Loved by a Duke (The Heart of a Duke #4)(46)

She didn’t doubt, even with his death, that Auric carried a commitment to his best friend’s family. “That is all we are,” she said, needing the words more for herself. “An obligation, Mama. He must live his life.”

Her mother swirled away. “Cease this instant,” she cried, clamping her hands over her ears. “This is not about…about…”

“Lionel,” Daisy supplied, feeling a needle of guilt as her mother went wan. “And it is about Lionel, for there is no other accounting for his frequent visits.” Even as she wished there was more, he’d proven with his interest in seeing her wed that there was not more.

There is the kiss…

Agnes entered the room, bearing a tray of refreshments. She looked between mother and daughter and then hurried to set her burden down. Daisy expected her mother to touch her hands to her temples, plead a megrim, and rush out, as she was wont to do. Instead, she claimed a seat on the sofa and proceeded to pour herself a cup of tea. “Sit down, Daisy.”

Daisy blinked and then automatically slid into the chair across from her mother. The other woman added sugar and milk and then took a sip. “How long have you loved him?”

She choked. “How long have I—?”

“Loved him. Thirteen years? Fourteen?” Twelve. “I daresay you’d not be so dismissive of Auric if you’d have his heart.” She gave her a knowing, motherly look from over the rim of her cup.

Unaccustomed to communicating with her mother in not only this way, but also any way, Daisy glanced down at her lap. “He doesn’t know I exist.” After so many years with no one to talk to and confide in, there was something sweet and wonderful in hearing her own voice and knowing someone else heard it, too.

Mother snorted. “If that was the case, then he’d not come week after week, even when I’m not receiving callers.”

“What of the suitors he’s trying to foist me off on?” Pain pressed on her heart. Why would he do that if he truly cared for her in the way she wished him to care?

“Oh, I never claimed he was smart. He is, after all, a gentleman and would no sooner know his own feelings than he’d spot the sun falling from the sky.”

A startled bark of laughter bubbled past Daisy’s lips and she delighted in a glimpse of her mother’s former verve.

Her mother gave her a smile. “Now, my dear, instead of all this wounded hurt at his presenting you with possible suitors, I suggest you do something a good deal better.”

Daisy tipped her head.

Her mother took another sip and then lowered the delicate, porcelain piece to her lap. “Why, you make him jealous.”

There was a greater likelihood of the sun falling from the sky as her mother had earlier commented than in Auric being jealous over her. Daisy made a sound of impatience and hopped to her feet. “Make him jealous?” A humorless laugh escaped her. “I do love you Mother, but you do not see…” She let the words trail off. For the same woman who’d ceased to remember her daughter’s existence these years, now looked at her through the lens of a proud mama, her judgment skewed.

“See what, Daisy?” her mother called up from her seat. “You’ve lovely hair.”

“It is brown,” she complained. Lady Stanhope and Lady Leticia and all their gloriously golden, loose curls slipped into her mind. “And tightly curled.” When every other sought after lady had those flowing, loose curls.

“It is unique. Just as your freckles.”

Unique, which was really just a polite way of saying deuced odd. Daisy wandered over to the ornate, gold-framed mirror. She studied herself with a critical eye. She was seeing those brown curls and freckles and trying, desperately trying, to see a hint of truth to her mother’s prideful words. With a disgusted shake of her head, she shifted her attention to her form. “And I’m plump,” she pointed out, not taking her gaze from the not-at-all slender, lithe figure appreciated by gentlemen. Or rather, appreciated by the only gentleman that mattered.

Her mother came to her feet and sailed over. “You are indeed plump.”

Daisy’s lips pulled up at one corner in a wry smile. “Thank you.” She wasn’t insulted. She appreciated that honesty.

Her mother rapped her on the knuckles. “Do hush, I was not finished.” She gripped Daisy’s shoulders and forced her gaze to the plump, freckled woman reflected back at them. “You have a form that any sensible gentleman would admire.” The marchioness ignored Daisy’s snort. She took her by the hands.

“What are you doing?” Daisy asked, shifting awkwardly on her feet, as her mother turned her about, eyeing her the way Cook might assess a corner hock of beef.

“Shh,” her mother urged. Mama released her suddenly and raised a hand to her chin. “Hmm.” She tapped the tip of her finger against her lower lip and, but for that meditative glimmer in her eyes, said nothing. For a long while.

Daisy shifted on her feet, in that moment finding she might prefer the lack of notice to this contemplative study. She’d become so accustomed to being invisible where her mother was concerned, that she didn’t know what to do with this scrutiny.

Then her mother took a step backward, shaking her head. “Oh, Daisy, how remiss I’ve been.” She eyed Daisy’s mauve skirts, shame fairly bleeding from her eyes.