Chapter Eighteen
“What is he still doing here?” The countess stood by the window in Daisy’s room that overlooked the entry court. “Whatever possessed the earl to ask him to stay? After the way he absconded with you the other day—thank Heaven, Redmond had the good sense to insist on going along.”
Daisy stood openmouthed, listening to the first complimentary words the countess had ever aimed her uncle’s way.
The countess drew her to the window to watch Ashton climbing aboard a big roan and setting off for God-knew-where.
“Scandal follows that man like night follows day, and for the same reason. It’s his very nature,” the countess declared. “He’s a scoundrel, born and bred, and he always will be. Not an honest or sincere bone in his body.”
Daisy pursed her lips at that.
“I’m not so certain, Countess.” To forestall her sponsor’s concern, she explained: “He has been nothing but helpful in searching out my possible ancestors, and has behaved in a gentlemanly fashion.” Mostly.
The countess clasped her forehead and gave a small groan.
“He’s used his charm on you, dear. It’s his most potent and treacherous weapon. He’ll have you thinking he’s helpful . . . then secretly noble . . . then selflessly heroic. And it will all be to his purpose, trust me. There are plenty of noblemen of that ilk. Charming wretches whose sole purpose in life is the satisfaction of their base and selfish desires.”
Daisy had thought those very things of him . . . until . . .
“I know he doesn’t want me to marry his brother, Countess. He’s said as much. But, I can’t think selfishness figures into it. Nor my ‘common’ roots, or being from America, or having new money. He simply says the duke and I are mismatched.”
“What?” The countess whirled to face her. “That’s absurd.”
“He believes that sooner or later I would be miserable being a duchess—having to deal with all that propriety and restraint, and the burden and responsibilities of the title. He says Arthur and I have such different natures that we would end up making each other miserable.”
“It’s his misery he’s truly concerned with . . . his lot as his brother’s second.” The countess took her hands and pulled her to a seat on the chaise. “Don’t you see his game? If his brother doesn’t marry and produce an heir, he might still inherit the title himself someday.” She squeezed Daisy’s hands. “Scheming wretch. That’s his motive, mark my word.
“Daisy, dear, you and the duke will get on fine together. He needs your verve and spirit and you need his . . . thoughtful and methodical manner. You’ll provide balance for each other and produce a dignified and harmonious household. You’ll see, dear. Don’t you worry.” She patted Daisy’s hands and rose with a determined nod. “I’ll see that Regina keeps the scoundrel away from you at dinner tonight.”
Daisy sat for a few minutes, ruminating on that, bringing memories of her time with Ashton to mind and scouring them for evidence that what the countess believed might be true. Was he purely self-serving and ambitious? Was he determined to see his brother die a bachelor without an heir? She thought of his descriptions of noble life and the burden of bearing a title . . . some of which she now saw had a basis in reality.
But then, she saw how the Earl and Countess of Albemarle got along. They seemed to enjoy each other’s company and to work together to make their estate beautiful and their life together fulfilling. Was that not a possibility for her and Arthur?
Feeling embattled and a little suffocated in her elegant room, she traded her embroidered slippers for walking shoes and grabbed a hat and shawl to go for a walk in the gardens.
Outside it was sunny and the afternoon air was sweet with the scent of banks of flowers in bloom. She removed her hat and turned her face to the sun, ignoring the countess’s adamant advice to avoid the sun on her skin at all costs. She had spent years with the sun on her face and needed it now as a tonic for her spirits.
She faced so many obstacles and unknowns and there was no one to talk to about it, no one who would understand her true situation. The walking helped, as it often did. The crunch of gravel underfoot and the swish of her skirts combined in a rhythm that calmed her thoughts and led her heart to relax beneath its burdens. She thought of the cliffs overlooking the river bordering their ranch, where she would go when her mother’s expectations became too much. She smiled softly. She understood Arthur’s escape to the walls of his home all too well.
* * *
Ashton saw her walking up one of the garden paths and reined up in the shelter of the trees at the end of the bridle path. She wore a simple, pale blue, cotton dress and carried the sun hat from the other day—the one that made her look like a girl in a painting. Her hair was down and being teased by a breeze. He sat for a few minutes, watching her wend her way through colorful flower beds, beneath rose-covered arbors, and around topiaries. The sight of her, so lovely and at ease, produced a hollow feeling inside him.
