Loved by a Duke (The Heart of a Duke #4)(62)

“Bah, of course there is to be a grand ceremony. Why, we must invite Lady Jersey,” Daisy groaned, “and I daresay Prinny himself will come,” her mother continued over her. “After all, it is not every day that a duke weds.”

Daisy buried her head in her hands and shook it back and forth. Mama might not give two jots of whether her daughter was pleased. She would, however, care a good deal of Auric’s wishes. “Auric will not welcome a lavish event, Mama. I’m certain of it.” The man of his youth would have. Whereas Daisy had always been hopelessly gauche and bumbling at the summer parties thrown by her parents, Auric had moved with the same effortless grace he possessed, even to this day.

“Hmm.” Her mother tapped a finger against her lips. “Do you believe so?”

“Oh, I’m certain of it.”

“We shall, of course, defer to the duke’s desires in the matter.” She threw her arms around Daisy.

“Oomph!” She staggered under the weight of her mother’s unexpected frame and she stiffened as Mama ran her palm up and down her back the way she had when Daisy had been a small girl who’d stumbled or fallen. Daisy held her body taut with the unfamiliarity of this embrace. Too many years had passed where her mother hadn’t managed to look at her surviving child, let alone hold her.

“I am so very happy,” her mother said, her voice clogged with emotion.

Daisy closed her eyes and accepted her mother’s affection. The same way she’d missed Auric’s teasing, smiling presence was the same way she’d longed to return to the simpler times when Mama had been stern and disapproving and Papa jovial, and Lionel—just being Lionel. There had been a void and Auric had been the one to fill it, and in so doing had healed some part of her shattered mother.

The marchioness seemed to remember herself. She released Daisy and stepped back. “Well,” she said, smoothing her palms along the front of her skirts. A pink blush stained her cheeks. “If you’ll excuse me?” With that, her mother turned on her heel and left Daisy—alone.

Her lips curved upward in an unrestrained smile. Now, she’d never be alone again. Daisy reclaimed her seat and picked up her embroidery frame once more, periodically shifting her attention from the scrap of fabric to the ormolu clock, ticking away on the mantel. A little frown played on her lips. Where in blazes was he? He’d stepped down from the carriage…and she stole a glance at the clock, several minutes ago. Perhaps he wished to speak to her mama first?

She stilled, feeling his presence. Then, they’d always shared a unique connection, one that defied Lionel’s passing. Frederick appeared at the entrance of the room.

“His Grace, the Duke of Crawford,” he boomed and then backed out, allowing them their privacy.

Quiet echoed in the still of the Blue Parlor and Daisy climbed to her feet. “Hullo,” she offered belatedly.

“Daisy,” he murmured. Thick lashes that no gentleman had a right to possess swept low as he peered at her.

When he’d arrived a short while ago, she’d detected a flash of panic and horror on his face, and he’d then disappeared inside, so that she was left to wonder if she’d imagined his inexplicable reaction. With the manner in which his hot gaze lingered upon the swell of her décolletage, all her misgivings lifted when presented instead with his masculine appreciation. She fiddled with the embroidery frame, grateful for its comforting presence in her hands. “Hullo,” she said. Again. Twice now. Or perhaps she hadn’t? “Mayhap I’d only thought it in my head?” Which would, of course, be the preferable, less humiliating— A half grin pulled at his lips as he strode over, coming to a stop just several feet away. “No, you did indeed greet me twice.”

Daisy bit the inside of her cheek. “Oh.” Bothersome habit to have. “Would you care to sit?” she asked, motioning to the collection of seats about the room.

Wordlessly, he inclined his head and waited until she’d reclaimed her spot, perched upon the edge of the sofa. Auric took the seat beside her. His broad, powerful frame filled the King Louis XIV mahogany chair. She rested her embroidery on her lap.

“I spoke with your g…” Auric dropped a contemplative gaze to her lap.

She held it up for his perusal.

“A teardrop?”

Daisy shook her head. “Why ever would I want to capture a teardrop upon a handkerchief?”

Auric grinned. “You are correct.” He leaned over and in a very un-dukelike manner, plucked it from her fingers.

“Well?” she prodded.

With the tip of his index finger, he trailed it over the crimson red threads, outlined in gold. His creased brow spoke to his concentration, which was undoubtedly never a promising sign of one’s embroidering prowess, or rather lack therefore of. She sighed and took it from his fingers. “Oh, do give me that.”

“Do you know what it is?” he teased.

Daisy pointed her eyes to the ceiling. “Of course I do.” She kicked at his foot with the tip of her slippers. “Do hush.” Yet, secretly at his teasing, she trilled with happiness; the kind of uncomplicated joy she’d never thought to know and most certainly never again from him, the stoic, somber Duke of Crawford. She proceeded to pull her threaded needle through the fabric with deliberate care.

“I spoke to your guardians.”