Princess Aria smirked. “Miss Holloway’s eyes resemble emeralds.”
The back of Reggie’s neck burned. “Er—yes.”
He stumbled away from her, remembering too late there were politer ways to end a conversation than abrupt ambling.
“Ah, Your Grace!” An American voice barreled through the room, and Reggie halted. An older woman with auburn hair and a face sprinkled with freckles dragged a younger woman with similar coloring across the ballroom. “Have you met my dearest daughter, Miss Banks?”
Miss Banks gave a miserable smile, doubtless displeased at being hauled across the ballroom.
Reggie forced himself to make polite conversation. He resisted the sudden urge to abandon the ball and bang on the door to Daisy’s home. Doing that wouldn’t change the fact Daisy didn’t wish to marry him. His heart ached, and after the night ended, it was not of princesses or rich heiresses he dreamed.
When dawn arrived, sprinkling peach light over the buildings, the view marred only by morning mist, Reggie sprang from his bed. He flung on his robe and paced the room.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
A knock sounded on the door, and even though Reggie knew it couldn’t be Daisy, he still gazed at it eagerly. “Come in.”
“Good morning, Your Grace.” Alistair strode through the doorway, and Reggie struggled not to slump his shoulders.
“I proposed to her,” Reggie said.
Alistair nodded, fortunately not stating that he’d surmised that. “And then?”
“Miss Holloway left the ball.”
“Ah.” Alistair nodded knowledgeably. “Is it possible she didn’t take your proposal seriously?”
“She should have,” Reggie said hotly. “I’m a very serious man.”
Alistair averted his gaze, and Reggie had the distinct impression he was hiding a smile.
“Perhaps she simply doesn’t want to marry me.” Reggie toppled into a chaise-longue and sighed.
Alistair offered him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry, Your Grace. I was certain she would have accepted.”
Reggie narrowed his gaze. “Because Miss Holloway is in a chair? You think she can’t have a good life without me?”
Alistair stepped back hastily and shook his head. “No, no. Naturally not.”
“I’m—er—sorry, Alistair,” Reggie said reluctantly.
“She seemed to care for you,” Alistair said tentatively.
“Not enough to marry me.” Reggie exhaled and glanced in the mirror. “Look at this scar. I’m hideous.”
“I doubt she’s concerned about that.”
“Well, she said no.” Reggie banged the sideboard. A candlestick flew toward the floor, and Alistair lurched to grab it.
Unfortunately, he missed, and crystal shattered upon the floor.
Alistair sighed. “Step away from the glass, Your Grace. I’ll send a maid to clear it away.”
Reggie nodded and moved away. The crystal glinted under the sunbeams, as if still unaware it had been forever ruined. His heart tightened.
Alistair scrutinized him, as if Reggie’s face were a source of fascination. Reggie’s nostrils flared, and he tightened his fists, as if Alistair were a boxer and bound to attack him.
“Might I venture a hypothesis that your proposal might have been at fault?” Alistair asked finally.
“My proposal?” Reggie widened his eyes, before shaking his head. “No. It achieved its goal: telling her I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her.”
“Hmm....” Alistair pursed his lips and continued to dress Reggie.
A wave of irritation moved through Reggie. “Besides, Daisy wouldn’t care about such things.”
“Indeed, Your Grace.” Alistair tucked Reggie’s shirt into his trousers.
“Indeed.” Reggie jutted out his chin in the sort of defiant pose that Roman emperors were prone to adopt when posing for sculptors tasked to depict them for posterity.
The room was silent except for the sound of rustling fabric. Soon, Alistair would leave, and Reggie would no longer have to answer impertinent questions.
Reggie would be content.
And still alone.
And still brokenhearted.
He tilted his head toward Alistair, conscious of the heat inundating the back of his neck.
“Was there anything else, Your Grace?” Alistair asked lightly.
Reggie scowled. Alistair knew dashed well there were more things. “Do you—er— think the proposal would have made a difference?”