She was something he’d never imagined existed; a wild combination of innocence and experience, determination and self-doubt, with independence of thought and a great hunger to belong. She was earthy and elegant, simple and complicated, tantalizing and terrifying. She was at his fingertips and, yet, so far beyond his reach.
He was supposed to seduce and compromise her—destroy her dreams and her sisters’ hopes—this remarkable young woman whose provocative spirit and nubile body invaded his dreams at night.
She approached the tall hedges and feathery ornamental plantings that marked the start of Lord Robert’s maze. Ashton sat back in the saddle and watched until she disappeared between the green walls, then he kicked his horse into motion and soon dismounted at the maze entrance. He tied his mount where it could graze, brushed his sleeves, and strode into the maze.
He had no idea what he was going to say to her, but he wanted to talk with her, touch her, be with her. By week’s end she would be at Betancourt and plunged into a sea of scrutiny and intrigue she would not fully recognize or understand. She would slip beyond his reach forever.
The grass muffled his steps as he came up behind her. Her skirts swayed as she walked to a rhythm known only to her, her honey-blond hair trailing down her back, and her royal blue shawl and straw hat dangling from her hands. He paused, watching, deeply pleased by the sight of her.
“Daisy.” His call startled her so that she jumped.
“Arghh!” She whirled, clasping a hand to her chest as if to contain a racing heart. “What are you doing here?” She frowned. “If you’re seeking solitude, you’ll have to find another spot. This one is taken.”
“I’m not seeking solitude.” He set his hands to his waist and shifted his weight back onto one leg. “I’m seeking you.”
“Me?” She raised her broad-brimmed hat like a shield before her. “What do you want with me?”
“Besides your welcoming presence?” He laughed softly, then strolled toward her and looked at the hedge walls. “I’m not sure. I just feel there is something more I need to settle in my mind about you.”
“What more needs to be explained? You know the extent of my search and truth of my ancestry as well as I do.”
When he reached her, he kept walking. As he hoped, she turned and began to walk with him.
“I want to know why you’re here—the truth of why you’re oceans away from the place you love and the people you love, trying to do something you obviously want, but makes no sense.”
“I’ve told you. I’m here to marry and make a way for my sisters into society. It’s no great mystery.”
He clasped his hands behind his back and studied the grassy path beneath them. On the periphery of his vision, her shoes peeked out of her skirts with each step, then retreated like wary mice. She allowed him to see just so much of her. There was more—he was sure of it.
They came to an obstacle and she pointed left. “That way, I’m pretty sure.”
He turned and continued strolling. She set a brisk pace.
“Why didn’t your mother come—why didn’t she bring you to England? Why are you here with your uncle and the countess?”
There was a hitch in her step, subtle but very much there.
“My mother is needed at home. It was my idea to come and I recruited Uncle Red and found the countess, who agreed to sponsor me.”
“For a price,” he said, wishing he could take it back the instant it was out. She stopped and turned to face him, eyes flashing.
“Yes, for a price. There. Have you got what you came for? I have a companion who needed funds, but who has become a good and trusted friend. And who has advised me to have nothing to do with you.”
“Smart woman,” he muttered, just loud enough for her to hear.
She scowled and strode quickly for the next obstacle, disappearing around a turn before he got there. When he arrived, she was waiting for him halfway down the alley between the hedges.
“And just what are you doing here, Ashton Graham? Why are you dogging my steps? Is this part of your family’s plan to find a way to disqualify me as a bride? Because despite what you and your family think of me, Arthur doesn’t seem to think I’m unacceptable.”
That was too close to the bone. He looked around the maze walls and then walked past her again, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. The only way he would get the truth from her was to be utterly frank. And that strategy was not without risk.
“Of course the family creaks and groans set me on you . . . with instructions to see that your lineage does not qualify you for life as a Meridian duchess. Is that such a surprise?”
She took a deep breath and caught up with him again.
“Not really. It’s fairly obvious, in fact. The only confusing thing is that you have seemed to have helped more than hindered.” She halted and looked sharply at him. “That’s the puzzle. Why have you helped me?”
