Loved by a Duke (The Heart of a Duke #4)(8)

Both strangers to Daisy. She slowly stood, shifting her gaze to her mama locked in conversation. Eyes blank, lips moving, the marchioness was her usual empty shell and certainly wouldn’t note if her invisible daughter did something as scandalous as slip away from the ballroom. Alone. Unchaperoned. Nor would she likely care if she did note such a shocking aberration from Daisy’s predictable self.

From across the room, a flash of burnt orange skirts stood vibrant amidst the sea of whites and ivory. Daisy’s heart kicked up a swifter beat as the lovely, golden-blonde woman stole an almost searching glance about and then took her leave of the ballroom.

Before her courage left her, Daisy skirted the edge of the dance floor and slipped from the crush of Lady Harrison’s annual event. Her slippered footsteps silent on the carpeted floors, she stole down her host’s corridor. She fixed her gaze on the burnt orange satin skirts as they disappeared around the corridor and quickened her step, detesting her rather short legs that tended to complicate the whole hurrying about business. Daisy reached the end of the hall and turned in time to see her quarry slip inside her host’s conservatory.

No good could really come to a lady sneaking off to her host’s conservatory. She lengthened her stride and made her way down the passageway. Then, a good deal more freedom was permitted married women. Daisy, on the other hand, flirted with ruin sneaking about her host’s opulent townhouse.

She paused outside the room and peeked her head inside. The young woman with pale golden ringlets sat on a bench examining a torn hem. Slim, blonde, with blue eyes and flawless skin, the beauty represented everything plump, freckled, Daisy with her plain, brown hair would never be. She’d accepted her lack of uniqueness amongst diamonds of the first water. Yet, in this instant, in this very moment, she would trade her two smallest fingers for a smidgeon of the perfect, English beauty possessed by the young woman.

“Blast and double blast,” the woman muttered.

Daisy paused. For with that single curse, it removed the air of perfection Daisy had ascribed to the lady and made her human, and more…approachable. She cleared her throat. “My lady?”

Lady Stanhope shrieked. The bench beneath her tipped precariously backward and, for one horrifying, infinitesimal moment that stretched to eternity, Daisy suspected the woman would tumble backwards.

Then miraculously the bench teetered forward and righted itself.

Filled with horror, Daisy rushed over. “Oh, my lady, forgive me.” Mortified heat blazed in her cheeks. She’d nearly upended the lovely countess. Accustomed to the cool rigidity of other ladies of the ton, Daisy braced in anticipation of a scathing reprimand.

Instead, she received a smile. “Oh, worry not.” The recently wedded young lady waved a hand “It certainly would not have been the first time I’d toppled myself over.”

She’d spent the better part of three weeks resenting this woman. Daisy wanted to hate her, wanted to despise her for having had everything Daisy herself desired. But she couldn’t. Not with her smile and humility. “That is kind of you to say, my lady,” she said pragmatically. “But it was entirely my fault.” She’d always had a rather unfortunate tendency of knocking objects over. It would seem she’d now add people to that rather bothersome habit.

“Hardly,” Lady Stanhope assured her. She motioned to her frayed hem. “I tore my gown and sought a moment of privacy.” A pretty blush stained her cheeks and Daisy knew nothing about matters of stolen interludes and clandestine meetings, but she knew the countess waited for someone.

Envy, dark and ugly, twisted inside Daisy, as she considered whom the countess had stolen away to meet. Surely the proper, polite Duke of Crawford didn’t dally with wedded ladies? Except on the heel of that was the ugly niggling thought of him dallying with any woman. Jealousy tightened her stomach into pained knots and she clasped her hands close to her waist in an attempt to dull the sensation. “My lady,” she began. “I am Lady Daisy Meadows.” Horrid name. Couldn’t have had been given a light, feminine name such as Anne or a regal, stately name such as Katherine.

The countess’ smile widened, the warmth of it sparkled in her blue eyes. Blue. Not brown. “Please, no need for such formality. It is just Anne.”

A woman of her beauty, with her husky, melodic tone, could never be just anything. Which brought her back to the matter of this orchestrated exchange. To calm her trembling fingers, Daisy smoothed her palms over her pale yellow skirts. “My lady…Anne,” she amended. She took a deep breath and then looked around. When she returned her attention to the countess, she found the other woman studying her, head cocked at a slight angle.

“Is there something I might help you with, Lady Daisy?”

“Daisy,” she corrected. “Please, just Daisy.” No other lady, certainly not any of Daisy’s acquaintance anyway, would offer assistance with such sincerity. Which made it vastly easier to continue. “I heard tell of a necklace,” she said softly. Even as the words left her mouth the inherent silliness in believing in such a talisman struck.

Lady Stanhope stared, unblinking. “A necklace?” The question came haltingly.

Daisy nodded. She touched her neck. “A heart pendant, to be precise. I heard it had been worn by you and your sister and…and others. That whoever wears this pendant will possess the heart of a duke.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she bit the inside of her cheek. Cool practicality reared its head once more and the shame of both her boldness and foolishness in believing in enchanted objects. “Er, forgive me,” she said hurriedly. “I…” am a fool. She turned to go.