Alistair reached for Reggie’s cravat and slid it about his neck. His forehead wrinkled in a concentration Reggie suspected was not entirely due to the task of cravat tying.
Reggie exhaled. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer.”
Alistair was his servant, not his friend. He’d become too close to Daisy as well, even though she’d spoken of her matchmaking duties each time Reggie had seen her.
Heat moved over his face with a finality and diligence even Sir Arthur Wellesley’s troops would have aspired to when seeking to conquer Bonaparte’s army.
“Miss Holloway and her father appeared shocked and angry last evening,” Alistair said finally.
“A-angry?” Good god, he’d made more of a mess of this than he’d thought.
Alistair gave a wry smile. “Mr. Holloway appeared sufficiently angry for both of them.”
“Er—right.” Reggie’s heart eased. Somewhat. “Miss Holloway still could have accepted. She is of age.”
“Might I inquire what was the instigation for the proposal, Your Grace?”
Reggie’s eyebrows barreled together. “Instigation? Only that Miss Holloway is the most magnificent woman in the world.”
Alistair’s lips moved momentarily upward, and his eyes glimmered. “Indeed, Your Grace. But until last night, I was not aware you were courting Miss Holloway.”
Reggie’s shoulders slumped. “Er—right. I was not aware I was courting her either.”
“One might assume that Miss Holloway would also not be aware you were courting her, magnificent though she is.”
Blast.
She had looked startled.
“That is perhaps a fair assumption, Alistair,” Reggie said. “But surely, that shouldn’t have mattered.”
Alistair was silent.
“I suppose she doesn’t love me,” Reggie said miserably. “And doesn’t see the likelihood of that event ever taking place.”
Alistair smiled, and Reggie narrowed his eyes.
“This is no time for smiles, Alistair.”
Alistair’s face sobered. “Of course not, Your Grace. My—er—apologies. I only found your affection for her endearing.”
“Well, that’s more than she thought,” Reggie grumbled and wrapped his arms against his chest.
“How did you propose?” Alistair asked.
“I—er—said, ‘I’ll marry her.’ And then her father glared and rushed her from the room.”
Alistair sighed. “I am sorry, Your Grace. Perhaps she thought you didn’t mean the words.”
“I wouldn’t have said the words if I didn’t mean them.”
“Not everyone is acquainted with your restraint with the use of the full English vocabulary.”
“Miss Holloway knows I’m not prone to chatter.”
“Indeed, Your Grace.” Alistair nodded and tightened Reggie’s cravat knot.
“And she knows I’m not romantic.”
“Very astute of her,” Alistair said in a soothing voice. “Still, she might not be keen on receiving a pity proposal.”
“I did not give a pity proposal.” Reggie stepped back, and Alistair tightened his grip on Reggie’s cravat. “I would not do that. The idea is ludicrous.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
“I donate to charity,” Reggie said stiffly. “That suffices.”
“How adroit.”
“The very idea is insulting. To everyone.”
“I quite agree.”
“Then you shou
ldn’t have suggested I did that.”
“The important thing is if Miss Holloway suspected your proposal had not been well-considered. Miss Holloway planned the event to find you a bride—and she knew she was not one of the contenders.”
Reggie blinked. He had a strange sinking feeling in his stomach. “I think I could have gone about that better.”
“Most insightful, Your Grace.” Alistair tightened the cravat knot.
“I say, I wonder if any manservants have accidentally strangled their employers,” Reggie said. “It’s dreadfully tight.”
“I shall keep that method in mind should I ever require it.” Alistair adjusted Reggie’s cravat knot, then smiled. “Now you look most refined.”
“Hmph,” Reggie said, but when he glanced at the mirror, he smiled satisfactorily. “I’m going to propose to Miss Holloway again.”
“I am happy to hear that, Your Grace.”
“I’ll bring flowers.”
“Very wise.”
Reggie beamed. “I must go now.”
“Good luck, Your Grace.”
Reggie rushed from the room. Alistair was correct. Daisy had simply been surprised by his proposal. Now he would do it properly.
