Daisy and the Duke by Elizabeth Cole

Chapter 5

Your Grace—

Deuced odd to have to call you that in a letter, but pleased as punch too. My friends ought to mount in the world. But duke! You’ve been keeping secrets from your friends! And you’re not the only one with a secret. I’ve got one too. But I have to share it with a few trustworthy men. Will you believe it? I have stumbled upon a diamond mine in the region of Golconda, which is not where my mother lives. It’s all mountains and rocks and damned snakes. I haven’t had to deal with one yet, but the locals kept yelling “Pamu!” at us. I finally learned it was “snake” in Telugu, which I don’t speak, as Mama taught me Hindi growing up. Dangers aside, there are reasons worth going. Diamonds are one such reason. I’ve partnered with another man, Joseph Rait, who I don’t know well, but he’s smart as a whip and has the eye for an opportunity. We have a line on a new source of diamonds and Rait bought the land quick as a wink, after I secured half of the amount. We appraised the few rocks found on the surface, and the jeweler said he hadn’t seen one so pretty in decades.

We’re already starting work but it will take some capital to really get the mine going, especially since I intend to do it right and pay a proper wage to everyone down to the boys feeding the donkeys that haul out the rock. You’d be shocked by how little most of these owners get away with paying their workers. And they’re not careful enough with safety either. I aim to show everyone it can be done another way. Of course, that means more investment up front, but I’m confident we’ll be repaid. Yes, we! I thought of you straight off. You saved my life in Spain, and don’t think I’ll forget it. I suppose that as a peer of the realm now, you won’t care to grub in the dirt (or finance the grubbing in the dirt, for it’s all these local lads who do the real digging). But I wanted to make you the offer first out of the great debt I owe you,Trisyour grace. As a partner, you’d have a full third interest in the mine. You, me, and Rait, and all the diamonds we could dream of. Just think of it! I’m so excited I can scarcely hold a pen. It’s been two days since the jeweler appraised and I’m still as giddy as a schoolboy.

Yours truly,

John Cater

John Cater! It had been a few years since he’d heard from his old childhood friend. Cater’s mother was Indian, so after his army service and the death of his father, he took her back to her family. But Tris and John had grown up in the same street in London, playing together whenever they could escape their chores.

Even now, he could summon up John’s image: a slight but sinewy figure, always in motion or about to leap into motion. He had a narrow face and smooth, deep brown skin like his mother, and a ready smile. Anyone who looked at John Cater could see the spirit burning inside. As a boy he was always looking for adventure, and that same impulse for excitement was part of why Tristan once had to save his life in Spain.

Tristan reread the letter once more, still dazzled by that one word: diamonds. It was so very different from the dull round of life in the English countryside.

That said, Tristan was slowly adjusting to life at Lyondale. Tucking the letter back into his jacket pocket, Tristan turned his mind to more immediate matters. As he’d mentioned to Jack, one unavoidable part of being Duke of Lyon was that he had to socialize with the local gentry. He’d paid no house calls so far—a duke did not have to stoop to visiting others. But guests seemed to call upon him with depressing regularity. He was actually relieved when Jack suggested that he hold a larger dinner for all the local worthies; it seemed to be the easiest way to be attentive to several people at once.

With the assistance of Miss Wallis, who chose the guest list to reflect the people in the area Tristan ought to know, invitations were sent. Almost within hours, replies were tendered, and Tristan tried to prepare himself to be congenial. At Jack’s recommendation, Daisy Merriot was specially invited. This met with Miss Wallis’s cheerful approval.

“She is a very sweet young lady. Miss Bella Merriot is the beauty, of course, but Daisy has lived at Rutherford Grange her whole life. She’s part of things here.”

“Miss Bella is not?” Jack asked curiously.

“Oh, Miss Bella is quite popular. She’s very charming, you’ll see. But the baroness is keen for her to marry high, and it’s inevitable that she’ll be gone soon, off to some great lord’s home as his lady wife.”

“Does the baroness have plans for Miss Daisy to marry as well?”

Miss Wallis shrugged. “I don’t think she’d object if Daisy accepted a proposal. But I can’t think what gentleman would offer for her, since she spends all her time running the estate. I believe it would fall to pieces without her.”

Clearly, Miss Wallis knew all the details of local life, so Tristan probed a bit further. He asked, “Can you tell me about exactly how the title fell to the current baroness? I’m surprised it didn’t go to the nearest male relative, no matter how far from the tree…as in my case.”

“Oh, the title for the barony of Rutherford is entirely different. From the very first, it has gone to heirs general, not just male heirs. According to legend, the barony actually began with a woman—a very strong-willed one, rumored to have defended the original castle against a siege with only half a dozen retainers. She insisted that a daughter was just as worthy as a son.”

