Daisy and the Duke by Elizabeth Cole

Chapter 12

The next morning, Daisy roseearly, because her whole day would be devoted to preparing the baroness and Bella for tonight’s event. She pressed the gowns, she stitched the hems, she heated the hair curlers, she tied ribbons, she pulled out stockings, she polished jewelry.

When the ladies stepped out, they’d be marvels—perfect confections of female beauty, dressed in the very latest fashions, bedecked with glittering gems, and glowing with excitement as they traveled to join a rarified world, while Daisy would be left behind to tend the kitchens and clean up the ladies’ bedchambers in the aftermath of their preparations.

“It’s not fair,” Daisy whispered.

She felt the defiance behind the words. She had spent so long repressing the truth that it was shocking to say it out loud. Keeping Daisy away from the ball was not fair. The baroness could make any excuse she wanted, but the fact was that she knew Daisy cared for Tristan, both as a friend and as something more. And she was determined to prevent them from seeing each other again.

“I am sorry you can’t attend,” Bella said once, while Daisy curled her hair into ringlets. “You were invited, after all.”

“Perhaps another time,” Daisy replied, thinking of how nonsensical a comment that was. How many times did a duke host a ball that everyone was invited to? Surely once he settled into his life, probably with Bella at his side as the new duchess, only the true aristocrats would cross the threshold of Lyondale. And Daisy was no longer one of that class.

It isn’t fair, she thought again.

When Bella was fully dressed, she did look exactly like a snow princess, ethereal and regal and fair. Her gown was bedecked with pearls, and the fur-trimmed cape draped around her slender shoulders. Bella even had a tiara of icy silver and pearl. Daisy had no idea how the baroness had acquired it, but she shivered to think of the cost. But the final effect was dazzling, and she couldn’t deny that Bella would turn every head at the ball. Including the duke’s.

“You look beautiful,” Daisy told her when she was done helping her dress.

“I suppose,” Bella replied, glancing at her reflection in the mirror. She did not appear delighted, but then, she so rarely displayed strong emotion. “I do hope he’ll like it,” she added in a soft tone, more to herself than Daisy.

Then Daisy hurried to her stepmother’s chambers, to see if the baroness needed anything else. But when she arrived there, the lady looked perfect. In her way, Lady Rutherford was just as resplendent in her costume. She was dressed as a peacock, complete with long, showy feathers in her mask and headdress. The aubergine and teal-colored outfit flattered her complexion and she seemed extremely pleased with the result. “The vicar is dressing up as a raven. Won’t that be fun? We’ll complement each other nicely during a dance. I don’t know what the duke will be, but I am sure Bella will look splendid beside him.”

“Bella looks splendid all on her own,” Daisy noted.

“True, true,” the baroness said, smiling at Daisy. “It should be a memorable evening. We shall bring you back a piece of cake.”

Cake?Daisy thought. Bella gets the duke and I get a dessert? But she nodded and thanked her stepmother for the thought. It was very hard to push against the politeness she’d been taught was so important. She asked, “If you are both ready, shall I tell Jacob to bring out the carriage?”

The baroness glanced at the mantel clock. “Yes, indeed. It is all well and good to arrive fashionably late to society events, but we do not want to miss a single minute tonight!”

So Daisy went downstairs and called for the carriage, and helped the baroness and Bella get in without damaging their outfits. And she watched the carriage drive off, taking them to the one place that Daisy wished she could go.

Tears threatened to fall, but Daisy fought them back. She stood in the doorway of Rutherford Grange, watching until the carriage disappeared entirely. Then she began to turn back into the house.

A new sound stopped her short.

A cart had rumbled up the road from the direction of the village and had just stopped at the gates. A man got out and pulled a large wooden box off the cart. Daisy ran to him.

“Excuse me, sir,” she said. “What is this?”

He shrugged. “Don’t know, miss. Just delivering it to the place it says. There was a mistake and the package got held up for a day. Hope nothing inside has spoiled.” He was already off down the road before she could ask more.

The large box was unmarked, aside from a stamp indicating that it originated in London. She brought it inside to the kitchens, assuming it must be some kind of household necessity she’d forgotten about. Elaine and Jacob gathered to view the opening, drawn by the unexpectedness of it. Daisy opened the inner pasteboard box to expose a layer of undyed muslin. Elaine said, “What’s underneath?”

Daisy pulled aside the dull muslin to expose a rainbow. “Oh!”

