by Emma Kaye
Wooing the Wallflower
Regency Blackmail
Emma Kaye
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Review Request
Excerpt
Also by Emma Kaye
About Emma Kaye
For my Family
Miss Daisy Worthington has a problem. Her father insists she choose from among the eligible men courting her, or he will pick for her. Unfortunately, the one man she wants to marry is not on his list.
Benjamin Chapman should keep his head down and do the work he’s been hired to do, but he can’t help falling in love with the talented Miss Worthington. Because he loves her, he wants her to have the best of everything. That isn’t him.
Can Daisy convince Ben he is what’s best for her? Can she get him to fight for her, or will she give in to her father’s demands and marry a man she can never love?
Chapter One
Daisy Worthington sipped her punch and tried to blend into the wall. An enormous planter filled with pine and holly threaded with scarlet ribbon helped her hide. The rich pine scent did little to soothe her agitation. The Duchess of Marberry always created these little nooks as a semblance of privacy for guests at her annual Christmas Ball.
Daisy wasn’t sneaking a kiss from her beau, she was hiding from one.
Yet another rich, titled gentleman spoke with her father on the other side of the ballroom. They’d arrived twenty minutes ago, and this was the fourth gentleman to approach him. Granted, they could be merely greeting the rich viscount, but none of the men were married and they all cast covetous glances in her direction. She shuddered.
“He can’t intend for you to marry Lord Webb?” Daisy’s friend, Miss Felicity Gardner, hissed.
The look of horror on her face matched the feeling in Daisy’s heart. The man was odious. What could her father be thinking?
Felicity put her back to the room and stepped forward to stand in front of Daisy, blocking Lord Webb from their sight. “I won’t allow it. We shall find you someone suitable to marry. Someone you love and who will love you in return. It’s absolutely barbaric that our parents want to arrange our lives.”
A tall, handsome man with dark hair and an imposing manner skirted the dance floor, his gaze intent on the dancers. Daisy smirked. She knew who he wanted to find. “Yes, terrible. And will you be informing your parents of your absolute refusal to adhere to their intention of marrying you to the Marquess of Marberry, the future Duke?”
Felicity blushed a fiery red. “Why that is a different situation entirely.”
Daisy had to agree, but she couldn’t resist teasing her friend the tiniest bit. “So, your parents have not selected Lord Marberry as a prospective husband? You must be ecstatic with relief.” She dodged Felicity’s playful swat on her shoulder with a laugh.
“I have not yet agreed to that particular match,” Felicity said, but her smug smile told another story.
“Does he know that? Because he’s making his way across the dance floor and seems rather intent on finding...someone.” She nodded toward the man now headed in their direction.
“Lord Marberry and I have agreed that we will not bow to our parents’ expectations, but rather make our decision based on whether we feel we should suit. If our feelings don’t align with our parents, then so be it.”
Daisy had to admire her friend’s courage. She had no doubt if Felicity decided Lord Marberry was not for her, she would refuse to marry him, no matter what his overbearing father had to say. She shuddered at the mere thought of the evil man.
“You know, you ought to be careful around the duke,” she blurted before the son was close enough to overhear their conversation.
Felicity nodded. “He makes me uneasy, it’s true. Lord Marberry and I have touched on the subject slightly. We have agreed it would be better were we to keep ourselves separate from his father’s unpleasantness should we decide to wed. For now, I barely interact with his grace.”
A rush of relief spread through Daisy. Rumors abound about the duke’s proclivities, but she supposed he would never do anything to harm his son’s wife. She worried for nothing she was sure.
Thank goodness her own father wasn’t quite as demanding as Lord Gardner. Yes, he made a point of thrusting eligible young men in her direction, but so far, he seemed content to let her decide which one would suit. The problem was, none of them even remotely interested her.
She could not count on him remaining so obliging for much longer. He would eventually demand she pick a husband.
But none of the men her father deemed eligible had sparked anything within her beyond distaste, and even, fear. Not one man had been remotely interested in her thoughts or feelings. Their conversations had all centered around what they sought in a wife. Never what she sought in a husband.
Not that she knew what she wanted.
But at the very least, she didn’t want someone that intimidated her. Someone who talked over her and never listened. She couldn’t imagine a life with someone who had so little care for her as the men she’d met to this point.
“Will you dance with him this evening?”
Felicity glanced over her shoulder and smiled as she caught Lord Marberry’s gaze. “We danced once already. Should we do so again, my reputation will be left in tatters in the event we determine we do not suit.”
Daisy barely restrained her snort of disbelief. There was no chance Felicity or Lord Marberry would decide they didn’t suit. They were quite obviously head over heels in love. “I believe two dances is still deemed within the bounds of propriety. So long as you don’t even contemplate a third, your reputation should remain intact.”
As Lord Marberry came to a stop at their side, Daisy set a pleasant smile on her face. The one she’d practiced at home after being scolded for appearing too dour at past balls. It was Christmas, after all. She should exude the spirit of the season even if she didn’t feel quite so festive.
