Daisy and the Duke by Elizabeth Cole
Chapter 3
It was fortunate that Stormerwas an intelligent horse who after only a week knew the way back to the stables at Lyondale, because Tristan was so distracted that he scarcely knew where he was. His mind was completely consumed with Daisy Merriot.
How could a brief encounter cause such a reaction? True, it had been a long time since he’d even spent time with any women, never mind being alone with a woman.
In fact, he was lucky that he’d managed to conceal the most obvious physical reaction while she was pressed against him, her soft curves fitting all too well in the space between his thighs. Riding with her had been an exquisite torture, as he tried to converse in a coherent manner, all while inhaling the scent of her and keeping his hand from straying all over her. He was painfully alert, hoping for the slightest signal that she would have welcomed more attention. Alas, the young lady was clearly a real lady, in the sense that she was not the type to enjoy an al fresco tumble with a stranger.
Well, not a stranger anymore. Tristan had avoided revealing his title when they met, relishing the interaction with another person who didn’t know what he was. It had been so good to not be a duke for a few minutes. And surely the fact that Daisy had mistaken him for a hostler was the only reason she’d been so open and friendly. He’d seen the difference in people when they knew his title—they bowed and scraped and wouldn’t look him in the eyes.
And indeed, when that woman at Rutherford Grange had suddenly revealed who he was, Tristan saw the shock and horror in Daisy’s expression. Never again would he get to have a conversation with her as one human to another. No. Now it was duke and lowly servant.
“God damn my ancestors,” he swore aloud, not for the first time.
If only he weren’t Duke of Lyon. Why shouldn’t he get to converse with someone like Daisy just because he wanted to? He liked everything about her, from her admittedly pretty face to the way she staunchly defended her countryside from any insult. Clearly, she loved her home.
If only he loved his own home, he thought when he saw the lights of the great house over the rise. Sighing, he rode toward his destiny.
That evening, as soon as Tristan heard that Jack was awake again, he went to his friend’s room.
Jack looked much better than he had earlier in the day. He was sitting up in bed, the remains of a modest supper on a tray beside him. He actually had color in his face, not the deathly pallor that so alarmed Tris before.
“Glad you’re back in the land of the living,” Tristan told him cheerfully, as he flung himself into a chair placed near the bed.
“So am I,” Jack replied. Then he looked at Tristan, his eyes narrowing. “Hold a moment. What happened to you?”
Tris leaned forward in his chair, trying not to smile as he said, “I met someone while riding.”
“A woman,” Jack said. “My lord, I take an afternoon nap and you’re already out meeting the beauties of the shire. I assume she’s a beauty?”
Tris nodded, and very briefly explained where he’d encountered Daisy in the woods. “She is a neighbor, though her position in the household seems a bit odd. She was very ladylike, and she mentioned going to some boarding school…but she’s also foraging for dinner?”
“Perhaps she’s a natural child,” Jack guessed. It was common enough for some aristocratic families to harbor a few by-blows of the master, depending on the circumstances. Sometimes, the bastards were raised in exactly the same manner as the legitimate children. In other cases, they might be little more than servants. “I’m sure Miss Wallis can tell you more. She’s lived here for years.”
Tristan had almost forgotten the lady, that slender shadow who greeted them so warily when they arrived. “Yes, I’ll do that. Local knowledge is always best.”
“She’s worried you’ll send her packing,” Jack said bluntly. “She came by about an hour ago to see how I was doing. We chatted.”
“And she told you that?” Tristan asked.
“Don’t be daft. A lady like her would never breathe a word against the new master of the house. It’s everything she didn’t say. She’s terrified that the new duke will decide that she’s an unnecessary drain upon the resources, vast though they must be. The problem with being a useful woman is that it’s always someone else who determines when the usefulness ends.”
Tristan knew what Jack meant. Though he’d never personally had to deal with excess female relatives until now, he understood that society had very few places for women who were not daughters, wives, or mothers. A small number managed to find positions as “useful women” who minded children who were not theirs, or served as companions to family members more wealthy than they. Miss Wallis had done the latter for the old duke, but Tristan was unlikely to need the same services.
Jack’s words also made Tris think of another problem. “Miss Wallis may be right to worry on one point. From what little I managed to learn so far, my resources are not nearly as vast as everyone seems to think.”
“But the dukedom…”
“…is in difficulty,” Tris said bluntly. “Quite how much difficulty I don’t know yet. The solicitor had incomplete information, and the estate manager has been elusive. In fact,” Tristan added hesitantly, “when you’re better, I was hoping that we could go over the books. You know that when it comes to numbers, I’m at sixes and sevens.” Since Kemble studied the law, specifically in chancery, he was much more familiar with the mundane aspects of money management.
Jack smiled. “Of course I’ll help. I must earn my keep.”
“You’re a guest, you idiot. But if you’re not feeling well enough…”
“Nonsense. Where are the books and ledgers? Let me at them! And we’ll run this estate manager to earth like hounds chase a fox.”
“Ha. If the doctor could see you now! All it takes to get you on the mend is paperwork.”
Tristan arranged to have all the materials brought to Jack’s room. Footmen were kept busy trotting to and fro from various offices to seize more items and papers to examine. Tristan also learned that while the housekeeper kept a massive ring of keys, he had his own ring, nearly as heavy, for all the locked drawers and cases that the duke alone could access.