“Strange though, that the late baron changed the will to not go to his daughter.”

“He was besotted by his second wife,” Miss Wallis said shortly. “I expect that had something to do with it. And of course, he could do as he wished.”

“He could have split the property.”

“As a matter of fact, he couldn’t. That’s the one thing no Lord or Lady Rutherford could have done over the centuries. The land can never be parceled out or sold off in pieces. It’s all or nothing. It has a certain logic—the land was fought for and defended with blood and sweat. To divide it is to weaken the family.”

Tristan nodded, though he wasn’t sure he agreed. According to such logic, it seemed as if someone was destined to lose.

On the day of the event, he almost called it off, annoyed by some little thing in the morning. “No one wants to come here for a meal, Jack,” he said to Mr. Kemble. “It’s all just theater. A table full of people I don’t know and will likely despise.”

“But Miss Merriot will be here too,” Jack pointed out. “Miss Daisy, I mean. It’s very confusing, you know. Miss Daisy is the elder, but it is Miss Bella who will be next in line, so she is to be called Miss Merriot…how does anyone know what to address them as?”

“The locals seem to muddle through,” Tristan noted. “Of the irregularities in that succession, I imagine who gets called Miss Merriot is not very important.”

“Clearly, you’ve not spent enough times around ladies,” Jack said with a snort. “The pecking order is everything.”

The addition of Daisy to the guest list was all that kept him from canceling the event. Tristan wasn’t sure if he was excited or scared to see her again.

“I made a fool of myself in front of her the last time I saw her. It was stupid to not tell her who I was.”

Jack shook his head. “Under the circumstances, it was natural to avoid the awkwardness of insisting on being addressed as a duke. She’ll forgive the lapse. You didn’t look a fool.”

“When a lady is more in command of herself than I could be, what else could I look like?”

“Like a lord, which is what you are, like it or not,” Jack said. “But that’s for another time. First, you must survive this dinner.”

And the fateful evening duly arrived. Tristan was dressed in an appropriately lordly manner. His new clothes still mostly felt stiff and uncomfortable to him, despite the fine fabrics they were cut from. That evening he wore a jacket in a deep tan broadcloth, which complemented both the white linen shirt beneath, and the lighter-colored, close-fitting pants. It was well-tailored, because all his clothing was well-tailored now, but he felt as if he were about to be strangled at any moment.

“Stop twitching, Tris,” Jack told him in the corridor before they walked down to the ground floor.

“I can’t help it. I’m not used to this formality of dress.”

“It’s no more formal than the military, and you never complained then.”

“One doesn’t complain in the army.”

“So you make up for lost time now!” Jack laughed. “Don’t worry. And don’t lose your temper.”

“It’s easy for you to talk about formality. You’re not going to face the gauntlet.” Unlike Tris, Jack wasn’t dressed for dinner, and in fact it was something of a triumph that he got dressed at all.

Jack had had a bad morning, coughing constantly until he was too weak to even stand. Tristan had decided that Jack was not to be allowed among the guests. He needed rest, not the stress of chatting with strangers. It was too bad—Tristan had been relying on his friend to deflect some of the worst questions that would inevitably be asked.

Instead, he ensured that Jack would be installed comfortably in the garden, on a chaise with a number of blankets to keep warm after the sun set. Tristan was taking the advice of Dr. Stelton, who recommended that Jack get as much fresh air as possible. A maid servant named Alice was under strict instructions to check on Mr. Kemble every half hour. Tris walked Jack down to the gardens and saw that he was settled.

Tris felt the crinkle of the letter in his pocket. He pulled it out. “Did you hear that Cater went out to India?”

“John Cater? Haven’t heard from him in an age.”

Tristan opened the letter. “He took his mother back to India so she could be near her family again. I don’t think she ever loved England, and as a widow, she had little reason to stay. But listen, Cater found a diamond mine. Or a place to dig a mine. He wants me to be a partner.”

Jack sighed. “A hundred to one it’s nothing at all. Even if there are diamonds, it takes a long time to develop such things.”

“He’s got a local partner, a man who knows the area. And Cater never let someone go hungry. He’s going to pay the workers well, so we can sleep at night, knowing that we’re not relying upon virtual slaves.”

“It sounds nice, but don’t get pulled into this, Tris,” Jack warned. “There are better ways to waste money.”

“I don’t have a lot of money to waste,” he said quietly. “If an investment like this did pay off, the returns could be astronomical.”