Daisy took hold of the colors and held them up. The rainbow took shape. It was a dress, far more fabulous than anything she’d seen in years.

“Where did this come from?” she asked, not expecting an answer.

The dress was a bewitching mass of silk, woven in such a way that the color was uncertain. Depending on how one looked at it, the shade ranged from a ruddy orange to a dark, dreamy violet. The colors shouldn’t have worked together, but they did. Daisy kept tilting the fabric different ways, mesmerized, trying to see how it was done.

“Miss Daisy!” Elaine said, pulling out another item. “There are wings!”

And indeed, Elaine held a set of wings, made of silk and shaped with fine wire, painted with care to resemble the pattern of an orange and gold and black butterfly.

“That’s so beautiful,” Daisy murmured, touching the wings. She also found little black dancing slippers with flowers embroidered onto them, and gloves of a silk so thin that they were nearly transparent.

“Daisy!”

She jumped. It was clear her name had been repeated several times. “Yes! What?”

“Aren’t you going to try it on?”

“This dress can’t be meant for me. There’s a mistake.”

Elaine held up a card that had been nestled in the muslin. “Miss M. Merriot. One ball gown. Charges paid.”

“Yes…it says that. But I know it can’t be so.”

“Sometimes, miss, you must accept what Providence bestows. Someone wants you to attend the masquerade.” Elaine held up a mask, designed to cover the top half of the face, again patterned like a butterfly’s wings, with cunning antennae of thin wire extending above. The whole effect was like magic.

“I just wish I knew who sent it,” she said. “Who is my fairy godmother?”

In her room, she tried the dress on with Elaine’s assistance. It fit as if it had truly been made for her. The explanation of fairy magic sounded more plausible by the moment.

Inspired by the shifting colors of the fabric, Daisy unlocked the hidden box where she kept her most precious things, and pulled out the ruby necklace that had once been her mother’s. The delicate gold chain was strung with seven rubies, the largest at the center. Daisy had always loved the piece, for she had a faint memory of her mother wearing it on a Christmas Eve long ago.

Daisy fastened the chain around her neck and then examined herself in the mirror.

“Elaine,” she said, a little shocked at the reflection. “This dress! It’s…”

“Perfect. It looks like it was made just for you!” Elaine put a hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh.

Downstairs, Jacob stared at her with delight. “Oh, it looks like someone wove all the colors out of an autumn morning into the gown, miss,” he said, with uncharacteristic poetry.

“It’s marvelous!” Elaine agreed. “You’ll be the belle of the ball!”

“I’ll fetch the cart,” Jacob said. “Not exactly riding in style, but it will get you there.”

“I suppose that means I’m going after all,” said Daisy, feeling faint.

A ball.

A ball hosted by the Duke of Lyon.

A ball hosted by the incredibly compelling Duke of Lyon.

A ball hosted by the incredibly compelling Duke of Lyon who told her he wanted nothing more than to see her there.

She was so excited to truly be going that she couldn’t suppress a giggle. Elaine told her she’d be lucky to end up at Lyondale and not at Bedlam.

In the cart, she sat carefully, surrounded by a crop of pumpkins and squash that had already been loaded in anticipation of being taken to the village for sale the next day.

As the cart trundled down the road, she began to have second thoughts. She’d enrage her stepmother simply by attending the ball. She looked down at the mask on the seat next to her. Perhaps there was a way to defer the woman’s wrath, at least long enough to enjoy herself for a few hours.

“I’ll leave before she can really see me,” Daisy said to herself. Then she remembered the baroness had said that everyone was announced as usual, revealing their true names. “But if I give a different name…” Daisy murmured, thinking hard.

Lyondale stood tall and grand on its hill. Every window was lit, and guests were arriving from all over the area. Jacob pulled the cart to the side of the drive quite a distance away, realizing that it would look odd to pull up with a crop of pumpkins and a butterfly. “Can you walk from here, miss?” he asked.

“Certainly,” Daisy said, sliding down. “You get back home, Jacob. Thank you so much!”

“Thank you, miss,” he returned with feeling. “Just seeing you dressed up like that makes me think of your fine mother. You enjoy yourself tonight, just as you ought.”

Concealed behind her mask, Daisy walked through the front doors feeling that she was entering another world.

The wonderful dress evidently transformed Daisy to such a degree that several local people didn’t even recognize her, thinking her some aristocratic guest of Lyon’s.

“Your name, my lady?” the majordomo asked diffidently when she walked to the doors of the ballroom.