Unfortunately, Bath had decided again to downpour. Rain toppled down with never-ceasing force, splattering onto the cobblestone streets and piling water to form ever-greater puddles.
Reggie waited for Daisy to leave the Roman Baths. He held a bouquet of roses on his lap. Now and then, people would glance toward his carriage curiously, no doubt to ponder why it was not moving.
She’s not coming.
The words entered his mind, but he shook them away. Of course, Daisy would be here. Daisy was always here. Besides, she delighted in having a schedule. No one who didn’t like routine would go about carrying a calendar with her.
He stared at the door.
Other women exited, but not Daisy, not her lady’s maid. His shoulders slumped, despite his generally exceptional posture.
“How much longer would you like to stay?” the driver asked. “I’m afraid the horses are restless.”
Reggie tightened his lips. “Please drive home.”
The carriage moved, and Reggie averted his eyes, lest the driver decide to offer sympathies or anything else to remind Reggie he’d failed.
No doubt his driver wasn’t accustomed to driving men to the Roman Baths, waiting while they bought flowers, then waiting over an hour in the rain.
He inhaled.
Perhaps Daisy would be here tomorrow. He had to hope.
The driver moved forward with a jolt, as if eager to leave before Reggie changed his mind.
Reggie didn’t blame him. Still... He needed to see Daisy. He shouldn’t have let her leave last night. He should have rushed after. He’d been too stunned by her father’s appearance.
He gazed reluctantly at the roses tucked on his lap. The red and pink petals would probably be more stunning if rain hadn’t splattered upon them.
When the driver stopped before Reggie’s rooms, Reggie instructed him to go further.
He needed to see Daisy. Before long, the carriage halted before her house. He stared at the small, narrow building, then pounded on the door, his heart hammering.
Reggie clutched the bouquet of roses in his hand. The wind continued to bluster, as if determined to sweep him from Daisy’s family’s tiny doorstep and into the crowded street of people pushing wheelbarrows, riding in carts, and pedestrians sporting confused looks indicating they’d wandered too far from the Royal Crescent.
Some people hollered at his driver, annoyed at his halted position.
Finally, the door opened, and he prepared himself to see Mrs. Powell.
Instead, Daisy’s father stood at the door. He scowled, and Reggie resisted the temptation to flee to the comfort of his carriage.
He widened his stance. “Good afternoon, Mr. Holloway.”
“There’s nothing good about it if you’re here.” Mr. Holloway narrowed his eyes, then added, “Your Grace.”
Somehow the honorific seemed less polite than an emphasis on Mr. Holloway’s belief that Reggie shouldn’t be here.
“I’ve come to see Daisy,” Reggie said.
“You won’t be able to.”
“She’s not here?” Reggie asked. “I waited for her at the thermal bath spa, but I didn’t see her there either.”
“My daughter does not require someone to follow her around.”
“O-of course,” Reggie stammered. “Though I would like to marry her.”
“Hmph.” Mr. Holloway rolled his gaze over Reggie’s body, as if to take in his well-tailored attire. “You don’t mean it.”
“I do!”
“I’m not going to have you breaking her heart, whether it’s before the wedding or after. It will hurt just the same. Don’t you think Daisy has enough pain in her life?”
“But I won’t do that.”
“How gallant of you.” Sarcasm turned Mr. Holloway’s voice to ice, and he proceeded to close the door.
Reggie shoved his foot inside, halting Mr. Holloway’s ability to shut the door.
Mr. Holloway raised his eyebrows in the aggrieved manner a teacher might display when passing back tests with poor marks, while stating some nonsense about considering the test results personal insults. “This is how you get injuries, Your Grace.”
Reggie tightened his lips, choosing not to engage with Mr. Holloway. “Can I see Daisy?”
“Of course not.”
Reggie swallowed hard. Somehow, he hadn’t imagined that entry would be denied. His chest ached.
“Well.” He hesitated and handed the bouquet of roses to Daisy’s father. “Just give her this. And tell her I love her. And—”
Daisy’s father snatched the roses from Reggie’s hand, and relief moved through Reggie.
