Lady Windermere angled closer. “Though my daughter, she too has lovely golden ringlets and the papers, of course, say you’d not ever have a lady with brown hair for your duchess. Though who can blame you?” she prattled on.
A loud clattering of silver meeting porcelain resonated through the dining room. From the corner of his eye, he detected the blush in Daisy’s cheeks, as she hastened to pick up her utensil. He was again brought back to a different table with a younger, belligerent Daisy and himself. Had the lady always had to confront the condescending sneers and snide remarks? How could members of polite Society not see with her freckled cheeks and tight brown curls, there was a uniqueness that made all other ladies pale beside her? Auric rested his arms upon the mahogany dining chair. He kept his face a cool mask. “One should take care to not rely on the gossip to be had in the scandal sheets, Lady Windermere.” Familial friendships be damned. He’d not see Daisy shamed or humiliated before anyone.
A dull flush stained her cheeks at his curt reprimand.
“And Lady Windermere?”
“Yes?” she squawked.
“Do you not believe there is something pleasing to be found in the color brown?”
She gulped loudly. “Er, uh-why y-yes, undoubtedly,” she stammered and then promptly shifted her attention back to her husband who sat at the head of the table, opposite from her.
Though he’d courted Lady Anne with intentions of offering marriage, it had been clear her feelings had been otherwise engaged. His interest had been stirred by the unconventional miss, but there had never been anything more there than a proper duchess for his position as duke.
A small elbow nudged his, knocking his forearm from its place upon the arm of the chair. Flecks of gold danced in Daisy’s eyes. “That was well-done of you, Auric.”
They shared a smile. Just like that, with one gentle nudge and an effortless smile, they became simply Auric and Daisy. And if he was being truthful with just himself, he could admit to how right that was.
Chapter 8
The following evening, seated at the private table at the back of his club, Auric stared into the contents of his brandy. He took a slow sip and acknowledged the great shift that had occurred in him, with Daisy, with them. At some point he’d seen the world in those shades of russet and he could no longer cease to notice. He swirled the glass in a small circle and then took a long sip. More specifically, he could not ignore that Daisy had grown up. And more, the young lady with romantic intentions who took herself off on her own to Gipsy Hill, unchaperoned, his best friend’s sister needed caring for. His lips pulled in a grimace and he took another swallow of his drink. That rather made the lady sound like a favored hunting dog. Except, with her generous mouth, lush figure, and husky laugh, she assuredly was no hunting dog.
With a silent curse he downed the remaining contents of his drink. He’d no business thinking of Daisy’s glorious form. He glanced up from his empty glass. From the entrance of White’s, the Viscount Wessex strode through the hallowed club. He moved with a single-minded purpose. The usually affable gentleman ignored the greetings called out. He came to a stop before Auric’s table and looked more serious than he had in seven…. He thrust back the memory of Lionel.
“Wessex,” he greeted. They two shared a bond that no man would want, having together discovered Lionel’s lifeless body.
The viscount didn’t waste time with pleasantries. He pulled out a seat. A servant hurried forward with an empty glass. Wordlessly, the other man accepted it and waved off the offer of assistance. He proceeded to pour himself a tall glass of brandy and then set the bottle down hard. It thunked loudly on the table. The other man picked up his drink and downed it in a long, slow swallow. He grimaced and then reached for the bottle again. He sloshed several fingersful in the glass.
Auric frowned. Wessex had long ago earned a reputation as an indolent rogue and reprobate. However, the ton failed to look close enough at the true image before them to recognize the viscount hadn’t touched another drop after Lionel’s death.
Until now. This shaken gentleman before him was not someone he recognized. Wessex raised the glass to his lips and this time took a more leisurely sip. He broke the silence. “Daisy Meadows.”
Auric’s frown deepened. “Daisy—?”
“Lionel’s sister,” he said, as though there was another Daisy that mattered to the both of them. Wessex waved his hand about and several droplets splashed Auric’s immaculate table. He looked about, ascertaining there were no eavesdroppers close by, and then returned his attention to Auric. “There is a gentleman.”
