Loved by a Duke (The Heart of a Duke #4)(43)

Wessex stood. He tugged out his own handkerchief and, with the edge of the fabric, brushed the moisture from his cheeks. “I have it on authority that the first three gentlemen upon that list are in the market for a wife.”

Auric took in Coventry, Fenworth, and the Viscount Marsdale’s names. Gentlemen who were in the market for a wife were generally seeking a match for a reason. No man would have her for her dowry. He’d see to that. “Their finances—?”

“There is no debt. I’ve made specific inquiries.”

He looked up with no little surprise.

A flash of annoyance lit the other man’s eyes. “Come, did you believe I’d be dishonorable to Daisy and in so doing, the memory of Lionel?”

“No,” he replied instantly, and a wave of guilt struck him for his friend’s unerring accuracy with that leveled charge.

He yanked on the lapels of his jacket. “Regardless, I’d recommend Astor.”

The obscenely wealthy Earl of Astor didn’t sit down at the gaming tables. He was rumored to keep a single mistress and never did anything so outrageous as visiting those infamous sins. In short, the man was a bloody paragon. He’d always detested Astor.

“Crawford?”

“Er, right. I’ll pay the gentleman a visit.” After all, what was the likelihood that Astor was in the market for a wife with too full lips and generous hips, and—?

“And?” Wessex prodded.

He spoke through gritted teeth. “And I’ll bring him ’round for a visit with Daisy.”

Another sharp bark of laughter burst from the viscount’s lips and Auric grew increasingly annoyed with the other man’s enjoyment at his expense.

“That is your plan?” The viscount shook his head. “Do tell me how Daisy responds to your, er…visit with the earl.” He sketched a bow. With another round of laughter trailing in his wake, Wessex took his leave.

Directing a frown at the now empty doorway, he looked once more to the two very different lists comprised of two very different sets of names of gentlemen.



Daisy’s carriage rolled up to the front of her townhouse and rocked to a slow, effortless stop. She pursed her lips. Another dratted outing and another failed attempt. Though she appreciated Lady Stanhope’s optimism that Daisy would, in fact, manage to find the Heart of a Duke pendant if she but looked, it was more like finding a needle in the streets of London.

A footman pulled the door open and handed her down. She flashed the young liveried footman—Thomas—a smile. “Thank you,” she murmured and started for the entrance of her home.

Yes, she appreciated the lady’s optimism, but she was also… Daisy paused at the base of the stairs and frowned. Well, hell and bloody hell, she was frustrated because she’d taken herself to Gipsy Hill three times without a hint of the gypsy Bunic?. Of all the gypsies she’d asked, not a single one had guided her to the woman’s whereabouts. And that was assuming the old gypsy and her pendant were even there. Instead, Daisy’s inquiries had been met with stony silence and wary eyes. She stomped up the handful of steps and Frederick, as uncanny as he’d been since she’d been a girl tearing through the halls of the then joyous townhouse, drew the door open.

“Lady Daisy,” he greeted.

“Frederick.” A servant rushed over and she shrugged out of her cloak. The winning of Auric’s heart resided in that pendant and, though she’d ceased to believe in magic and fairytales of happily ever after’s many years ago, she allowed herself this last dream. Daisy started up the stairs. Frederick cleared his throat. Though it was foolish to hang her every remaining hope upon a gypsy’s bauble, this was the last dream she carried, and to give up on that dream would represent the last shred of joy left inside her soul.

Frederick gave another subtle cough. She glanced over her shoulder. “I took the liberty of showing His Grace, Duke of Crawford to the drawing room, as well as—”

“Thank you, Frederick!” Her heart sped up and she bounded back down the steps in a way that would have made her mother of old cringe. Following his visit yesterday when he’d spoken to her of making a match with another—a man who was not him—she’d been besieged by alternating feelings of outrage, hurt, and annoyance. She reached the end of the corridor and slowed to a quick, jerky halt. Daisy smoothed her hands over her cheeks and then ran her palms down the front of her skirts, composing herself. Through the years, she’d believed his frequent visits a mere obligatory social call paid her mother, and yet, with the marchioness so often indisposed, why, why would Auric return day after day if not some small part didn’t long to see her? Daisy turned down the hall. Why, unless… She stepped into the room.

Her gaze locked on Auric, standing at the hearth, arms clasped behind his back. And then she became aware of another gentleman, seated on the King Louis XIV chair looking about as put out with Auric as Daisy herself. The tall, lean, dark-haired gentleman, the Earl of Astor. She’d not met the man beyond an introduction and two or three sets in total at a variety functions. It was certainly not enough to merit an unexpected afternoon call. Unless— Her mind spun rapidly. Then the truth settled around her brain and Daisy slowly narrowed her eyes. By God, she would bloody Auric’s nose for this, she would. And if he were lucky, that was all she would do.

Lord Astor tugged out his watch fob, happening to glance up at her silent figure in the doorway. He sprang to his feet. “My lady,” he greeted, in a not at all displeasing baritone.