Page 11 of The Duke I Wished For
Her friend held onto her arm tightly, as if she could save her if she held on firmly enough. With a sigh, she told Isabelle every horrid detail of her blessedly brief encounter from a few nights prior.
She’d been sparse with the details when her friends had gathered around her upon her return that evening. Delilah had looked distraught enough when Daffodil had admitted that she wasn’t fond of their mother’s new choice of suitors, she hadn’t wanted to distress her sister even more by going into detail of just how wretched he was.
She gave her head a shake when she reached the end of the story. “But it’s over now. And with any luck, I won’t have to see him again until the Borelands’ dinner party next week.”
“Maybe you’ll find a better prospect in the meantime,” Isabelle offered, her tone so sweet and hopeful, Daffodil didn’t have the heart to scoff. Not outwardly, at least.
But truly, what were the chances that she’d somehow be miraculously saved from this match? Even if another gentleman came along—one who had the sort of wealth her family needed—what were the odds he’d be any kinder or more clever than dreadful Mr. Benson?
Besides, she’d meant what she’d said to that grumpy fellow at Aubrey’s soiree. She wasn’t at all certain she wanted to marry and be a mother at all.
She sighed and shook her head. The whole point of joining Isabelle on this excursion was to distract herself from her troubles, not dwell on them. “Tell me more about this library of yours and the books with which you’re hoping to stock it,” she said.
Isabelle launched into speech, as Daffodil settled into the conversation. Isabelle was nothing if not passionate about her project, and Daffodil smiled as she listened, enjoying the other girl’s excitement, even if it did leave her feeling a bit desolate that she didn’t have a passion of her own.
All too soon, they arrived at the townhome. A housekeeper let them in once Isabelle informed her of her name and the reason for her visit.
“Ah, yes, my lady,” the older woman said as she gestured for them to enter. “His Grace did tell us to expect you.”
Daffodil’s lips parted on an exhale when she entered the foyer with its vaulted ceiling and marble floors. An ornate tapestry hung to her left while an intricate oil painting took up nearly the entire wall to her right.
“His Grace is an avid supporter of the arts,” the housekeeper said when she caught Daffodil staring. To Isabelle she added, “Which is why he’s keen to support your library, I’d say.”
Isabelle smiled. “Then it’s a pity he’s not in residence more often. I’m sure my father and I would enjoy his company.”
“Oh, he is in residence, my lady,” the housekeeper said as she took Daffodil’s cloak from her. “But I’m afraid he’s indisposed this afternoon, he’s…” She hesitated and then her face split with a cheerful grin. “He’s taking tea at the moment.”
The housekeeper turned on her heel. “Follow me, if you will. The library is this way.”
Isabelle gasped with delight when they reached the large, stately room. Even Daffodil stared in awe.
“His Grace says you’re to make a list of your preferences and he’ll review them in due course.”
The housekeeper started to leave, but Daffodil stopped her. “Would you kindly show me to the washroom before you leave us?”
The housekeeper took her through hallway after hallway, the townhome larger than she’d first guessed while facing it from the outside.
“Shall I wait to escort you back to the library?” the housekeeper asked.
But the older woman looked distracted as several maids passed by.
“No need,” Daffodil said. “I’m sure I can find my way back.”
A quarter hour later, Daffodil muttered those same words to herself, but this time with an exasperated sigh. “You’re sure you can find your way back, are you?” she asked the empty hallway that stretched before her.
She turned back the way she’d come and then spun in a full circle as she tried to sort out where exactly she’d taken a wrong turn. But then she heard it…voices.
She followed the sound until she came to a room where a young girl’s giggle could be heard. The door was partially open so she knocked, hoping to ask for directions, but the door swung inward at her touch.
She froze, not quite able to believe her eyes. The two people sitting at a small table in the center of the room stilled as well. A little girl in a pretty dress with dark hair and cherubic cheeks stared wide-eyed at her. But it was the man seated across from the girl who left Daffodil tongue-tied.
It was him. The man from the soiree. The tree trunk.
He looked completely ridiculous, large as he was, seated at the miniature table, legs folded awkwardly so that his knees practically bumped his chest.
In his massive hand was the tiniest teacup, looking small and ridiculous perched between his thumb and forefinger.
She blinked rapidly, any words dying on her lips, as the handsome gentleman with the broad shoulders recovered first, setting down the miniature teacup and getting to his feet. “You,” he said.