“Announce me as Lady Wildwood.”

Boomed out in the man’s bass voice, the announcement turned heads, and all eyes turned to Daisy, standing in her finery at the top of the stairs.

Daisy suddenly felt a stab of anxiety. She did not want to draw so much attention. Had she made a mistake? She wanted to slink away into the shadows, but it was too late. Tristan had seen her.

Lord Lyon left off whatever he’d been saying to another guest and headed directly for Daisy.

He looked exactly as handsome as she’d imagined he would. The concept of his costume was a medieval knight, though his main outfit was still very modern. He was dressed in a grey velveteen jacket over a simple white shirt and black pants. The more fanciful parts of his outfit were the mask, which was a silvery leather that evoked a knight’s helmet with face shield, and the “broadsword” at his waist, which was wooden but painted silver. Everything was so well-tailored that the lines of his body were unmistakable.

As he came up to her, though, he said nothing. No greeting, not a word about her outfit, and she worried that she had misunderstood something. Was she dressed all wrong?

“Lady Wildwood, is it?” Tristan asked, his lips curving into a smile as he bowed over her hand. His fingers squeezed hers, the silk gloves doing nothing to prevent the heat of his hand from shooting through her. He added in a low tone, “You look so much like another lady I know, Miss Daisy Merriot.”

“Please don’t tell everyone,” she pleaded.

“My God, why would I? This is perfect. Now I can spend the whole evening with you, and leave them all wondering about my mysterious guest. They’re going to speculate endlessly.”

He offered her an arm and Daisy took it. To be escorted into the heart of a ball by Lord Lyon was more than enough miracle for her. And the evening was just beginning.

There was dancing. There was food. There were drinks and desserts and more dancing. Daisy had no concept of time, but she was sure it must be whirling past. Everyone was polite and attentive to her, doubtless because she was so often by Tristan’s side. She didn’t quite mean to be, but it always seemed to happen that he was there at the end of a set, sending Daisy’s dance partners off to find their next companion. He seemed to materialize just when she decided she was thirsty, and asked her if she wanted a little wine. Even when he was on the other side of the massive room, she would look up from her conversation and find him in her line of sight. It was the dress. It had to be magic. Daisy never could have negotiated the social complexities of a ball without a dress like this to guide her steps.

And everyone was introduced to Lady Wildwood, and no one besides Tristan seemed to guess that she was merely Daisy. Several ladies asked her about her gown in breathless tones. They wanted to know who her London modiste was, and where the fabric had been made. Daisy merely answered that her dress was a gift. Then she would comment on the other woman’s attire, praising the clever stitching, or how the fabric flattered her skin, which deflected the conversation admirably.

Only once or twice did she glimpse her stepmother, glaring in her direction. But there was no recognition in her face. She was merely annoyed that someone besides her Bella was occupying the duke’s attention. For her part, Bella seemed content enough to dance with the many other gentlemen there who were dazzled by her snow princess costume and her pretty manners. When she wasn’t dancing, she sat near Mr. Kemble, who was very cleverly costumed as an old-fashioned wizard in a tall hat and a long, loose robe covered with stars. He even had magic tricks to perform, which allowed him to sit at a table while still looking very proper.

Some children had been permitted to attend the festivities on the strict proviso that they didn’t disturb the adult guests. Kemble seemed to have taken charge of the group, along with a few local matrons. His heretofore unknown skill at card tricks made him incredibly popular with the children.

“Where did Mr. Kemble learn that?” Daisy asked Tristan during one set in which he partnered her.

“Oh, he’s dabbled in stage magic for years,” Tristan replied. “He likes the mystery of it. Lightened the mood on many occasions. Although one had to be careful when he appeared at the card table—your winning hand might disappear.”

She laughed. “He didn’t!”

“He did. His way of teaching the dangers of gambling.” Tristan’s expression clouded, but before Daisy could ask what was wrong, he introduced her to someone else and the opportunity passed.

They danced again. Tristan was openly flouting the convention of dancing with a particular lady only once (or twice in rare cases). He danced with Daisy every chance he got, clearly relishing how he could break the rules. Who tells a duke no? For one moment, he held her by the waist. Daisy barely wanted to breathe. She hoped that if she didn’t, the moment would go on forever.

But the dance went on, and soon Daisy was swept away into the pattern of the steps, curtsying to some other gentleman for a moment, and then passing on again.

