Daisy and the Duke by Elizabeth Cole
Chapter 15
When Daisy had fled fromthe ball, she ran through the fields, heading roughly south. She’d lost one her dancing slippers almost the moment she entered the gardens, but she couldn’t go back for it, not now. Not ever.
She had dashed through the formal gardens and the meadow, then plunged into the farm fields. Her gown snagged on the broken stalks of whatever crop was growing there. Daisy ignored the scrapes from the stubs of the crops and the jabbing from the stones in the dirt. She had to get away from Lyondale, and Tristan, and everyone else there who stared at her with cruel, judging eyes.
At first, all she wanted was to rush home to the kitchen at Rutherford Grange, to the warm hearth and Elaine’s motherly embrace. But even before she saw the lights of the great house, she knew she couldn’t go there. Now everyone knew that “Lady Wildwood” was plain old Daisy Merriot—thief and interloper. She’d be discovered at home, probably arrested or dragged off for whatever punishment the vicar and her stepmother and the duke dreamed up.
She needed another refuge.
All at once, she remembered Tabitha’s cottage, and the old woman’s strange exhortation that Daisy must come to her if she ever left the Grange. How prophetic, but how welcome now. The old woman would hide Daisy for a night! And it was unlikely the fine folk of the county would even think of the old woman’s place for a day or two, by which point Daisy would be gone.
When Daisy knocked on Tabitha’s door, she was exhausted, foot-sore, and in tears. “Tabitha, it’s Daisy! I need your help, please let me in!”
Moments later, the door swung open and a thin, bony arm reached out to pull Daisy inside. The door slammed shut behind her.
“What’s going on, girl? Are there brigands out there?”
A flame suddenly illuminated the tiny cottage, as Tabitha lit a tallow candle.
“I’m in trouble,” Daisy said, her breath coming in great heaves. “I am so sorry, but I had nowhere else to go.”
“You poor dear! Sit down, and be easy. No one will find you here.”
And before Daisy knew it, she was divested of her once-beautiful but now tattered butterfly gown, wrapped in a woolen blanket by Tabitha’s fireplace, her hands around a mug of chamomile tea.
She poured her heart out, explaining about the magic of the gown’s appearance and sneaking into the ball under a false name, then dancing with Tristan and slipping away with him to his rooms. She recalled the forbidden liaison with pain in her heart, for even though it had been foolish, she couldn’t say she didn’t want it. But oh the troubles that followed…
Daisy told Tabitha about the fireworks, which the old lady had heard even at this distance. She explained about Tristan’s reaction to the explosions and how she ran for help, only to be unmasked and suddenly accused of theft and worse.
“And the duke now thinks me shallow and mean, I’m sure. Probably like so many other women, trying to trap him into a marriage by being compromised, though I didn’t say anything! But people must have seen him and Lady Wildwood leave the ballroom together, and they now know it was me. I can’t stay here anymore. Even if I can prove I’m not a thief—and how could I?—I’ll be ashamed to show my face. And the baroness will never let me stay at the Grange anymore. It would reflect badly on Bella, to have a ruined woman in the house. Oh, I don’t know what to do.”
“Sounds to me as though you need a good night’s sleep, child,” Tabitha said. “You’re distraught, and tired, and cold. Let’s see what tomorrow brings. I promise you that no one will bother you through the night.”
Daisy slept fitfully, expecting to hear fists hammering at the door and the local magistrate yelling for her to come out. But Tabitha’s cottage was tucked deep in the woods, and the night was dark, and no one would have reason to think that Daisy chose to flee here.
In the morning, she got up, feeling as if she’d not slept a wink. Outside, the sun shone brightly, but Daisy felt none of the warmth.
“What will I do?” Daisy moaned in despair. “Oh I wish I’d never left my school all those years ago! It’s never been the same here since Papa died!”
Then Daisy blinked, the tears clearing from her eyes. School! She remembered Mrs. Bloomfield’s offer, made weeks ago (though it seemed like years). She could go to Wildwood Hall!
“But how would I get there?” Daisy asked out loud.
“Get where?” Tabitha asked, looking interested.
