A Duke for Daisy: The Blooming Brides Book 1

by St. Clair, Ellie

  “So besides the fact that I’m sure you are not able to say a word about who these men are or what they may be doing here, what are they like? Are they…” she looked over at her husband and winked. “Demanding?”

  “Of course not!” her mother exclaimed. “They are lovely.”

  “Lovely?” repeated Iris. “The one man hardly says a word besides to grunt and emit surly comments on everything around him. One can hardly call him lovely. The other is nice enough, though he has a woman waiting for him at home.”

  Her cheeks turned pink when she mentioned the last man, which intrigued Daisy. Iris typically had no issue speaking to men of any type. What was different about this one?

  “It is good to have them here,” her mother finally said. “Especially now that the Johnsons are gone, we need the income.”

  Daisy nodded, hearing the plea for assistance in her mother’s voice, though it was not within her purview to provide it. Through Nathaniel, she knew of her father’s gambling losses, but not how to help.

  “Tell us of your life now, Daisy,” Violet said with a sigh. “It must be so lovely. I can hardly imagine it, living as a duchess!”

  Daisy smiled at her sister.

  “One thing I can tell you is that I am happier than I have ever been,” she said, turning her smile to her husband. “For I have married for love, which you must all promise me to do, no matter what may come. But as for my life… I know I am certainly not the most conventional duchess there ever was…”

  “But you are perhaps the most intriguing,” Nathaniel finished for her. “And by far the most competent.”

  Daisy’s cheeks began to warm, but thankfully Marigold saved her.

  “And what of the nobles — the people you were always determined to avoid?” she asked with a hint of a smile at the irony.

  “It was wrong of me to cast them all in the same light because of my experiences with a few,” Daisy said. “There are many who have been wonderful. I suppose it is like the villagers — some are as friendly as can be while others are only looking out for themselves. I must say that I am met with a good deal of suspicion, as I’m certain most are wondering just how I managed to capture a duke, particularly a young, good looking one at that.”

  “But,” Nathaniel said, taking his wife’s hand in his, “None of it matters except for what we have with one another.”

  Daisy smiled at him, happiness filling her, unlike anything she could ever have imagined.

  * * *

  Later that night, Daisy reflected on the mysterious nature of fate as she and Nathaniel lay beside one another in the guest bedroom of the inn where she had been raised.

  “Some days I think of what my life would have been — alone, or with Stephen,” she shuddered now at the thought of marrying a man like him, “And I can hardly believe how lucky I was — that you looked past the prickly front I provided you to nonetheless take a chance on me.”

  “And that you overlooked my arrogance. It was the dance,” he said with a shrug. “I have always loved to dance, as I told you, and you swept me away.”

  She laughed. “You cannot mean it.”

  “Oh, but I do,” he said, his brown eyes serious. “I will likely never be able to properly dance with you, my love, but I promise to gently sway with you for the rest of my life.”

  “I love you, my arrogant Mr. Hawke.”

  “And I love you, my stubborn Miss Tavners.”

  Then they proceeded to show one another just exactly how much.

  THE END

  * * *

  I hope you enjoyed A Duke for Daisy! I can’t wait to share with you the stories of Marigold, Iris, and Violet.

  As a thank you to readers, I have made a bonus chapter to A Duke for Daisy available here.

  About the Author

  Ellie has always loved reading, writing, and history. For many years she has written short stories, non-fiction, and has worked on her true love and passion -- romance novels.

  In every era there is the chance for romance, and Ellie enjoys exploring many different time periods, cultures, and geographic locations. No matter when or where, love can always prevail. She has a particular soft spot for the bad boys of history, and loves a strong heroine in her stories.

  The lake is Ellie’s happy place, and when she’s not writing, she is spending time with her son, her Husky/Border Collie cross, and her own dashing duke. She loves reading — of course — as well as running, biking, and summers at the lake.

  She also loves corresponding with readers, so be sure to contact her!

  www.prairielilypress.com/ellie-st-clair

  ellie@prairielilypress.com

  If you enjoyed A Duke for Daisy, then stay updated on what more is to come! All who sign up for my email list receive “Unmasking a Duke,” a regency romance for free — and so much more!

  www.prairielilypress.com/ellies-newsletter/

  You will also receive links to giveaways, sales, updates, launch information, promos, and the newest recommended reads.

  Also by Ellie St. Clair

  Standalone

  Unmasking a Duke

  Christmastide with His Countess

  Happily Ever After

  The Duke She Wished For

  Someday Her Duke Will Come

  Once Upon a Duke’s Dream

  He’s a Duke, But I Love Him

  Loved by the Viscount

  Because the Earl Loved Me

  Searching Hearts

  Duke of Christmas

  Quest of Honor

  Clue of Affection

  Hearts of Trust

  Hope of Romance

  Promise of Redemption

  The Unconventional Ladies

  Lady of Mystery

  Lady of Fortune

  Blooming Brides

  A Duke for Daisy

  THE DUKE SHE WISHED FOR

  HAPPILY EVER AFTER BOOK 1

  PREVIEW

  Begin the Happily Ever After series with the story of Tabitha and Nicholas…

  Chapter 1

  The creak of the shop’s front door opening floated through the heavy curtains that separated Tabitha’s workshop from the sales floor. She tensed over the silk ribbon she was attempting to fashion into a flower shape and waited for the sound of her stepsister Frances to greet whoever had just walked into the Blackmore Milliner shop.