What was the other man on about? He looked around for the gentleman referenced by his friend.
“You misunderstand,” Wessex hissed. He strained to lean over the table. “A gentleman has captured Daisy’s affections.”
Auric opened his mouth, but no words came out. A haze descended over his vision. It had been one thing when those very worries had belonged to him alone. Then, they had been unfounded fears about Daisy. It was quite another when the viscount breathed life and truth to them.
The other man leaned back in his seat. “It should come as no surprise. She’s no longer a girl, even though that is the way you will forever see her.”
Guilt pebbled in his belly. For where Wessex took him as the honorable gentleman and loyal friend, Auric had noticed her mouth. And her breasts. And her— “Crawford?”
He gave his head a clearing shake. “What have you based your…?” Daisy, as she’d been at Gipsy Hill, moving between gypsy carts, flitted through his mind. “…your…” The air left him on a slow exhale. He’d shoved aside the idea of Daisy with another gentleman when he’d first discovered her in the unfashionable end of London. Only now, her outrageous actions coupled with Wessex’s words painted the possibility in a greater light.
“What?”
He rubbed a hand over his mouth. “I discovered her at Gipsy Hill.” Twice. “Unchaperoned.” She’d claimed to be in search of a necklace. But of course a woman of Daisy’s sense and romantic spirit would not venture into that end of London just to look for an inexpensive bauble. No, what else would cause a lady to do something so insensible, other than a clandestine meeting between two lovers? Auric’s knee jumped reflexively, knocking the table. By God, he would kill the man dead.
“Gipsy Hill?”
Auric gave a terse nod.
The viscount sank back in his seat, flummoxed. He stroked his chin. “There was also the Harrison’s ball,” he declared, more to himself.
Tension coursed through Auric’s frame. His thoughts and emotions were blending and blurring in a mass of confusion. “What of it?” With Wessex’s confirmation of his own earlier suspicions, he was forced to consider all manner of things he’d rather not—about Daisy, her future, his obligation to see to that future.
Wessex swiped his glass off the table once again and took a sip. He set it down hard and, for a long while, said nothing so that Auric believed he didn’t intend to speak. Then, “She was studying a gentleman.”
“Who?” he bit out.
“Oh, I’d merely teased her, not believing, not thinking that she was in fact—”
“Who?” he said loud enough to earn curious stares from those around them. He waited until the nosy noblemen nearby returned their attention to their own drink and company.
“That is the problem, Crawford. I’ve questioned the lady several times in search of the bounder’s identity. To no avail.” Wessex lifted his shoulders in a slight shrug. “But if he were honorable…”
Daisy would not be running off to meet him on the streets of London and his identity would not be a secret.
Wessex set his glass down. He turned his hands over and made a show of studying his palms. “She’s unwed. Do you know how many Seasons she’s had?”
“Two.” They both responded simultaneously.
“That is correct.” The viscount nodded. After the marquess’ passing, Daisy had disappeared and, unfortunately,
when she’d reentered Society almost two years later, the dandies in the market for a wife didn’t realize the rareness of Daisy. She was the hidden pendant amidst the other baubles—only no one had bothered to see what was right before them. Her unwedded state and romantic spirit accounted for why a romantic young woman such as Daisy would throw away logic and reason to pursue a worthless bounder in the rainy streets of London.
Wessex held his gaze, intruding on his turbulent thoughts. “The marchioness has forgotten her existence.”
“That is preposterous,” Auric scoffed. He remembered the older woman tugging Daisy behind her at Lord and Lady Harrison’s ball. “Her mother has always paid a good deal of attention to Daisy.”
“Perhaps at one time, but not since…” His blue eyes darkened a shade nearly black. “Not since… By the way, what the hell did happen to your eye?”
Ah, yes, the impressive purplish black bruise he now wore, a credit to Daisy’s efforts on Gipsy Hill. Auric waved his hand. “It matters not.”