“Wildwood Hall, where I was at school. Mrs. Bloomfield once told me she’d offer me a position as a teacher if I wanted to try it. Now I can’t do that, obviously. But she’d employ me as maid…”
Tabitha snorted. “Don’t fetch your bucket and mop yet, girl. First we’ve got to get you there. Now give me a moment to think.”
“The law will be watching for me,” Daisy said, sure she’d be seized the moment she showed her face on the road or in the village. No, she could never go into the village again! How was she to get a ride on the coach? And she had no money!
She touched her mother’s necklace. Well, she could sell that, and she’d have a respectable sum. Enough for travel and room and board…
Tabitha told Daisy to stay at the cottage while Tabitha went out to the village and made a few inquiries. She also promised to alert Jacob and Elaine of Daisy’s whereabouts, since Daisy hated to worry them.
Later that day, Tabitha returned, flush with news, and more importantly, plans for Daisy’s escape.
For someone living in near total isolation, Tabitha had incredible reach when it came to finding little tidbits of information. That plus the servants’ network of gossip allowed the old woman to call in a few favors and arrange for Daisy’s departure.
The first part was easy. Jacob really did have to deliver the cartload of pumpkins to the village, a task that had been delayed by the widespread hunt for Daisy.
So the next morning, he was eager to complete his journey to the village. And he just so happened to stop at a quiet, concealed spot on the road while Daisy crawled in and hid herself among the mound of squashes.
At the village, Jacob drove the cart into a barn, where Daisy was unloaded along with the pumpkins.
“You take care, miss,” he whispered, looking as if he might cry.
As instructed, she hid herself in an empty horse stall until about noon, when another vehicle rode up and stopped. Horses whinnied outside, and a slim woman dressed as a lady’s maid entered the barn.
“Last call for London!” the maid announced, a conspiratorial smile on her face.
Daisy peeked out. “You’re going to London?”
“Yes and you are to join us. But hurry, please!”
Daisy grabbed her case and came out to the main area of the barn. Thanks to a carefully packed bundle from Elaine delivered the night before, Daisy now wore her most drab clothing—a grey dress and brown cape.
The maid eyed her curiously, then said, “That will do. You look like any other woman in those clothes. Call me Lucy, miss. Now let’s get you away from here.”
Lucy hustled Daisy into the coach, which had all the curtains pulled to conceal the inside. No markings on the other part indicated who the coach might belong to.
The interior was plush and comfortable. As the driver coaxed the horses to move again, Daisy realized that she was the only passenger besides the maid.
“Who are you?” she asked, perplexed.
“I told you! Lucy. The driver is named Jem. This coach belongs to our mistress, but it needed repairs, so she took another to London and we’re following now. Beats riding the mail coach!”
Daisy agreed wholeheartedly, having experienced the cramped, bumpy, and bone-jarring ride in the mail coaches. But she said, “Your mistress won’t be upset with you for taking me along?”
“Certainly not! My lady would insist, if she knew. And of course we’ll tell her when we do get to London. You may stay at the house should you not find a connection to your final destination.”
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly impose further.”
“Nonsense. Miss Tabitha requested that we help, and that is what we’ll do.”
“How do you know Tabitha?”
“Well, I never met her personally,” Lucy said. “But let us say that we have mutual friends, who are deeply loyal, if a tad disreputable.”
Daisy found the explanation quite mysterious, but it seemed that Lucy wasn’t about to give more details. And in any case, Daisy ought not to look a gift horse (or coach) in the mouth. She needed to get away from Lyondale and the Grange, and this was how she could do it.
Lucy asked no questions about Daisy’s predicament beyond wondering if Jem should be looking over his shoulder.
“No one would dream I’d be in a coach, especially not one this excellent,” Daisy said. “I’m nobody.”
“You look like somebody to me, Miss Daisy. Do you like lamb? I’ve got a lamb pie in the hamper here. And some cheese. And some apples…”
And so it was that Daisy arrived in London well-fed and well-rested, and given a place to sleep at a lovely house on Quince Street. In the city the next day, she was able to arrange for another hired coach to take her to Wildwood Hall. This one was the standard quality coach, and held four other passengers. But the ride was shorter, and Daisy was standing at the gates of Wildwood Hall just as the sun was setting.