Page 4 of The Duke I Wished For
Her mother huffed, leaning left and right…presumably to find the elusive Mr. Benson. “For Mr. Benson to get to know you, of course.”
“He wishes to get to know me?” Daffodil asked, hating the thin thread of hope that laced her voice. But honestly, the last few gentlemen her mother had forced her to meet hadn’t the least bit of interest in her. They’d regarded her as one might a horse for sale.
That horrid Mr. Pennywind had gone so far as to pat her skirts, mumbling something under his breath about “good birthing hips” as his foul breath washed over her.
Daffodil shivered in revulsion at the memory.
“He wishes to get to know me?” she said again, this time with a hopeful smile.
“Hmm? What’s that?” Her mother turned back to her. “Oh, yes, of course. He thought you were quite pretty from a distance, but he’ll want to see you up close. No man wants to marry a woman with rotten teeth or pockmarked skin, now would they?”
Daffodil’s smile faded fast.
The group of gentlemen nearby shifted, and her mother sighed again as her view was blocked. “Aubrey’s too kindhearted, if you ask me.”
Daffodil bit her lip. No one asked you.
Her mother nodded to the group of men who were talking quietly among themselves. “They don’t belong here. They’re all merchants and tradesmen, the lot of them.”
“Isn’t Mr. Benson a merchant as well?” she asked with feigned innocence. She already knew what her mother’s response would be.
“He acquired a fortune!” Her mother’s eyes widened in indignation before she lowered her voice to a hiss. “And beggars can’t be choosers. Remember that.”
Daffodil clamped her mouth shut. It took everything in her not to point out that it was her mother who looked down upon merchants and tradesmen, not she. But apparently in her mother’s eyes, it was all right to be a merchant or tradesman…just so long as one had a fortune.
“I chose Mr. Benson with care, as your cousin well knows,” her mother continued. Her glare had turned back to the group of gentlemen who were so rudely blocking her mother’s view of Mr. Benson.
Daffodil was grateful to the men for unwittingly aiding her in her attempt to stay out of view. She eyed the men her mother was so dismissive of, and truly it was difficult to see how they were any different from the lords in attendance.
They were all well-attired and well-groomed. One stuck out as he was a good foot taller than the other three and so broad, he reminded Daffodil of the old oak tree on their country property. So sturdy and large, that tree and its massive trunk had often served as shelter from the storm when she and Delilah were caught out in the rain.
The memory had her lips curving up in a wistful smile. Unfortunately, she was still gazing at the tree trunk of a man when she smiled and he happened to glance over at that precise moment.
Just in time to see her smiling dreamily in his direction like a nitwit.
She snapped her gaze away, but not before she caught his glower.
She peeked back at him.
Which was a mistake. He was still looking at her…still glaring, to be precise. But not even a harsh glare could take away from the fact that this man was handsome.
More than handsome. What was the word for more than handsome?
Isabelle would know if she were here.
All Daffodil knew was that the man had the sort of chiseled features most typically found on Greek statues, with piercing brown eyes and thick black hair that fell over his forehead, giving his otherwise hard jawline and regal nose a rather rakish air.
She’d bet her nonexistent dowry that if he weren’t furrowing his brows in such a manner, and if he were to actually curve that grim slash of a mouth up into a smile, he’d make every woman in this room swoon.
Maybe even her mother.
The thought made her laugh, and her mother’s gaze darted in her direction. “What are you laughing about?”
She quickly hid her smile. “Nothing, Mother.”
“Come along, then,” her mother said, gripping her arm. “If he can’t find you, I’ll take you to him.”
Daffodil had no choice but to follow. But they only made it a few steps before the crush of the crowd forced her mother to drop her hand from Daffodil’s arm so they could move single file through the clusters of guests.