Fortunately, Wessex was content to let his question rest, rightfully focusing on Daisy. “It occurred to me last evening, at Lord and Lady Windermere’s, we had an obligation to see after her, Crawford, and we failed.”
The blade of guilt twisted all the more at Marcus’ reminder of another wrong Auric had committed. First, in bringing Lionel to that hell and costing the man his life, and his parents their future, and now…Daisy. They’d both had an obligation to protect and defend her.
Wessex seemed to agree for he continued. “We’ve not only failed Daisy, we’ve failed Lionel. It occurs to me that one of us,” he sucked in an audible breath, “must do right by her.” He gripped his crystal glass so tight his knuckles whitened. “We owe that much to Lionel.”
The other man’s meaning was clear. They should find her a husband. Auric’s hands tightened reflexively over the arms of his chair. He didn’t know why he should care if Daisy Meadows wed, as long as she was wed to a decent enough chap who’d care for her and mayhap gave her a handful of children. Yet he cared. Very much. Something fiery and hot licked at his insides, something that felt very much like jealousy…which was, of course, rather ridiculous, he’d no right to be jealous and certainly not over— “Crawford? Are you listening to me?”
He cleared his throat. “You were saying?” He picked up his brandy, suddenly appreciating the need for fine, French spirits at a time like this.
He could no longer be the coward. He told himself it had been a sense of pity. He’d seen the card devoid of gentleman’s names and something had stirred in his breast. Perhaps it was guilt. For if Lionel had lived, he’d surely have managed to bring some deserving gentleman up to scratch to not only partner young Daisy, but wed her.
“She needs a husband,” Wessex said bluntly.
An image flooded his mind. Daisy, in all her lush glory, spread out upon soft, satin sheets while he covered her with his body. “Surely, you don’t propose one of us wed her?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
The viscount scratched his brow. “Egads, no, man.” He gave a mock shudder.
Auric tightened his jaw. What did the other man find so objectionable about the young lady? She was perfectly lovely and far more clever and spirited than any other member of the peerage.
“Not that I find anything objectionable with the lady,” Wessex carried on, having no idea how very close to Auric burying his fist in his face he was. “She’s…”
He quirked an icy eyebrow.
“She’s Lionel’s sister,” the viscount finished solemnly. “And we have to present her suitable, honorable,” he amended, “gentlemen who’d make her a good husband.” A red haze descended over his vision, momentarily blinding him. What was this odd pressure in his chest? “With your influence you can likely bring any number of good gentlemen up to scratch.”
Those words somehow managed to sink in and reclaim control of his inexplicable, not at all brotherly, interest in Daisy. “You are correct,” he said with the cool, flat, emotionless logic that had shaped him all these years. Why yes, his friend was correct. They owed this not only to Lionel but also to Daisy. “What do you suggest?” He hardly recognized the garbled tone as his own.
Wessex held his gaze. “We present her with options. We…” Auric shoved back his chair and stood. “Where are you going?” he called after him.
“I’ve a matter of business to attend.”
Mayhap his friend had the right of it. Mayhap this sudden, untoward interest he had in the lady stemmed from a sense of remorse. Daisy required a husband and he would see her properly wed. He ignored those raising their hands in greeting and continued on to the front of White’s.
Perhaps then, when she was comfortably wed, then he could live his life feeling that, at least in this regard, he’d not failed Lionel.
Seated on the blue upholstered sofa, Daisy held up the embroidery frame for her maid’s inspection.
The young woman’s lips twitched. “Uh…a…”
“Do not say a circle with a dip in the center,” she implored.
Agnes promptly closed her mouth and then leaned forward to better analyze Daisy’s latest work. It was never a good thing when one’s work required this level of scrutiny. “A teardrop?” she ventured.
Yes, never a good thing at all. She tossed aside the frame. “Will you be so good as to collect,” another, “the embroidery I left in my chambers?”
Agnes hopped to her feet, dropped a curtsy and shuffled off. Daisy scooped up the rather pathetic and, in fact, the seventh attempt at her heart. She angled her head studying it objectively. A sigh slipped past her lips. Yes, there was no helping it. She really was quite awful. So, practice did not always make mastery, now she knew. All too well.