“Miss Gardner. Miss Worthington.” He bowed to each of them respectively. “Such a fine evening. I hope you agree?”
“Lovely, yes.”
Lending half an ear to Felicity and Lord Marberry’s conversation, Daisy swept her gaze over the crowd. She breathed a sigh of relief when she spotted her father amongst a much different group than before. These men were all married friends of her parents. Many of them had children of marriageable age like Daisy. The question of who might be lucky enough to marry their lovely daughters was a frequent topic of conversation.
Felicity was the lucky one. Lord Marberry was the catch of the Season. Daisy would hazard to guess at least half the girls of her acquaintance had set their cap on marrying the next Duke of Marberry. Oh, the tears that would flow when Felicity and Lord Marberry made their union official.
The signs were there, but many continued to persist in their belief they would eventually be the one to triumph. Miss Atwater, the toast of this past year’s Season, had been heard to boast of the extraordinary attention he paid to her.
So far as Daisy was aware, that attention had consisted of one dance and a visit to the balcony of Almacks. Daisy would bet Miss Atwater had claimed some malady that required a breath of fresh air.
Even now, as the eager young miss danced with a quite dashing Mr. Russell, her attention was riveted on Lord Marberry. The delicate pink of her dress swirled around her ankles as she expertly maneuvered her partner closer to her ultimate goal.
Daisy’s hand itched with the yearning to paint the scene. Not Miss Atwater
precisely, but the swirl of young, and not so young, lords and ladies twirling around the dance floor. Such an exciting array of paints would be called upon to accurately reflect the scene. Only her garden at Worthington Manor in Oxfordshire could equal the dizzying array of colors found at a society ball. The festive holiday decorations made the picture even more magical.
“Will you?”
Oh dear. Felicity and Lord Marberry were staring at her. How long had she stood there staring off into the sea of dancers? “Pardon me. I’m afraid I didn’t hear the question.”
Felicity smiled. “While you were woolgathering, Lord Marberry asked if I’d care to dance and I would very much like to do so. Shall we fetch Mr. Worthington to keep you company?”
“I’m certain my brother would like nothing better than to play chaperone to his spinster sister,” she said sarcastically. “But I will be fine on my own.” Nor would she ask her brother to make it easier for the love of his life to dance with another man. She couldn’t do that to him.
She’d once hoped her brother and her best friend would make a match, but now that Felicity had fallen for Lord Marberry, she had eyes for no one else.
“Nonsense. You are nothing of the sort. You could be married just as soon as the banns are called were you of a mind to choose amongst your many admirers.”
“But I’m not of a mind, and certainly won’t become so in the next few minutes. I am perfectly content to remain unhindered by a husband and to defend my wallflower status by standing here until such time as I can convince my father to take me home.”
Daisy smiled, though she grimaced on the inside. Her so-called admirers all scared her silly. If her father forced her to marry one of them, she didn’t know what she would do.
Chapter Two
Months later, Daisy studied the garden from the sitting room at Worthington Manor in Oxfordshire. The heat was beginning to take its toll on her mother’s roses, the delicate petals in a rainbow of colors tinged with brown. Her mother wasn’t pleased, but the gardeners were doing their best to keep the plants well-watered and shaded through the worst of the excessive warmth they were experiencing this summer.
She sighed. The weather wasn’t helping her father’s temper cool any. Especially after she’d remained steadfast against another suitor’s advances yesterday afternoon.
She’d thought she’d escaped the constant barrage of suitors once the Season ended, and her family returned to their country home. Not even close. Instead, her parents had entertained at least ten eligible gentlemen, each lingering about her home for weeks at a time, with the intention of allowing her to make a choice amongst them.
Her father’s voice echoed right outside her door. She didn’t recognize the low tones of the man with him.
As she tried to decide whether that was good or bad news—at least it wasn’t one of her horrible suitors, but was this a brand new horror her father was about to impose?—the door sprung open.
“Daisy,” her father bellowed. “Clean up all this infernal paint nonsense. Mr. Chapman will be using this room for the next few months.”
She winced at her father’s harsh tone, but made sure to acknowledge Mr. Chapman’s polite bow with a gentle nod. Not that her father had bothered to introduce them. Mr. Chapman must not be in line to an appropriately impressive title.
Stop that, she admonished herself. Father has your best interest at heart. It was just that their opinions of what was best were the exact opposite from each other.
Mr. Chapman, for instance, had a kind smile that put her at ease. Perhaps because he wasn’t there specifically to determine whether she would make a pleasant wife, there was no avarice in the appreciative glint in his eye. Unlike all the others.
She took a deep breath and faced her father. She didn’t know why this stranger could ‘need’ her sitting room, but she did know why she did. “But Father, I need this room for my painting. The light is perfect and I’ve already begun this aspect of mother’s garden. If I stop now, I won’t be able to capture the correct colors.” She gestured toward the canvas.