“Thank you,” Reggie said.
Mr. Holloway nodded, and his expression was sober. “If Daisy wants to see you, she will send a note.”
Reggie smiled. “Thank you, sir.”
“You’re—er—most welcome.” Daisy’s father glanced to his side, then gave a curt nod and shut the door.
A mighty slam rang out. For a moment, Reggie stared at the door, then turned to his carriage. No doubt the wind had contributed to Mr. Holloway shutting the door with unnecessary force.
The important thing was that Mr. Holloway had the roses and would give Daisy Reggie’s message.
Now all he had to do was wait.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Daisy pretended everything was fine as she sat with her father in the tiny drawing room. She’d already cried at night, and though she thought her father hadn’t heard her, she couldn’t be certain.
Everyone was acting as if everything was normal, but when Daisy had attempted to go to the Roman Baths with Mrs. Powell, Papa had coolly locked the door, and that had been that.
Daisy had hoped the duke might visit her, that he might write her, but he’d done none of those things. She was alone.
Her heart still beat too rapidly, and every now and then, Papa sent her inquisitive looks from behind his book. Daisy suspected Papa wasn’t truly interested in the Ancient Greeks and their battle with the Persians. Normally, he left the house. Normally, he didn’t take the seat by the door.
Daisy sighed. She was hardly going to dash for the exit.
Papa was correct: there was no sense becoming involved with the duke. She’d been lucky Papa had discovered him and not anyone else.
A knock sounded on the front door, and Papa leaped up and answered, even though that was normally the maid’s task. He returned swiftly. His glower had only intensified, as if he were annoyed at being separated from the Persians and Spartans.
Daisy sighed.
Perhaps the duke would choose one of the women to marry. It was what she’d hoped for. Somehow, the fact didn’t fill her with the same enthusiasm it once had.
Papa cleared his throat. “I have an announcement to make.”
Daisy’s stomach wobbled uncomfortably.
“I’ve decided, Daisy, that you’re correct, and that the Roman Baths are not improving your—er—situation.” He gave a cursory glance at her legs, then looked away, his nose wrinkling slightly.
“I’m going to write your mother to come to Bath at once.”
Daisy blinked.
“Then we will go somewhere new. Somewhere...more exciting than Bath. Somewhere you’ll be focused on your health and not the silly nonsensical things that one’s mind can turn to when one is not properly focused.”
A strange feeling invaded her stomach: dread.
The emotion was unknown. Normally, Daisy knew exactly what to do. After all, she’d been coming to Bath since she was a little girl.
Papa had never acted so strangely before.
Papa cleared his throat. “We are moving to the French Riviera.”
“E-excuse me?” Daisy stammered.
“Yes,” Papa said. “It will be a new experience for you.”
“But it’s so far away!”
“Don’t you always say your friends are all married anyway?” Papa asked.
“But I’d still hoped to see them again.”
Papa gave her a condescending glance. “One should not hope for the unlikely.”
“Isn’t that what you’re doing with me?” Daisy pointed to her legs.
Papa rose abruptly. “We will go to the Cote d’Azur, and you will be happy, and there will be no dukes.”
“But people will speak...French.”
“That was part of your instruction at finishing school.”
“Yes. And I am quite happy to go into any haberdashery with my knowledge. But I couldn’t...”
Papa shot her a quizzical glance.
Daisy sighed. She couldn’t tell them about her matchmaking business. It seemed absurd. What had she been thinking? Of course, she couldn’t find employment. Employment was for other people. Heavens, none of her friends were employed. Matchmaking the duke had been her only shot, and she’d ruined it. She’d let her emotions sway her from her goal.
And now, Papa was moving them all to France.
“Can we afford that?” she asked softly.
Papa’s face stiffened. “That is not for you to think about.” He paced the room, then stopped. “Though you can say goodbye to Mrs. Powell.”
The Duke Meets His Matchmaker (The Duke Hunters Club, #5) Page 13