Footsteps sounded in the hall. She looked up as the butler admitted Auric. Her heart did an odd little flutter. He eyed her in that nondescript way, both of them silent, studying one another. Frederick cleared his throat. “My lady, His Grace, the Duke of Crawford.”
She scrambled to her feet. “Frederick, will you have refreshments—?”
“That will not be necessary,” Auric interrupted.
She furrowed her brow. He’d adopted an I’m-here-onserious-ducal-business-tone. Daisy motioned him forward. He strode over in a handful of long, powerful strides and as Frederick backed out of the room, she swore she saw the ghost of a smile on his lips. She sank onto the edge of her seat and stared up at him expectantly.
Auric clasped his hands behind him and rocked back on his heels…and remained standing.
“Would you care to sit, Auric? Or do you intend to hover over me like a too-stern governess?”
Instead of any hint of a smile, his frown deepened. Oh, this was quite serious business. Auric did, however, flick out his coattails and sit. With all the boldness afforded him as a duke, he reached for her embroidery frame and perused her work. “A cloud?”
“A red cloud?” she scoffed. Surely, if she’d been intending a cloud it would have been gray or white. Well, that wouldn’t work. The white would quite get lost within the equally white background. “Have you come to assess my needlepoint skills?” Or had he come with the sole intention of seeing her? She certainly preferred the latter. An excited thrill coursed through her.
He set her frame down. “You’re unwed.”
Daisy choked on her swallow as her earlier jubilation died. She coughed into her hand and waved off the concerned question forming on his lips. “I-I beg your pardon?” It had sounded as though he’d said— “You’re unwed.” Auric drummed his fingertips on the arm of his chair. “Surely, you’ve given some consideration to whom it is you’ll wed?”
“Undoubtedly,” she said with dry humor he either failed to detect or cared for. “After all that is certainly how every single, young, unwed lady spends her day.”
“Of course.” Oh, the lout. “And?” he pressed.
Her heart picked up a funny rhythm. What grounds did he have to discuss marriage with her unless he himself had
considered that very possibility? “And are you here presenting me an offer?”
Auric recoiled in such horror that would have stung painfully if his reaction weren’t so very un-Auric-like. “God, no.”
Well, so much for that particular wish. She tamped down a sigh and, lest he look too close and see the hope she carried in her heart etched upon her face, she leaned over and patted his knee. “Rest assured, Auric. I was merely teasing.” He stiffened. At her words? The boldness of her touch? Regardless, she lied to him. She’d take him as her husband under any circumstance, if he simply uttered those three words.
He slashed a hand through the air. “I’m here to discuss the matter of your husband.”
“I don’t have a husband,” she couldn’t resist teasing. But she had a particular duke who would do splendidly. If the foolish man would but open his eyes and see.
When you love something enough as you do, it will come… Lionel’s whispered words wrapped about her, comforting for their familiarity and truth—and because they belonged to him.
Auric leapt to his feet. “That is precisely why I’ve come.” He began to pace a quick path upon the Aubusson carpet.
She eyed his restless movements. “To marry me?” she asked, her words threaded with her consternation. “You’re really not making much sense, Aur—”
“I have come with the intention of helping you find a husband.”
Daisy stilled, her gaze fixed upon his well-muscled legs clad in those midnight black breeches. He spoke as casually as if he mentioned retrieving her forgotten kerchief and not a man she’d be forever tied to. A humming filled her ears like a thousand buzzing bees circling close to her head. She curled her hands into tight fists, welcoming the sting of her nails biting into her palm. With a slow awareness that caused her heart to sink into the soles of her slippers, she faced the ugly truth—“You’d find me a husband.” Her words, a barely there whisper, brought him to an immediate stop.
Auric drove his fist into his palm and came to an abrupt halt in front of her. “Precisely, Daisy. An honorable gentleman, and,” his mouth tightened, “and whatever requirements you find essential in a husband.”
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