.

  Lady Stanhope stared, unblinking. “A necklace?” The question came haltingly.

  Daisy nodded. She touched her neck. “A heart pendant, to be precise. I heard it had been worn by you and your sister and…and others. That whoever wears this pendant will possess the heart of a duke.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she bit the inside of her cheek. Cool practicality reared its head once more and the shame of both her boldness and foolishness in believing in enchanted objects. “Er, forgive me,” she said hurriedly. “I…” am a fool. She turned to go.

  “Wait,” the woman’s exclamation stayed her movement.

  Daisy forced her legs to move and slowly faced Lady Anne once more. Pained embarrassment coursed through her being. It curled her toes and burned her cheeks.

  “Oh,” the countess said. A smile played about her bow-shaped lips. “You’ve heard of the pendant.”

  A thrill of hope drove back all previous shame. “It is true, then.” The words escaped her on a breathy whisper. She’d learned long ago that all tales spread by gossips only contained the tiniest shreds of truth, if any, and had suspected the legend of the heart was nothing more than fool’s gossip.

  Lady Stanhope stood and wandered closer to the massive worktable, littered in pink peonies and crimson roses, and two flutes filled to the brim with bubbling champagne. The fragrant scent of spring wafted about the glass conservatory, at odds with the crisp, cool of the unseasonable late spring night. “It is true.”

  Hope flared in Daisy’s breast. “I knew it,” she whispered, more to herself. She’d ceased believing in magic and fate seven years ago, but in this, this she’d dared hope. Because the emotion, though buried, somehow nudged part of her heart, reminding her that it still dwelt inside her. Real and…there. Even as she denied it to herself. “May—” Daisy wet her lips, quelling the forward question she longed to ask. She was nothing more than a stranger to this woman and had no right to ask this horribly intimate favor. The woman stared on encouragingly and before courage deserted her, she blurted, “I would be eternally grateful if you would be willing to share your necklace with me.” She winced at how very pathetic that entreaty emerged. Desperate. Hopeless. A lady willing to humble herself before a stranger for the dream of a certain gentleman’s hand.

  The countess studied her a long while, head tipped to the side, as though she examined an oddity just unearthed. Then a slow, dawning of understanding lit the woman’s eyes. “Why, you desire the heart of a duke.”

  “No!” The exclamation bounced mockingly off the crystal windows. Another wave of heat slapped at her cheeks. “No,” she said, this time in a far steadier tone. Except, that wasn’t altogether true. “Well, yes.” Daisy clamped her lips together, eyeing the glass door leading out to the Marquess of Harrison’s enclosed garden and momentarily contemplated escape. “Not per se. Rather…” For, the truth was, she didn’t want the heart of just any duke.

  She wanted Auric’s heart. Wanted it even though he still saw her as nothing more than Lionel’s sister. Wanted it even as she’d bumbled and fumbled her way through not quite one, but somehow almost three, London Seasons, with the always-polite Auric there visiting or partnering her in the requisite dances, but never a waltz.

  “Daisy?”

  The gentle prodding jerked her from her woeful musings. “Forgive me,” she murmured. “I was woolgathering.” She’d been brave enough to humble herself thus far by orchestrating this meeting. Daisy squared her shoulders and pressed ahead. “I need the pendant, my lady.” The fabled necklace represented the last sliver of innocence and hope—the hope of Auric, and more, Daisy’s hope for them.

  “Oh, Daisy.” Sympathy flared in the countess’ expression. “I am so sorry.”

  No! She didn’t want the words she knew were coming. She wanted her hope and her sliver of gypsy’s magic and lore. Her life was full of enough sad truths.

  “After I wed Lord Stanhope, I had no further need of the pendant. I’d claimed the heart of the only man I’d ever wanted and gave the necklace to another young lady.” Hope flared again in her breast. The countess knew who possessed the heart pendant—“Lady Imogen has since married.” Daisy’s mind raced. She had a name. A twinkle lit Lady Stanhope’s eyes. “Not to a duke, but she found love, which is what matters most.” All Daisy must do was approach Lady Imogen and humble herself before yet another stranger. Auric was worth the sacrifice. “We’ve since returned it to the care of the rightful owner.”