It took a moment for him to unpack a long-guarded truth.
“Perhaps because—in the course of my ancillary life—I have actually developed a few scruples. Perhaps because I despise what they’ve insisted I do. It goes against every scholarly principle I’ve ever known. And just perhaps, I’m sick and tired of being a family liability—a drain on the finances—a pawn to be moved and manipulated at will.” His body tensed as old anger threatened to rise. He released his arms to his sides and rolled his shoulders. “They don’t know me half as well as they think.”
He walked a few more paces in silence, then turned to her.
“And perhaps because . . . I’ve come to like you more than I should.”
* * *
Daisy watched him round the next corner and identified those words as the reason her heart began to flutter. He had said complimentary things to her before.... She was strong, sharp of wit, and passionate about life. But this was something new. He was admitting to having feelings for her, even if it was a lukewarm kind of confession.
Did it make things better or worse that he might return some of the feelings she had for him? Whatever it meant, the words were like rain on parched soil to her heart.
“Why are you telling me this? What do you want?”
“The truth about you. About why a young woman of twenty would take on the responsibility for her family’s reputation.”
“Twenty-two. Just. I passed my birthday a few weeks ago.” She squared her shoulders. “So you know now: I’m mutton dressed as lamb. Overripe. Beyond the first bloom.” The twinkle of disbelief in his eyes seemed more intimate than his hands on her skin. She suddenly wanted to let it all out, to have someone listen and truly understand.
“I came because I am the whole reason our reputation was tarnished.”
“Ah.” He nodded, turned, and began to walk again.
“Ah?” She stalked past him to plant herself in his path. “What does that mean?”
“It means there is probably more to it,” he said with an earnestness that was infuriating.
“Aren’t you clever.” She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes.
“What could you possibly have done that disgraced your family and imperiled your sisters so?” he asked, his gaze speculative as it sank over her.
How much had he already guessed?
“Good question,” she said. “I bet you’ve even thought of an answer.”
“Just possibilities.” He studied her as openly as she had him.
“Such as?”
“You smiled too much. Probably at gentlemen.”
“I am a friendly person.”
“You laughed too freely,” he charged.
“A body can’t help laughing when the mood takes her.”
“You rode too fast and too well.”
“Where I come from, riding well is considered both necessary and admirable. Some of the finest ladies in England are devoted horsewomen.”
“You danced with too much enthusiasm.” He took one step closer, then another, his eyes glinting with mischief. “And you kissed too many fellows.”
She took a step back, annoyed by his smug half smile.
“I’ll have you know,” she said with more heat than she wanted, “you are the only man I’ve kissed in five years. I did not bewitch, enthrall, or seduce the precious sons of the Four Hundred. I barely even spoke to one.”
“Really?” He seemed genuinely surprised. “Zounds! Imagine how you’d kiss if you weren’t out of practice.” When her mouth dropped open, he added: “Not that there was anything wrong with your efforts. I’m just thinking you could probably start a fire with wet tinder when you’re on your game.”
“You—”
She whirled and stalked down the path, blinded to the twists and turns she negotiated from memory. How dare he? Her heart pounded. He was purposefully . . . teasing her. The warmth and hints of humor in his—She slowed her flight, feeling embarrassed by her touchy reaction.
After a few turns, she found herself at the heart of the maze, staring at a stone bench and the rose-draped arbor that shaded it. There was space for two on that seat . . . a place for lovers to meet and talk and kiss. She had planned to bring Arthur here to prove that her temptation-plagued nature could be made to focus on him and him alone.
Instead, she was here with the brother of the man she intended to marry... the one man she was coming to crave with every nerve and impulse in her being. She felt him enter the maze heart behind her and she headed for the bench, seating herself in the middle to leave no room for him.
Closing her eyes, she breathed in the light fragrance of the roses covering the bower. When she leaned to inhale more deeply, her hat brim banged the side of the arbor and she opened her eyes. He was standing in front of her, watching, and a second later he removed her hat and held it out to her. She snatched it from him to clutch against her.
“Scoot over,” he said, lowering himself into the impossibly small area left unoccupied. “Make room, Daisy. Unless you’d prefer that I sit on your lap.”