Loved by a Duke (The Heart of a Duke #4)(23)

With a gasp Daisy yanked back her already hopelessly sullied hem. Alas, irreparable damage had already been done to her green muslin cloak. She drew the garment closer about her and continued, each step being fueled by the memory of those two winks last evening and her and Auric’s dance. Oh, he’d asked her to dance any number of quadrilles and polite, country reels but never a waltz—until last evening. Granted, with her mother’s insistence, Auric couldn’t very well have not asked her to dance. However, he could have chosen a more polite, less intimate dance. And yet, he’d chosen a waltz. Surely, that signified something where the duke was concerned? Sporadic raindrops touched her skin. She brushed away a bead of moisture from the tip of her nose.

“My lady,” her maid called after her, her tone fairly pleading.

She paused and spun back around. The wind tugged at Daisy’s skirts. “Agnes, we have a good number of shops and carts to search. I’ll not be out of your sight, but if I’m to have any hope in finding this particular necklace, I require your help.”

Agnes sighed. “My lady, the marchioness will sack me if she discovers I’ve left your side.” She skimmed her troubled gaze over the cobbled roads of Gipsy Hill. “In these streets of London, no less.”

Daisy patted the girl comfortingly on the shoulder. “Oh, Agnes, she wouldn’t. I promise,” she added, in some attempt to mollify the young woman’s worries.

When mother was in one of her moods, which was more often than not, she wouldn’t notice if Daisy hiked her skirts above her knees and hopped on one foot through the corridors calling out her name. After Lady Harrison’s ball last evening, the marchioness had withdrawn into her chambers and retreated with one of her familiar megrims. Though Daisy had long suspected there were really no headaches and more a desire for solitude so she could be alone with the memory of the son she’d lost. No, indisposed as she was, mother wouldn’t know, nor likely care, if Daisy was only a handful of carts away from her maid while shopping on Bond Street. Even if it was the unfashionable parts of Gipsy Hill.

Agnes studied her and then sighed. “Very well. It is a heart, you say?”

Pleased to at last have some help in this madcap scheme she’d crafted, Daisy nodded excitedly. “Yes. A heart. I’ve been told it is this big,” she gestured with her fingers. “And gold with faint etchings.” Troubling her lower lip, she glanced up and down the street littered with vendors peddling their wares. “I imagine we’ll be more effective if we move on the opposite sides of the street.” She took Agnes gently by the shoulders and steered her toward the column of carts. “Now, off you go.”

Agnes hesitated a long moment and then, muttering under her breath, allowed herself to be propelled gently forward.

Not wishing to risk that Agnes changed her mind and clung uselessly to her side as a rather weak chaperone, Daisy lifted her hem a bit, keeping the fabric from the thick, muddied puddle and stepped over the murky water. As she made her way to the gypsy carts, she recalled Lady Stanhope’s words last evening of an old woman by the name of Bunic?. The gypsy with graying hair was, in fact, the rightful owner and the last to hold the heart pendant. What were the chances that some young woman had already found the gypsy and been given the heart pendant? Furthermore, what lady would even be in search of that bauble?

She came to a stop on the busy sidewalk. “Every woman in the blasted kingdom,” she mumbled to herself.

A nearby vendor, an older man with a shock of white hair tugged a black cap from his head. “Beg yer pardon, ma’am?”

Heat slapped her cheeks. “Er, nothing.” Bothersome business of speaking to herself. She really required a confidante or friend. There was nothing else for it. She gave her head a clearing shake, coming back to her purpose in being here this day—and it wasn’t to wax melancholy about her circumstances. The gypsy turned to his cart littered with fabric and an array of small fripperies, drawing her attention to his goods. She wandered closer and ran her fingers along the edge of the large, wooden wagon with heavy nicks and dents. The wind carried the gentle sprinkling of rain and splashed her cheek. With the tips of her glove-encased fingertips, Daisy wiped away a drop and moved slowly around the side of his cart.

A small, round piece of glass, smattered with raindrops caught her eye. The delicate piece gleamed from the beads of moisture giving Daisy pause. Leaning across his eclectic array of items, she picked up the small, glass piece and with the tip of her finger, brushed the rain off the smooth glass.

Granted when you make your Come Out, Auric will be one of those old dukes with a quizzing glass to his eye…

A wistful smile played about her lips at Lionel’s voice, as clear as the day he’d uttered those words, rang in the bustling streets. She hopelessly glanced about for her oft-smiling brother. Yet, there was not a familiar face or friendly smile within the crowds of strangers. Alone. Just as she’d been these seven years now. Her smile dipped.

“Ye be wontin’ to buy that, moi lady?” The gypsy’s words brought her back from her sad musings.

“No. I…” She ran her finger down the frame and then froze at the slight, silver ornament at the center. A daisy. The wind tugged at her hair, freeing a curl. The quizzing glass was perfect. “Yes. I believe I do.” She reached into the reticule that hung from her wrist and fished about the bottom of the satin sack. Daisy withdrew a sovereign and held it out to the man who eyed the coin in wide-eyed wonder.