Loved by a Duke (The Heart of a Duke #4)(9)

“Wait,” the woman’s exclamation stayed her movement.

Daisy forced her legs to move and slowly faced Lady Anne once more. Pained embarrassment coursed through her being. It curled her toes and burned her cheeks.

“Oh,” the countess said. A smile played about her bow-shaped lips. “You’ve heard of the pendant.”

A thrill of hope drove back all previous shame. “It is true, then.” The words escaped her on a breathy whisper. She’d learned long ago that all tales spread by gossips only contained the tiniest shreds of truth, if any, and had suspected the legend of the heart was nothing more than fool’s gossip.

Lady Stanhope stood and wandered closer to the massive worktable, littered in pink peonies and crimson roses, and two flutes filled to the brim with bubbling champagne. The fragrant scent of spring wafted about the glass conservatory, at odds with the crisp, cool of the unseasonable late spring night. “It is true.”

Hope flared in Daisy’s breast. “I knew it,” she whispered, more to herself. She’d ceased believing in magic and fate seven years ago, but in this, this she’d dared hope. Because the emotion, though buried, somehow nudged part of her heart, reminding her that it still dwelt inside her. Real and…there. Even as she denied it to herself. “May—” Daisy wet her lips, quelling the forward question she longed to ask. She was nothing more than a stranger to this woman and had no right to ask this horribly intimate favor. The woman stared on encouragingly and before courage deserted her, she blurted, “I would be eternally grateful if you would be willing to share your necklace with me.” She winced at how very pathetic that entreaty emerged. Desperate. Hopeless. A lady willing to humble herself before a stranger for the dream of a certain gentleman’s hand.

The countess studied her a long while, head tipped to the side, as though she examined an oddity just unearthed. Then a slow, dawning of understanding lit the woman’s eyes. “Why, you desire the heart of a duke.”

“No!” The exclamation bounced mockingly off the crystal windows. Another wave of heat slapped at her cheeks. “No,” she said, this time in a far steadier tone. Except, that wasn’t altogether true. “Well, yes.” Daisy clamped her lips together, eyeing the glass door leading out to the Marquess of Harrison’s enclosed garden and momentarily contemplated escape. “Not per se. Rather…” For, the truth was, she didn’t want the heart of just any duke.

She wanted Auric’s heart. Wanted it even though he still saw her as nothing more than Lionel’s sister. Wanted it even as she’d bumbled and fumbled her way through not quite one, but somehow almost three, London Seasons, with the always-polite Auric there visiting or partnering her in the requisite dances, but never a waltz.

“Daisy?”

The gentle prodding jerked her from her woeful musings. “Forgive me,” she murmured. “I was woolgathering.” She’d been brave enough to humble herself thus far by orchestrating this meeting. Daisy squared her shoulders and pressed ahead. “I need the pendant, my lady.” The fabled necklace represented the last sliver of innocence and hope—the hope of Auric, and more, Daisy’s hope for them.

“Oh, Daisy.” Sympathy flared in the countess’ expression. “I am so sorry.”

No! She didn’t want the words she knew were coming. She wanted her hope and her sliver of gypsy’s magic and lore. Her life was full of enough sad truths.

“After I wed Lord Stanhope, I had no further need of the pendant. I’d claimed the heart of the only man I’d ever wanted and gave the necklace to another young lady.” Hope flared again in her breast. The countess knew who possessed the heart pendant—“Lady Imogen has since married.” Daisy’s mind raced. She had a name. A twinkle lit Lady Stanhope’s eyes. “Not to a duke, but she found love, which is what matters most.” All Daisy must do was approach Lady Imogen and humble herself before yet another stranger. Auric was worth the sacrifice. “We’ve since returned it to the care of the rightful owner.”

Daisy’s heart sank. Of course, Lady Stanhope recently wed, and her twin sister, the Duchess of Bainbridge, both possessed what all young ladies dared dream of—a happy, loving match; bits of fairytales that Daisy had ceased believing in.

Only now, with the truth of how very close she’d come to possessing that pendant, she was confronted again by the mocking truth of her own silliness for hoping and believing in fairytales and chasing rainbows when life had already shown her the gloom of rain. She swallowed. Gone. She’d lost her sole hope. Her only opportunity. Daisy dropped her gaze to the floor, managing a polite curtsy. “Forgive me for intruding on you, my lady. I shall allow you,” Emotion lodged in her throat as she confronted once more the ugly possibility of whose company the countess even now awaited. She coughed into her hand. “I shall allow you your privacy,” she repeated. She turned to go.

“Daisy.”

She froze and looked back at Lady Stanhope questioningly.

“When I first discovered the existence of the Heart of a Duke pendant, I believed it would bring me the heart of a duke.”

And it had. Even if the fool woman had chosen another over the Duke of Crawford, Lady Stanhope had earned Auric’s heart. “Didn’t it, my lady?” she asked quietly. “The papers purported that Aur…” She curled her toes with embarrassment at that telling revelation. “The Duke of Crawford,” she amended, “made you an offer.” Daisy knew. She knew because she’d lashed herself with each torturous word in the scandal sheets. Knew because she’d observed Auric as he publicly courted the golden beauty. Needle-like pain pricked her heart.