Nervousness caused her hand to tremble. Her fingers brushed the easel’s edge and it tilted alarmingly. Her attempt to right her blunder only succeeded in making the situation worse. She gasped as her precious art began a swift descent.
Out of nowhere, Mr. Chapman came to the rescue. His long arm reached past her shoulder and with easy grace, plucked the canvas away from the tangled wood of her easel which crashed to the dark wood floor. The racket was deafening, but her painting saved.
He didn’t stop there. With a smile, he said, “No harm done, I think.” He propped the canvas against the wall and proceeded to set the easel to rights.
“Thank you.” Relief flooded through her. She couldn’t tell her father, but the painting wasn’t just another pet project to keep boredom at bay. No, this piece was already bought, paid for, and due the following week. If she had to start over, she would most certainly miss her deadline. The ton may have no idea that she was the much sought-after artist known as ‘The Flower’ but she had worked hard for an impeccable reputation and she had no wish to sully it now. And, if she didn’t meet with her agent on the date they had established, that gentleman might seek her out at home. His commission was, after all, substantial. And that would never do.
Just the thought of her father finding out that she was the artist the entire ton had raved about this past Season filled her with dread. He must never know she was actually selling her art. Such an endeavor smacked of trade, and that would never do for a Worthington.
“Enough of this nonsense. Clean this up right this minute.” Her father turned his back on her and said to Mr. Chapman, “I’ll have a desk brought in for your use. Where would you like it?” He pointed to an area a dozen feet from where Daisy set up in front of the doors. “I suggest over there. You’ll get the most daylight.”
“That would be perfect, my Lord. But please…” He picked up the canvas and placed it gently on the easel. “I have no wish to interrupt your daughter’s fine work here. I’m certain I can conduct my business quietly enough so as not to disturb her.”
Daisy’s eyes widened. So as not to disturb her? She couldn’t think of another time when any man seemed concerned with whether or not their actions might upset her plans.
Her father grunted. She gripped her fingers behind her back. Please, please, please. She pleaded with her eyes. She’d spoken out against him enough for the day, best to keep silent and let Mr. Chapman make the case for her.
“Fine. But if you disrupt Mr. Chapman’s work, I will be sorely displeased,” he warned.
“Of course not, Father. I wouldn’t dream of interfering in your business affairs.” Not entirely true and they both knew it. She’d advised him on several business dealings over the years. She had a knack for picking wise investments.
He grunted once again, but nodded curtly. She bit the inside of her cheeks to keep the smile from her face. It wouldn’t do to be too overjoyed at his capitulation. Instead, she curtsied daintily and said, “Thank you, Father. I won’t disappoint you.”
“You’ll begin tomorrow, Chapman.”
They said their goodbyes and proceeded out of the room. No doubt to advise the servants of how to set up for Mr. Chapman’s use since a few minutes later, a large table was brought in. She directed the work so that the setup would make optimum use of the light. Not quite where her father had suggested, but she knew the light in this room much better than anyone else and her way would take maximum advantage of the sun’s rays.
She spent the remainder of the day on her art. A little creative license disguised the setting so the view could be one of any number of society’s gardens. The flagstone path was quite easily distinguishable, so she adjusted the color to something more common. She didn’t care to give away the painting’s location. Doing so would make it clear she was the artist and she wasn’t prepared to do that at this time.
She wasn’t sure if she ever wanted to reveal he
r truth to the world. True, her pride blossomed at the idea of people acknowledging her talent, but her modesty hated the idea of dealing with all that attention.
It was a problem she likely would never have to solve if she were forced to marry. She couldn’t imagine any of the lords of her acquaintance allowing his wife to sell her art.
She wondered what Mr. Chapman would think.
A blush heated her cheeks. She had no business thinking of Mr. Chapman at all. Yet her thoughts refused to stray far from the man the entire afternoon. A blank canvas begged to be transformed into his image. Without even realizing it, she’d mixed the perfect shade of blue for his eyes. And a dash of that yellow for the specks of gold that had sparkled within them as he smiled. He wasn’t classically handsome, as Felicity’s Lord Marberry, but there was something about his person that pleased her.
She thrust the thought from her mind. No matter what anyone thought, she had a painting to complete and a deadline to meet. And she wasn’t going to disappoint her customer.
Daydreams of the kind man with the gentle smile would have to wait for later.
Ben Chapman went through the numbers a second time. Yes. There was no doubt about it. Lord Worthington’s steward was stealing from his lordship. At first, Ben had questioned whether the man was merely incompetent, but after going through the records several times, he determined the theft was too cleverly hidden to be a series of unfortunate mistakes.
Damn. He’d been hoping for stupidity. Dealing with dishonor of this magnitude was distasteful in the extreme. Lord Worthington would not be pleased.
Even more disturbing was the evidence that Mr. Marsh was not stealing from his employer of his own accord. The money was being funneled to another entity. Blackmail, perhaps?
