Page 10 of The Duke I Wished For
“Both my daughters are at Madame Bellafonte’s finishing school. A privilege, to be certain.”
Well, that was interesting. He knew of the school. Any man searching for a wife was sent in Madame Bellafonte’s direction. The woman was rumored to be able to turn even the most wilting wallflower into a glowing jewel.
She’d obviously yet to work her magic on Daffodil.
“A privilege,” he repeated noncommittally.
“And in my opinion, the school ought to help my daughters make the best sort of matches, with men of real substance and worth.” The earl put such emphasis on the last words that Blake found his brows drawing together in confusion. But a look back at Daffodil offered some explanation. The man who, if Blake wasn’t mistaken, had just run his fingers down her arm, hardly appeared to be made of either substance or worth. Was he a suitor?
Suddenly, several of her actions began to make sense. Her glances over his shoulder, the way she’d been almost hiding as she’d moved each time he did. She’d not been accosting him nearly as much as hiding from someone else.
Which ought to be a relief. She was all wrong for him and so why should he care if she were or were not interested in a match? And yet, as he watched, he fought down the urge to storm over and forcibly remove that man’s hand from her arm.
Instead, he tore his gaze away and focused back on the earl. “If you would excuse me, my lord, I’ve been absent from my friends for some time.”
The earl gave him a quick nod. “Of course, Your Grace. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance and I hope to see you again.”
Blake sincerely doubted that would happen. His search for the perfect mother for Clarissa would likely ensure that he never crossed paths with Daffodil again.
Still, even as he joined his friends, who were having a rousing discussion on the art of large-game sport, he found himself hardly participating.
Instead, he watched as Daffodil and her parents exited the party, Daffodil’s bottom lip firmly caught between her teeth as that long sweep of lashes rested on her cheek.
Several of her comments echoed through his thoughts. For a girl he’d labeled vapid, he had to confess that she’d made more than one unsettling point.
Which left him wondering if perhaps he was the one who had his priorities all wrong.
3
The spring breeze lifted Daffodil’s locks as she and Isabelle huddled closer together.
“Thank you for coming with me today, Daff.”
Daffodil squeezed her friend’s arm. “It’s my pleasure. I could use the distraction.”
A maid trailed behind them as they walked the short distance to the residence of the Duke of Hathshire. Isabelle’s wish to start a library for those less fortunate was off to a surprisingly good start. It seemed her father supported her plan and had arranged for her to take stock of some of the better libraries in London society and make a list of which tomes she might be able to borrow for her enterprise.
The renowned Duke of Hathshire was one of those who’d offered up his private collection for perusal, and Isabelle had been fairly dancing with delight all morning as she’d prepared for this afternoon outing.
“Just think what marvelous books he might have,” Isabelle sighed as they sauntered toward his townhome.
Despite Isabelle’s excitement, neither of them walked quickly. The fresh air and sunshine were too rare a treat after days on end of gray, dreary weather. Even the breeze demanded to be appreciated after so much time spent indoors.
“Does His Grace have a great collection?” she asked.
“I suppose I’ll find out.” Isabelle smiled. “I’d imagine most of his books are kept at his countryside manor. My father says that’s where he spends most of his time.”
Daffodil nodded. She’d heard the same. She didn’t know much about the duke, aside from the fact that he seemed to eschew society.
“Can’t blame the man,” she said. “If I were able, I’d run away from London too. In fact, I just might…”
She wouldn’t, and they both knew it. Daffodil could never abandon Delilah like that. But right about now, the thought was appealing.
Isabelle cast Daffodil a sympathetic look. “Was this new suitor really so awful?”
Daffodil shivered, but not because of the spring breeze that whipped their skirts around their ankles. Her mind filled with the image of his cold, callous eyes, and the way he’d taken every excuse to steal touches and improper looks. Had Mr. Benson been so very awful?
Another shudder racked through her. “Yes. He’s dreadful, Isabelle.”
