Chapter Twenty-Eight
“He’ll be fine.” Arthur’s voice jarred their gazes apart as he burst into the room. “He’s just ancient and gets winded easily.” He paused beside Daisy and looked from her to Ashton in dismay. “I think we’re going to need a new butler.”
Relieved, Daisy slipped a hand through Arthur’s arm and discreetly turned him toward the door. “Actually, Your Grace, we have a butler at our London house. Quite an efficient fellow. Keeps the staff on their toes—”
* * *
“You’re feeling quite well?” Arthur asked as they reached the garden and he steered her to a bench overlooking the recently ravaged duck pond.
“I am.” As she was seated, she looked up with a smile that was so sweet he postponed the questions on the tip of his tongue to enjoy it for a moment. “I want to tell you, Arthur, I will be forever grateful to you for what you said and did that night. You defended me against your uncles—you were courageous—heroic.”
“What I was . . . was angry,” he said, looking down at his clasped hands. “The last three weeks, I’ve learned a lot about my life and my family. I’ve learned who genuinely cares for me and who has used me for their own purposes.” He leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees. “And I realize now, there were things going on that I had no idea of.” He glanced at her. “Daisy . . . why did you go to meet Ashton at the inn?”
“The note said—”
“I know what it said. ‘Yours forever. In all things.’” He straightened and turned to her. “What did he mean? Why would he ask you to meet him in the dead of night?”
“As it turns out, he didn’t,” she said, looking down.
He swallowed hard. “Why would you go?”
He watched her shoulders sag and a guilty blush creep into her features, and he braced. His stomach seemed to slide lower in his middle.
“I will tell you, and I pray it won’t make you think less of me—or decide I am unworthy of your trust and affection.” She tugged her shawl tighter around her. “But if it does, then I will understand when you withdraw your offer of marriage to me. You see, I came to England seeking a husband. A noble husband with a title.
“My family’s money is considered too new and our behavior too brash for us to be accepted socially in New York. I came to Paris to get some polish and to England to find a titled husband to help my family. I have three younger sisters whose futures depend on it.”
“And you chose me?” He began to see things in a broader scope.
“There were rumors in London that you—your family—were deeply in debt and needed money. It seemed that you might be perfect for me, since I had lots of money and little else. The countess arranged an introduction.”
“I had no idea,” he said, thinking back to his London trip and the odd way his uncles steered him through it, insisting he attend events and meet people, most of whom seemed to be connected to some bank or brokerage and were keen to take his uncles aside for intense discussions.
“But your family got wind of my interest in you and wanted to prevent a courtship. They insisted I provide proof that I had noble blood myself, before they would consider letting us see each other. I had a short while to find proof, and they sent Ashton, as a historian, to certify that my ‘proof’ was genuine. That was how I came to know him.
“Truth be told, he wasn’t very nice at first and made it clear he thought we would be a disastrous match. But as I searched for proof of my lineage, he came to know me and slowly changed his mind. When your uncles and aunts called me before the family council, after I arrived here, he confirmed what I had found and said there was no impediment to our courtship. Your uncles were furious—they banished him from Betancourt—which is why he moved to the inn. And when I got the note, I was sure something horrible had happened. Either that, or it was a warning of some kind.”
She was silent for a moment, then looked up at him with eyes so blue and so deep that he caught his breath. She was telling the truth.
“Why didn’t you tell me any of this?” he said, taking her hand and feeling the faint tremble in it.
“And admit to you that I was husband hunting?” She looked down. “That I had set my cap for you?”
“Everyone else seemed to know. Why not me?” He didn’t mean it as a joke, but it did pull a small smile from her. Why was he always the last to be told things? His face heated. Because he was so blinkered and self-absorbed that he likely wouldn’t have understood what it all meant, anyway.
“I wanted to know that if you married me, it was because you wanted me and not just my money. Just as you would want to know that I want you and not just your title.”
“And do you?” he asked, searching her face as it came up. “Want me and not just my title?”
She straightened, looking distressed.
“You are the sweetest, kindest, most considerate man I know. You’ve shown courage and strength—how could I not want you?”
That was all he needed to hear. He put his arms around her and pulled her against him, holding her, feeling an odd warm spot in his chest.
“Thank you, my Daisy. For telling me. For liking me. For marrying me.”
She looked up. “You mean, you still want to marry me?”
“Of course I do. You’ve opened the world to me . . . made me realize who I am . . . given me that courage to stand up for you and for myself.” He lifted her chin to give her a sweet kiss. “You know, until I met you, I never even imagined kissing someone. I hope you’ll let me know if I’m not doing it right.” He watched her reaction, wondering if he’d been too frank.
“You’re doing fine, Arthur.” She laughed and put a hand to his cheek. “You’re doing just fine.”
That afternoon, Arthur penned an announcement for the Times, then rode into the village to meet with the vicar and arrange to publish the banns for the next three weeks. After that, they would be wed in the little church that had seen the vows of five previous dukes and numerous other Meridians.
