Daisy and the Duke by Elizabeth Cole

 

Prologue

“…five, four, three, two, one. Ready or not, here I come!”

While counting down, Mrs. Bloomfield could hear the giggling. The five girls in her care were hiding in the garden, though hiding implied a sense of discretion that none of them mastered at this point, as shown by the stifled laughter and the shuffling sounds of dainty feet.

Nevertheless, she kept up the pretense of searching. “Now where could those girls have gone?” she asked loudly.

More giggling. Mrs. Bloomfield smiled and deliberately wandered away from the nearest source of the sound, allowing whoever it was to enjoy the deliciousness of pulling the wool over a grown-up’s eyes for a few moments longer.

The rosebush sneezed, and then shook. Oh, goodness, Mrs. Bloomfield thought. That will be Daisy. The girl ought not to hide in the plants. She suffered terribly in the autumn, her little nose red for three weeks as she went through a dozen handkerchiefs a day. But she wanted so badly to become invisible!

Mrs. Bloomfield understood children very well, despite not having any of her own. Her marriage had been a happy one, but also very short. She’d lost her husband before they could have a child together, and she had never remarried. But she had children aplenty all around her now, for she was the owner and headmistress of the Bloomfield Academy for Young Ladies of Quality at Wildwood Hall, a boarding school that educated the daughters of the gentry.

Sometimes, that education included a healthy game of hide and seek.

“Is that Poppy’s gown I spy by the willow tree?” she asked out loud, and was rewarded by a high-pitched shriek as one of the girls dashed away, the willow boughs rustling in her wake.

Mrs. Bloomfield gave chase, and soon captured a bright-eyed girl in a blue dress.

“Poppy! I’ve got you and I deputize you to help me find the others.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Poppy cried, cheerfully switching her allegiance. “Let’s go! I know where Rosalind hid in the herb garden, right behind the fountain wall….”

Poppy was undoubtably the boldest of the bunch of Mrs. Bloomfield’s current crop of girls. Together they found Rosalind crouching behind the stone fountain, her head tipped to hear any approaching sound, even her friend’s light footfalls.

“Oh, Poppy,” Rose cried in dismay. “I know it’s you. I won’t ask you to help hide me if you’re going to betray me like that!” Since Rosalind was blind, she relied on her cousin Poppy every day of her life. In addition to being family, the two girls were the best of friends. They giggled together as Poppy took her in her arms.

“I wanted to find you first so you can have the fun of finding the rest with us!” Poppy cried. She always had an answer at the tip of her tongue. Then she twined Rose’s hand in her own, ready to guide her cousin safely, as she always did.

Next, Mrs. Bloomfield went with her girls to seek out Camellia, who was dark-haired and slender and already showing the pretty pout in her lips that heralded a personality to reckon with.

“Lia, Lia,” Rose cried. “You smell like you bathed in lavender!”

“Well, I was hiding in it for half an hour!” the other replied, emerging from the impressive bank of lavender, growing rampant at the edge of the gardens. “That’s as good as taking a bath. Who’s left to find? Let’s get Heather, before she leaves the parish.”

But rather than running, the fourth girl, Heather, had hidden herself up a tree. She was half-wild and fearless when it came to such things. But upon discovery, she came down willingly and with a broad smile.

“I let you find me,” she declared. “I kept plucking off the ash leaves and flinging them down when someone walked under. Honestly, I could have slept up there all night if I waited for you lot to notice me!”

“Now where is Daisy?” Camellia asked, looking around thoughtfully.

Mrs. Bloomfield knew, but she allowed the girls to search out potential hiding places. It was her belief as a schoolmistress that young people must be allowed to puzzle things out on their own, rather than having answers handed to them.

“Daisy!” Heather called out, far more loudly than appropriate for a well-bred daughter of the gentry. “Daisy! Oh, Lady Mar-gar-et!” She howled Daisy’s title and full Christian name, which Daisy never used since she disliked it so much. But as the only child of a baron, she would be a baroness in her time, and she’d have to get used to the title as well.

Following Heather’s call, they all held silent for a moment.

Another faint sneeze emanated from the rosebush.

Mrs. Bloomfield took pity. Better to get the girl out now, she thought, orshe’ll be sneezing all night. “Let’s check the roses,” she declared.

And among the pink blossoms, there was the golden-blonde head of her smallest charge.

“I was the best at hiding, ma’am!” Daisy said in wonder. “Everyone else was found before me.”

“Clever girl,” Mrs. Bloomfield replied, not mentioning the sneezes. “Now, it is getting to be time for tea, I think. Shall we all go in?”

“Yes, Mrs. Bloomfield!” five young voices chorused back.

They all walked back toward the school, which was housed in a gorgeous old manor called Wildwood Hall. It had been owned by her late husband, and the two had started the school together, wanting to provide a warm and happy place for the often forgotten girls of families who thought far more about their boys…until it came time to marry the daughters off. At Wildwood, the girls had no such worries, at least not for many years to come. They could simply be girls.

Following her husband’s early death, she kept up the school, which he’d left to her in its entirely—an unusual decision for the time, but then, she wouldn’t have married a man who didn’t share her views.

Behind the gardens, the red brick of Wildwood Hall glowed deep and rosy in the afternoon light. The glass panes in the many windows glimmered, reflecting the sunlight back into the garden, beams landing on the sweet-smelling roses and bright chrysanthemums and the endless shades of green of the herbs.

What a paradise, Mrs. Bloomfield thought. These girls will soon enter a world that is not always so beautiful or protected. I must prepare them well.