  Daisy’s heart sank. Of course, Lady Stanhope recently wed, and her twin sister, the Duchess of Bainbridge, both possessed what all young ladies dared dream of—a happy, loving match; bits of fairytales that Daisy had ceased believing in.

  Only now, with the truth of how very close she’d come to possessing that pendant, she was confronted again by the mocking truth of her own silliness for hoping and believing in fairytales and chasing rainbows when life had already shown her the gloom of rain. She swallowed. Gone. She’d lost her sole hope. Her only opportunity. Daisy dropped her gaze to the floor, managing a polite curtsy. “Forgive me for intruding on you, my lady. I shall allow you,” Emotion lodged in her throat as she confronted once more the ugly possibility of whose company the countess even now awaited. She coughed into her hand. “I shall allow you your privacy,” she repeated. She turned to go.

  “Daisy.”

  She froze and looked back at Lady Stanhope questioningly.

  “When I first discovered the existence of the Heart of a Duke pendant, I believed it would bring me the heart of a duke.”

  And it had. Even if the fool woman had chosen another over the Duke of Crawford, Lady Stanhope had earned Auric’s heart. “Didn’t it, my lady?” she asked quietly. “The papers purported that Aur…” She curled her toes with embarrassment at that telling revelation. “The Duke of Crawford,” she amended, “made you an offer.” Daisy knew. She knew because she’d lashed herself with each torturous word in the scandal sheets. Knew because she’d observed Auric as he publicly courted the golden beauty. Needle-like pain pricked her heart.

  Understanding flashed in the woman’s eyes. “You care for him.”

  “No,” she said quickly. Because she didn’t really care for him. She loved him. And love, this deep, abiding, twisting, aching sentiment that wreaked havoc on one’s thoughts, was far greater than merely caring for a person. “I’ve known him for my whole life,” she murmured into the damning silence. And she’d loved him since the picnic at her parents’ country seat when he’d promised to make her his duchess and saved her fingers from being burned. Daisy slid her gaze away, unable to bare her greatest hopes and desires to this woman. No one knew of her love for Auric. Mostly because Daisy Meadows had ceased to exist for the past
seven years, since her brother Lionel’s death.

  Anne claimed her fingers and she started at that unexpected boldness. “Do you know, the pendant worn by my eldest sister, Aldora, was lost. Given back to the gypsy woman who entrusted it to the care of her and her friends.”

  No, she’d not known the piece had left the Adamson sisters’ care, until now.

  “It always finds its way into the hands of the lady who needs it, Daisy.” A wistful smile pulled at Anne’s lips. “For me, the pendant represented,” her gaze took on a faraway quality. “Well, it represented a good deal to me. When I discovered it gone, I pledged to find it. I dragged my sister Katherine along to the Frost Fair in search of it.” The Frost Fair. That inane event held on the frozen Thames nearly two winters ago. Anne laughed, the sound clear like bells. “All on the word of a gypsy and maid who indicated that is where it could be found.” She pierced Daisy with her gaze. “Do you know why I’m telling you this?”

  Daisy shook her head. The other woman spoke with a hope and optimism Daisy had not known in seven years. A stab of envy struck her for altogether different reasons.

  “You see, Daisy, I wanted that necklace with a desperation. I was not willing to relinquish my hopes merely because of the inconvenience of not being able to find it. I set out in search.” Her smile widened. “Of course, Katherine discovered it at the Frost Fair.”

  All Society knew the romantic story. A broken-hearted duke plucked the then Lady Katherine Adamson from the frozen Thames and now they had a grand love, the kind of which had debutantes and dowagers sighing with envy.

  “Sometimes, Daisy,” the woman said, interrupting her thoughts. “Sometimes you might have to look more or try harder, but if you do, ultimately you’ll find the heart of a duke.”

  When you love something enough as you do, it will come. A cool wind slapped against the windows. Daisy folded her arms across her chest and rubbed, as Lionel’s voice echoed around her mind.