* * *
Dinner was late that evening, accompanied by numerous apologies. The food was simple and needed more seasoning, and the head footman—Young Norton, a fellow approaching fifty—directed table service for the first time, generating more occasions for apology.
During dinner the countess and Red sparred amicably, Daisy and Arthur chatted quietly, and Ashton—annoyed by Reynard’s presence and double-edged wit—drank most of his dinner. He excused himself as soon as possible and headed for the stable and a ride to the Iron Penny. Reynard chuckled at Ashton’s display of temper and insisted on giving Red a trouncing over billiards after dinner.
It was a pattern that was to be repeated over the next week. During the days, Daisy and the countess hired some younger servants, visited the church where Daisy and Arthur would be married, and took stock of the house.
In the old duchess’s quarters, they confronted the damage done by Sylvia’s furious departure. They stared in dismay at the faded wallpaper, discolored floors where rugs had been removed, and missing furnishings and window drapes. The bones of a great tester bed remained, but had been stripped of hangings.
Something had to be done.
The countess sent for her lap desk to begin a shopping list for things the new duchess must have when she returned to Betancourt: a proper vanity, decent mirrors, a pair of matching wardrobes, a substantial mattress, a stylish and comfortable chaise, a writing table and another cedar-lined chest or two for storage in the massive closet.
Daisy didn’t know whether to feel excited at the prospect of remaking quarters to suit her or to be overwhelmed at the work that lay ahead. That was before they entered the old duke’s quarters—until recently the habitat of Uncle Bertram—and found it reeked of cigar smoke and a musty “old-man” smell that fouled every fabric and bit of stuffing. Furnishings were missing there, too, evidenced by pale outlines on the wooden floors.
An architect was needed, the countess declared, throwing up her hands. The whole place needed a fierce cleaning, fresh paint, and proper textiles and bathing rooms, not to mention a dozen more water closets.
Red rode out with Banks each day, inspecting the livestock—what there was of it. At dinner each night, he reported on his findings and quizzed Arthur about the history of the tenants and the estate’s production.
Red disappeared for the better part of a day and night and came riding back onto Betancourt with Banks, a couple of hired hands, and a hundred head of cattle—some beef stock and some milk cows. Tenants came running from their home gardens, orchards, and empty barns to watch the return of hoof stock to the estate. At each farm they passed, Red and his men cut out a few cows and delivered them to the shocked tenants. Daisy heard what was happening and rode out with Arthur to see it for herself.
“Got to have some livestock,” Red declared. “Seein’ all those empty pens and pastures gave me the willies. Hey, watch this!” He produced his rope and before long had a calf in his loop. He released the animal and grinned. “Haven’t lost my touch!”
In the tradition of such estates, the people bowed and curtsied to their duke to give thanks for restoring their livestock. Arthur was quick to introduce Daisy and give her and her uncle credit for such largesse. Red spoke up, terming it an early wedding gift from the future duchess’s family.
Fortunately for Daisy, Ashton closeted himself in the study with Arthur during the day and made himself scarce at night. It was a relief in one way, a nagging void in another. Even as she chatted with Arthur and listened to Reynard’s shocking gossip from every corner of England, she thought of Ashton and wondered what he was doing. She wished with all her heart they could draw him back into his family, give him an anchor in their caring and support. She hated the image of him walking out alone into the night, knowing it was her presence that drove him from his home.
After nearly a week of tiptoeing around Ashton, Daisy decided to take the countess’s advice and travel to London to make preparations for the wedding and her reception into society as the Duchess of Meridian. There would be shopping, dressmaker appointments, more shopping, and answering the many invitations that would flood in upon news of Meridian’s betrothal.
“The first thing you must do is pay a call on Lady Prudence Granville. She is an old acquaintance of mine and will arrange a tea or two to introduce you to some of the local nobs.” The countess blanched in horror. “N-Nobles—I—I mean the nobility.”
It was the first time Daisy had heard her use a common bit of slang. She chuckled. Uncle Red was rubbing off on her mentor.
The countess declared it must be a white wedding, after the manner of the queen’s nuptials. It had become de rigueur among the moneyed and fashionable. Besides, Daisy would be stunning in pure white, the countess insisted. All eyes would be on her, as the new duchess, and she needed to make the proper impression, to demonstrate to all her virtue and sense of style. Daisy felt a little sick at that last part. Virtue? She groaned quietly and headed for the stable and a good, hard ride on Dancer to recover her priorities.
* * *
They were almost packed for London; valises, trunks, and hatboxes lined her bedchamber and the countess and Collette were taking inventory like a couple of store clerks.
“Miss Bumgarten?” Collette stood in the open window, staring at the long drive leading to Betancourt’s front entry. “There’s a coach coming. Fast.”
A distant rumble and Collette’s pointing pulled Daisy to the window to stare at the vehicle bearing down on Betancourt. As the countess came to look, Daisy saw her concern and realized they shared the same fear.
The old uncles were back!