  She paused, waiting a little bit longer before pushing out a frustrated breath and standing. These velvet ribbon flowers she had learned to fashion were part of the reason Blackmore hats sat atop some of the finest female heads in polite society — she had a knack for creating new ways to adorn the same old bonnet or beaver hat styles so that a woman of a certain class stood out among her peers.

  This ability was both a blessing and a curse, it turned out. Her creativity meant Tabitha brought customers through the front door, to the shop she and her father had built after her mother died when she was seven years old. It had brought Tabitha and her father, the baronet Elias Blackmore, closer together in their time of immeasurable grief, and the shop had flourished.

  The relationship between father and daughter remained strong, and when she was twelve years of age, he approached her and told her he wanted to marry a baroness from the North Country. The baroness had a daughter about her own age, he’d added. Tabitha had been happy for her father and excited at the prospect of having a sister. She had welcomed her new family with an open heart and open arms.

  What a silly little fool she’d been, Tabitha thought with derisive snort as she pushed herself to her feet and through the brocade curtains to greet the newcomer. Lord only knew where Frances had gone off to. Likely shopping with her mother, Ellora.

  Upon the untimely death of Sir Elias Blackmore three years after the marriage, Tabitha had been utterly devastated. Lady Blackmore, however, hadn’t wasted much time in putting Tabitha in her place. No longer the family’s most cherished daughter, Tabitha had been shoved into the workroom and largely ignored, but for he
r skills as a milliner — they kept just enough of her stepmother’s attention on her.

  The more she stood up to Ellora, the more her stepmother threatened to throw her out on the street. Knowing it was within Ellora’s nature to follow through on her threat, Tabitha did her best to ignore and avoid her stepmother, focusing instead on her work and her ambitions.

  It was better, Tabitha supposed, than staying in their townhome all day long worrying about social calls that never came or invitations that would never arrive. The family name had suffered greatly under Lady Blackmore and Miss Frances Denner, her daughter from a previous marriage.

  In truth, Tabitha was little more than a servant with no money to speak of, no family to lean on, and no real prospects other than her creations on which to pin her hopes of ever escaping the lot she’d been given after her father died.

  In the showroom, Tabitha scanned the floor in search of the new arrival. It took a moment, but her eyes finally landed on a small, older man in a fine suit. He had a slip of paper in his hand, and he approached Tabitha with the air of someone who didn’t waste time.

  “Good afternoon, Miss,” the man began with perfect, practiced speech. “My name is Mr. McEwan. I serve as the steward in the house of Her Grace the Duchess of Stowe. I have a receipt for a series of hats I believe she had ordered, and she is requesting that they be delivered tomorrow afternoon.”

  Tabitha felt her stomach sink. If this was the order she was thinking of, the one currently on her worktable, there was no way under the stars that the three hats would be ready by tomorrow. She was only one flower (out of seven) into the first bonnet, and it was a slow process to convince the requested velvet ribbon to behave.

  “I am sorry, sir,” she began, trying to get his eyes off the wilder ostrich-plumed hats next to her and back on her. “That is almost four days before we agreed upon. I’m certain there is no feasible way the work can be done, and done well, by tomorrow.”

  That got the older man’s attention. He huffed, turned a bit pink around the cheeks, and sputtered.

  “There is simply no choice, my dear,” he said abruptly but not unkindly. “His Grace is arriving home from his trip to France early and therefore the parties his mother has planned for him will be adjusted accordingly. And so, her wardrobe must be ready — she said so herself. She is willing to pay handsomely for your ability to expedite the process.”

  Tabitha drew in a breath at that and considered. She was having such a difficult time scrimping a small savings together to buy herself a seat at the Paris School of Millinery that this “bonus” money might perhaps get her there that much quicker. Assuming, of course, that Ellora didn’t catch wind of the extra earnings. She was quick to snatch up all but the barest pennies.

  Tabitha closed her eyes for a moment and drew a steadying breath. If she worked through the night and her needle and thread held true, there was a slight chance that she could finish in time. She said so to Mr. McEwan, who beamed brightly at her.

  “I knew it,” he said with a laugh. “I have faith you Miss — er, I apologize, I did not hear your name?”

  Tabitha sighed.

  “Tabitha Blackmore,” she said, noticing how quickly he’d changed the subject on her. “I did not exactly say that I would be able to—”

  She was cut off again by Mr. McEwan, who gave her a slight bow and provided directions to the home of the Dowager Duchess of Stowe on the other side of the city.