As it ended, she found her hand claimed by Tristan. “You could use refreshment,” he said.

She nodded, though it hadn’t been a question.

He led her away from the dancing, saying, “The waltz hasn’t made it all the way out here, has it?”

“It is still a thing to be discussed rather than danced,” she said, laughing. “The local matrons have not approved it yet.”

“As a dance, it has advantages,” he noted.

“Such as?”

Tristan smiled at her. “I will show you a few steps sometime, and you’ll see.” His eyes dropped a little, as if he might be thinking about a kiss. She was thinking about a kiss too. She knew that the waltz entailed a rather close embrace on the dance floor, and for that reason was highly suspect by morally minded mothers. A close embrace during a dance might well lead to something else…

But she had no more time to muse on that, because Tristan was offering her punch, which she drank down gratefully. It was warm in the room.

“I was just thinking,” she said, “how terrifying this night would have been if I didn’t already know you.”

“Terrifying? A party?”

“A party where one is expected to smile and chatter and dance.”

She noticed that they were standing a little apart from everyone else, as if Lyon created a wall around himself. But then why was she able to stand right next to him?

“Go on,” he said.

“What was I saying?” she asked.

“You were saying you knew me, which I found charming.” His gaze drifted over her face and then down to the floor and back. He did seem strangely…entranced.

“Your grace,” she whispered, conscious of where they were. “You’re staring.”

“I am,” he said, tilting his head. “But did you know that if you look at the fabric one way, it’s this fiery orange, and if you look at it the other way, it’s a burgundy or purple, and yet it’s neither of those colors… I’m sorry. I don’t have words for this sort of thing. How is it done? The colors?”

“I don’t know. Magic, perhaps.”

“It must be. You look more beautiful than ever.”

“It is a lovely dress,” she said, happy to be wearing it even if it was only for a night and it might vanish tomorrow.

“No. I mean, it is. But you look beautiful. It has nothing to do with the dress. It’s your smile, and…everything else. Lord, I’m bad at this, aren’t I?”

Daisy flushed. “It sounds good to me.”

“I would beg another dance.” He glanced at the clock. “Unfortunately, I have to address the guests now. The time for my plan has come. Will you stand right here?”

Daisy nodded, suddenly very curious.

Lyon walked to the center of the room, and took command of the party without even raising his voice. He thanked everyone for coming, and then moved so smoothly into the real meat of his announcement that he was halfway through before people truly realized the import of what he was saying.

Daisy listened avidly. The recent years of indolence and neglect were over. There would be changes. New practices. New ideas. New orders, and new expectations, inspired by forward-thinking people he’d been discussing the matter with. Daisy realized he was referring to her. People might feel discomfited, he went on. They might not like it. But Lyon was determined to make Lyondale a model of modern agriculture, able to support everyone living there, from the lord on down to the most humble tenants.

He didn’t go into too many specifics, but it was obvious that this was not a mere whim. Change would happen. And Lord Lyon would be the one changing things. People suddenly understood that the newest Duke of Lyon was not content to mold himself into the shape they expected. He would change the shape of his inheritance to suit him.

Come along with me or get out of my way, his eyes said.

Daisy looked around. She could tell from the stiff postures and pinched faces that some didn’t like it. Yet most people were listening. They were wary, but definitely listening.

“I look forward to many years at Lyondale,” he concluded. “And better lives for everyone on the estate and in the village of Lyonton. But for now, enjoy the rest of the evening. As a special treat, we’ve arranged for a fireworks show later tonight. Listen for the announcement of when to gather on the lawn.”

Applause broke out as he signaled the end of his speech. Some of the reactions were strained, Daisy noted. But many more were enthusiastic.

“Well?” he said, returning to her side. His face was more relaxed now, and she realized how nervous he’d been the whole evening. “Have I given the whole parish a collective fit?”

“Only the few people still living in the sixteenth century,” Daisy responded. “But you’re right. It’s time to try out new ideas.”

“Speaking of new ideas,” he said with a wicked light in his eyes. “Lady Wildwood, come upstairs with me.”

“Your grace,” Daisy breathed. Oh, how she wanted to, and oh how scandalous it would be.

“Please, Daisy,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “No one will know. It’s a masquerade, and I wager you never told your stepmother you’d be attending.”

“I didn’t know it myself until an hour before.”

“Perfect. Here, you’re the mysterious Lady Wildwood—you’ll vanish before dawn, leaving nothing but questions. Indulge me.”