The men spent quite a while examining the books available. Tristan was out of his depth, though he knew he’d catch on soon enough. What was clear was that Lyondale was not nearly as well-run as it could be. The estate manager’s intermittent reports were not particularly informative either.
“Have I made a mistake in coming here?” Tristan asked.
Jack looked up from the ledger book, his expression alert but his flesh looking a bit sallow. “No, of course not. The good news is that you do have money. The bad news is that your predecessor had been tapping into the principal of all the investments. If you don’t change the way the estate collects revenue, you’ll be out of funds in a decade or so. And that’s if you spend wisely.”
“So I need to make the place pay for itself,” said Tristan.
“Yes. It’s not impossible. There’s very good land here. It’s just been poorly managed since your predecessor’s health declined several years ago. This estate manager, Mr. Reed, sounds like he’s incompetent.” Jack held up one of the sloppily written reports.
“And I refused to come here immediately after the old duke’s death, exacerbating the problem,” Tristan added, feeling the guilt wash up.
Jack shook his head. “No need to cast blame. Be grateful that you have a chance to correct course before it’s too late. First thing, I’d suggest letting Reed go.”
Tristan nodded, having already come to that conclusion. “I need a new estate manager, then. A good man who understands these things. I know just enough to be dangerous.”
“Yes,” said Kemble. “You should advertise for one. If you’re lucky, you should be able to interview men and get the right one out here before spring planting. The sooner, the better. And it wouldn’t hurt to let everyone know that there will be changes. People get used to the way things are, even if things aren’t going well.”
Tristan mused, “I need a way to get everyone in one place. I’m not going to repeat my intentions to a few dozen local worthies. I’ll say it once and be done with it.”
“Throw a party. You can announce things then.”
“Ugh.”
“And you can invite your Miss Daisy. Get those locals gossiping.”
“Oh, no,” Tris groaned, remembering the end of his conversation with Lady Rutherford.
“What’s wrong?”
“There’s another daughter too. I managed to avoid meeting her, but I did promise an invitation to all of them for some sort of dinner.” He frowned. “Which means I’ve got to plan some sort of dinner now. Hell.”
“It was inevitable, your grace. Better to dive in now than fear it forever. Miss Wallis can be hostess,” he added. At Tristan’s blank look, Jack said, “You do remember that it’s proper for a lady to preside.”
Tristan brightened. “You mean that if I set Miss Wallis up in some other home, I wouldn’t have to host a single thing?”
Kemble rolled his eyes. “Let’s table that discussion. You made a promise to the ladies of Rutherford Grange, so you’ll have to honor it. Start with a dinner, and work up to a full-fledged ball later.”
Tristan hated social events. Hated them.
When he’d first got back to England, there was a round of foolery in London. He had to attend several functions and greet higher-ups and tell exaggerated versions of the truth and endure the adoration of idiots who had no idea what a war entailed. He had to act pleased that fate tossed him at the top of the heap of aristocracy for no apparent reason.
He could see the doubt and distaste in the eyes of those he met, the people who knew he didn’t belong. Tristan didn’t go the right schools. He didn’t hold the right commission. He didn’t have the right jokes, or the right manners.
So finally he told them to leave him alone.
That was the one benefit to being a lord. When he told people to do something, they did. He still had enough money, apparently, to do that. He shouldn’t spend a farthing until he improved the situation at the estate.
At least Lyondale was out of the way, tucked in a quiet corner of Gloucestershire. Tristan needed quiet, because one other result of his so-called heroism was that he couldn’t hear loud noises without cringing in fear. Things as simple as drums could incite a panic, as he discovered during an unfortunate evening at the Kew Gardens in London.
Yes, it was good that he came here, and brought Jackson Kemble with him. Lyondale was just what he needed. He feared it would be dull, but now that he’d met Daisy…
“She’s not a bit dull,” he said, abstractedly.
“Who?” Jack asked, confused.
“Miss Daisy Merriot. I was just thinking that I’d like to see her again.”
“Tris, you’d better not be suggesting what I think you are,” Jack told him. “Finding pleasure where it’s offered is one thing. There are plenty of women happy to be a mistress, or just take the money for a night. But to ruin a young lady…”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Jack! What do you take me for? I’m not contemplating setting her up in some love nest.”
“Then what? If she’s a young lady of good reputation, your options are limited.”
“I’m aware of that,” Tristan muttered. “I just meant…I liked her. It was one of the first normal conversations I’ve had with a person since I got hurt.”
“If you want to see her, the honorable thing to do would be to court her. But I suppose you’ve got to think of the title now. A duke must marry a lady prepared to be a duchess.”
“Trust me, potential candidates have been flung in my path since the moment I learned I was to receive the honor. Even in London, within a week of learning of my inheritance. God damn it, there were four men ahead of me, Jack! Four! Do you realize how much bad luck it took to land me here? I should have stayed on the Peninsula. Perhaps I would have been hit by another cannonball, then some other poor sod would have to deal with this mess.”
“Don’t say that,” his friend warned. “You not only survived something that by all rights should have killed you instantly, you now have a chance to begin life again as one of the most powerful men in the country.”
Tristan sighed, shoving the paperwork away, as if that action could also push away the financial problems the papers detailed. “The title may impress people, but there’s not much beyond that. If I don’t marry an heiress, the next duke will have nothing at all.”