“If. Could.” Jack looked skeptical. “Those are not reassuring words. Let it go, Tris. If you must, give Cater a couple hundred as a gift to get things started, out of friendship. I’d say he deserves that, for he was always the sort who’d jump to help someone in a rough spot. But stay well away from any madcap scheme where you can’t even verify the facts.”

“You’re right, of course,” Tristan said, folding the letter back up. “I suppose it’s just the image, like a scene from the Arabian Nights…caves filled with jewels, just waiting to be picked up.”

“Fairy tales!” Jack said from his comfortable chaise. “Cater’s a good man, but good men do not always make good businessmen. Now put this nonsense behind you. Go and greet your guests.”

Tristan returned to the house. The first guests arrived moments later. The village vicar, Mr. Hornthwaite, a man of around forty or forty-five, looked distinguished but austere in his mostly black clothing. Then another local worthy, Lady Weatherby and her eldest daughter, Lady Caroline, arrived. Lady Weatherby was short and plump and never closed her mouth. Lady Caroline was short and plump and never opened her mouth. Indeed, after she got one good look at Lord Lyon upon being introduced, she barely raised her eyes again. His scars ached suddenly, but Tristan smiled inwardly. That might put a crimp in Lady Weatherby’s obvious plans to make her daughter the next chatelaine of Lyondale.

There were a few other local gentlemen and a wife or two. Lord Dallmire, the young Lord Fothergill…all people he needed to know in order to function well in this corner of the world. He would either impress them or intimidate them, and he didn’t much care which it was.

Luckily, Miss Wallis helped to oil the wheels of social nicety. She chatted amiably with the Weatherbys about the approaching holiday season, and if the village ball at Christmas could hope to outdo the last one. Tristan listened with half an ear.

The vicar kept sidling up, clearly hoping to ingratiate himself with the new duke.

“So you are the duke’s cousin?” the vicar was saying to Miss Wallis, having settled for a discussion with her until he could scale that final rung to a chat with the duke himself.

“Second cousin, once removed,” Miss Wallis replied primly. She added nothing else, and Tristan got the distinct impression that she did not like Hornthwaite. Interesting. The vicar seemed personable enough, and he supposed the man could be called handsome (in an ecclesiastical sort of way). And yet, he didn’t like the vicar either…or else why did he avoid him so? Tristan put that thought away for later. Perhaps Miss Wallis would tell him more after the guests left.

And then, finally, Miss Daisy Merriot entered.

She wore a plain, almost shabby cloak, while the two ladies with her nearly glowed in the brighter colors they each wore.

The other young lady was fragile and beautiful. She allowed a footman to take her cloak, revealing a gown that looked like something a fairy princess would wear. Meanwhile, Lady Rutherford was regal, gowned in a rich purple frock and a headdress that featured three peacock feathers.

But he only noticed them because they were with Daisy.

“Hurry up with your cloak,” Lady Rutherford was saying to Daisy in an annoyed tone. “Bella must meet the duke as soon as possible.”

As Tristan approached the trio, Daisy removed the cloak…and revealed that she was just as alluring as the first time he saw her.

“Where did you get that gown?” Lady Rutherford hissed, clearly shocked at Daisy’s appearance.

“I made it from the fabric bolt my friend Poppy sent,” she explained in a soft voice.

“You should have told me—why, your grace!” Lady Rutherford said, affecting a sweeter tone. “Good evening. We were just saying how wonderful it is to have Lyondale open again.”

An obvious lie, but Tristan had no option to pursue it, since he was immediately introduced to Bella Merriot, who was all but offered to him on a platter.

To be fair, she was a very pretty young lady. If Tristan ordered an artist to paint an ideal woman, the result would probably look like the Honorable Bella Merriot.

Daisy Merriot was dressed more simply than her stepsister, but everything about her said gentry: her manner, her voice, her looks. Her blond hair was bound up properly, but it would spill everywhere if that one ribbon were to be undone—an image he found he quite liked. She had a heart-shaped face and lovely, big dark eyes, and an intriguing bow of a mouth.

“Thank you for coming.” He looked at her and smiled. “A question, if you’ll indulge my curiosity. Did I hear your stepmother call you Daisy the other day?”

“My given name is Margaret, as you must know, for it was on the invitation,” she said shyly. “Daisy is just a pet name.”

“It suits you very well,” he said.

Daisy’s eyes widened. She was shy, and obviously nervous, which Tristan found charming, if only because it gave him a bit of confidence. He wasn’t a great talker himself, but she was nearly tongue-tied. He wondered if a kiss would untie her tongue or silence her completely, and then decided either outcome would be interesting.

Before she could respond to his comment, the bell rang for dinner.