Loved by a Duke (The Heart of a Duke #4)(83)

Agnes had been with her for nearly six years. She’d seen those earlier attempts at a heart when they’d been more of an amorphous sphere, and when Daisy had required kerchiefs to blot digits wounded by her inept fingers.

“I did it,” she repeated quietly. Where was the sense of accomplishment? Where was the joy? Daisy froze. Only was this truly joy? This empty scrap of fabric with her perfectly etched heart? The one sliver of happiness she’d clung to hadn’t been this or even the memories of Lionel, but rather of Auric…as he’d been before, and who he’d been after.

Everything between them had been false. Or had it? She thought of the accusations she’d hurled at him, the hurt she’d seen reflected in his eyes, eyes that were usually indecipherable masks that gave no glimpse of thought or emotion. Daisy drew in a slow breath. For the pain she carried over their marriage crafted upon obligation and responsibility, she needed to see her husband if for no other reason than to take back those horrific charges she’d leveled at him, holding him guilty for crimes that were no one’s but the person who’d murdered Lionel.

“It is time to return home, Agnes,” she confided. She murmured her thanks as the young woman set to work folding up the blanket and packing up the handful of belonging they’d brought that morning.

And what, then? What happened after they spoke? Did they simply become friends as they’d once been? She shook her head, clearing the thought. They could never have the uncomplicated, trusting relationship they’d once known. Or were they to be one of those polite, proper dukes and duchesses who attended polite, Society functions together and hosted the requisite dinner parties and balls, while never being anything more?

“Are you ready, Your Grace?” Agnes asked.

Daisy nodded and reached for her embroidery kit, relieving Agnes of that burden. They strolled in silence through the empty park. The soft morning cry of a kestrel punctuated the peace in the empty, expertly manicured grounds. She followed Agnes to the waiting carriage and allowed the liveried servant to hand her inside. He made to close the door. Daisy held her hand out, staying the moment. “The Marchioness of Roxbury’s first.”

The driver nodded and a moment later, the carriage sprang into motion. She pulled back the curtain and peered out at the passing London streets. Empty and quiet, there was an almost eerie peace that allowed one to forget, if even for a moment, that they dwelled in the dark, dirty city of glittering falsity. She looked on as Auric’s carriage returned her to the familiar row of townhouses, before ultimately rocking to a stop before her former home. The driver pulled the door open and Daisy stepped down. “I’ll not be long,” she stated and then started forward.

Daisy drew in a slow breath and stared up at the white stucco structure and then continued forward, up the handful of steps. She rapped once.

The door opened immediately. Frederick looked at her a moment, his mouth agape and then colored. “Your Grace,” he swept aside, allowing her entry.

Daisy tugged off her gloves. “There is no need for such formality, Frederick,” she said gently to the servant who’d looked after her with far more care than even her own parents had over the years.

He widened his eyes as though she expressed her intentions to lob off the Queen’s head and make off with her crown.

She started toward the stairs and then began the slow climb. “I’ve returned for something,” she explained and marched upward, fearing if he asked questions or said even a word, her resolve would desert her. She reached the main landing and then continued down the corridor, finally stopping beside one familiar, long-closed door.

Knock three times…

But what if you are not around…

I’ll always—

Daisy pressed the handle and stepped inside. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the darkened chambers. The emerald velvet curtains still drawn as they’d been seven years ago. She pushed the door closed and the soft click thundered through the hallow space.

She lingered at the door. She closed her eyes a moment and drew in a breath seeking a hint of Lionel here. She didn’t know what she expected. A trace of the sandalwood scent he’d favored, perhaps? Or the echo of his laugh. Nothing but dark, empty silence met her. Daisy tossed her gloves onto a small side table and wandered the perimeter of the room. She trailed her fingertips along the plaster walls and stopped beside the mahogany armoire.

Unthinking, Daisy opened the doors. Immaculate, white shirts and sapphire and emerald waistcoats, those dark hues always favored by Lionel, hung perfectly within. But for the slightly out of fashion lines of the breeches, the garments may as well have belonged to a man still attending ton functions and visiting his clubs. She reached a reverent hand out and stroked the white linen of one shirt.

Then she gave her head a slow, sad shake and closed the door. She rested her forehead against it. “You silly, silly man. Why would you go to that place?” Silence met her pained question. She knocked her head against the wood panel. “You didn’t allow anyone to drag you anywhere, ever.” As the sister who’d dogged his steps, she knew he’d never alter whatever path he’d set.

Daisy stepped away and moved over to the untouched bed. She hesitated, afraid to disturb the coverlet he’d once lain upon and steal the ghost of his memory. With a quiet sigh, she sat on the edge. A hint of dust drifted from the fabric, the silver specks danced in the air. Auric hadn’t forced Lionel there. He had gone of his own volition. Just as Marcus and Auric had. Blame was useless and futile and wouldn’t right the past. Daisy lay down. Only, she wished they’d made altogether different decisions, for then Lionel would now live and there would still be the uncomplicated laughs and smiles they’d all once shared. She rolled onto her side and stared at the nightstand alongside Lionel’s bed. When all she craved was a tangible memory of him, something she could cling to, the mahogany piece may as well have belonged to any other young man and any other chambers, just as the armoire and garments.