  “I shall see you tomorrow, then, my dear,” he said with a quick grin. “Be sure to pack a bag to stay at least one evening, maybe two. I am certain Her Grace’s attendants will need proper coaching on how best to pair the hats. You will be paid, of course!”

  With that the short man with wisps of white hair on his head that stood up like smoke was gone, disappearing into the streets of Cheapside.

  Tabitha leaned back against the counter behind her and blew out a breath, a little overwhelmed at the entire encounter.

  On the one hand, she had found a way to increase her savings and take a step closer to the education her father had wanted for her. On the other, getting through the night in one piece was not guaranteed. She would have to return to the shop after dinner and do so without rousing Lady Blackmore’s suspicions, which would not be easy.

  Tabitha kicked at a crushed crepe ribbon flower that hadn’t been tossed out properly. Another evening down the back drainpipe it was, then.

  “Time away from the witch, I suppose,” she muttered as she returned to her worktable, a new fire of inspiration lit beneath her.

  * * *

  Dinner was more complicated than usual, thanks to the fact that Ellora, Tabitha’s stepmother, was having one of her moods. They could be brought on by anything — the weather (too foul or too pleasant), the noisy street they lived on, memories of her life when she was the daughter of an earl and had endless opportunities for money and titles, or even an egg that had too much salt.

  Today’s mood, however, had more to do with the fact that her daughter Frances had been recently snubbed. Officially, Ellora was considered a member of the ton and her daughter’s first season the previous year had nearly cost them the roof over their heads. However, Frances was an ill-tempered, sharp-tongued girl who did little to ensure repeat invitations to dances and parties.

  “A true-and-true witch,” their housekeeper, Alice, called her. Alice was the only servant left on staff besides Katie, the lady’s maid Ellora and Frances shared, so it was up to both Alice and Tabitha to make sure that meals were made and rooms were kept clean. Being an indentured servant in her own home was trying enough, but much worse was having to tidy the room that once held every memento of her father’s. It was now completely devoid of every memory of him.

  It was as though Baronet Elias Blackmore had never existed. No portraits. No personal belongings. Nothing but the small locket he’d given Tabitha when she was nine years old, which she still wore around her neck.

  This evening’s dinner was a morose affair, and Tabitha sat silently while Ellora ranted and raved about the social snub of her angel, Frances.

  Tabitha looked across the table at her stepsister. Frances was very pretty, she’d give her that much. But her mouth was drawn thin and her blue eyes were more steely than pleasant. Frances had brown hair that one could call more dishwater in color than brunette. However, Ellora spent high sums of money on beauty products and bits and bobs for Katie to fashion Frances’ hair into something resembling high fashion each day.

  Frances was pouting into her soup while her mother railed beside her. When she glanced up and caught Tabitha looking at her, she scowled.

  Tabitha quickly looked away, but Frances jumped on the opportunity to take the attention off her.

  “I saw a servant go into the shop this afternoon when I was returning from tea with Adela,” Frances said to her mother, her flinty eyes on Tabitha, who inwardly groaned.

  So much for secrecy.

  Ellora paused in her ranting and raised an eyebrow at her.

  “Who was it?”

  The words were clipped, and her nose was high in the air while she peered along it at Tabitha.

  “A servant for the Dowager Duchess of Stowe,” Tabitha replied. “He came to inquire about an order the Duchess sent over a week ago.”

  It wasn’t exactly a lie and it helped her corroborate her story because Ellora had already received the money sent over for the original order.

  “And was the order ready?”

  Tabitha swallowed hard. She wasn’t in the clear yet.

  “Almost,” she said and lowered her eyes to take a sip of the soup as she inwardly seethed.

  “Unacceptable,” her stepmother ground out between her teeth. “You lazy, no-good hanger-on. It is no wonder your father’s ridiculous hat shop is dying off. He had the laziest cow this side of the river working behind the curtains.”

  She banged a fist on the table, making Frances jump.

  “You get up from this table and you finish that orde
r right this instant.” Ellora pointed a long bony finger in the direction of the door, ending Tabitha’s dinner before she had progressed past the soup. Tabitha’s stomach rumbled in protest, and her fists clenched beneath the table as she longed to tell Ellora what she really thought, but Tabitha knew this was a gift. She would nab a roll from Alice later.

  “I am going to stop by in the morning to check your ledger and work progress to make certain you are being completely honest with me,” Ellora announced. “And woe be to you if I find that you have been neglecting your work and you have a backlog of orders.”

  In reality, Tabitha was of legal age and the threats should be harmless. But she was also lacking any real money, any job prospects, and had no titles her father could have passed down to her. Running her father’s milliner shop was the closest thing she would have to freedom for the near future, and it would be much better for her if she allowed Ellora the illusion of control for the time being, since the dreadful woman had inherited the shop upon her father’s death.

  Ellora’s threat put Tabitha in a bind. She was due at the Duchess’ estate first thing in the morning. As it stood, she’d have to have those pieces done, as well as the other orders on her workbench before then. She closed her eyes and blew out a heavy breath.

  It was going to be a very long night.

  * * *