Page 12 of The Duke I Wished For (A Maypole in Mayfair #5)

T he butterflies in Daffodil’s belly wouldn’t stop no matter how many deep breaths she took as she waited for her father’s carriage to pick her up for the Borelands’ dinner party.

“He’d be a fool not to take one look at you and demand that you marry,” Jocelyn said with a firm nod as she took in Daffodil’s blue gown and upswept hair.

“You do look like a duchess,” Isabelle said, smiling as she gave her hand a squeeze.

“No, you look like a princess,” Delilah amended.

“Oh no, not this again,” Jane groaned good-naturedly. “Not all of us want a Prince Charming to sweep us off our feet, Lila.”

“No,” Jocelyn said with a sly smile for Daffodil. “Some of us are holding out for a duke.”

Daffodil blushed, laughing despite her nerves.

“Don’t forget,” Delilah said softly. “He wouldn’t have asked you to marry if he didn’t truly care for you.”

Delilah nodded, her heart in her throat. Oh how she hoped that was true. “Thank you.” She turned her gaze to encompass all her friends. “All of you. I don’t know what I’d do without friends like you.”

Madame Bellafonte’s voice reached them from the front hall. “Daffodil, dear, your parents are here to collect you.”

With her friends’ shouts of encouragement following her, she smiled at Madame Bellafonte and greeted her waiting father. “Are you ready, my dear?”

She smiled even as her heart raced with anticipation. “I am.”

They joined her mother who’d remained in the carriage, and it wasn’t long before her mother started to find fault with…well, everything.

Daffodil was vaguely aware of criticisms regarding her hair and her gown, her gloves, and even her slippers, but she couldn’t bring herself to pay her mother any mind as her thoughts were solely focused on one man and the conversation to come.

At least she hoped she’d find a way to speak to Blake in private at this soiree.

Her hopes faltered when they drove up to the townhome and found a crowd already waiting at the door.

It would be difficult to find him at all in this crush, let alone speak to him alone.

“…and as for the Duke of Hathshire,” her mother’s voice said, jarring Daffodil out of her thoughts.

“I do think you might have a chance there. I saw the way he was looking at you the other day…” Her mother’s voice was sly and calculating.

It was a tone that set Daffodil’s nerves on edge, and she cast a quick glance at her father.

But he was already watching her mother with suspicion.

Her mother didn’t notice. She was adjusting her gloves, a smug smile on her lips. “If we play our cards right, we might just be able to arrange for the two of you to be caught alone together.”

Daffodil’s lips parted on an inhale. She wanted nothing more than to find a moment alone with Blake, but was her mother actually suggesting…

“It wouldn’t take much persuasion from you, Daffodil, to steal him away from the others,” her mother continued. “And all I’d have to do is come upon the two of you and demand?—”

“Mother!”

But Daffodil’s father’s voice drowned her out. “Harriet!”

The countess blinked in surprise at her husband, who never spoke sharply to her. “Oh, don’t look so horrified. You know a duke would never choose Daffodil for a bride when he could have anyone.” The way her mother said her name made her insides fall. “I’m merely thinking of her best interests.”

Sadness swept over Daffodil, more than hurt or anger. She ached for the little girl she’d been, for the loving mother she’d never have, and the doubts that she’d likely never be entirely rid of thanks to her mother’s callousness.

But Blake’s proposal had helped her to realize one thing…she wasn’t a child any longer, and she was no weak, helpless ninny. After all, a strong, powerful lord not only saw her as a potential partner, but trusted her to be a mother to his precious child.

She straightened in her seat, her sadness giving way to resolve. Her mother didn’t have to hold power over her any longer.

Her parents were still bickering over the countess’s wicked plan to trap a duke into marriage, when Daffodil interrupted. “I’m not going to trap anyone, Mother.” She surprised herself by the steadiness of her voice when she said the words.

“But Daffodil, I’m only trying to help?—”

“No, Mother.” Her voice hardened. “From here on out, I do not need your help.”

“But—”

“I don’t need you to choose my gowns or to introduce me to any more eligible men. And I certainly do not need your assistance in any matters that involve His Grace.”

“Daffodil!” Her mother turned wide, shocked eyes to her husband. “Are you going to just sit there and let her talk to her mother like that?”

Daffodil’s father shrugged, but when his gaze met hers, his eyes fairly sparkled with pride…

and amusement. “She has a point, my dear. Daffodil is a grown woman now. And besides, the duke is not a man to be manipulated…” He winked at Daffodil.

“I have it on good authority that he’s a man of excellent taste, and I have no doubt he’ll choose a kind and caring wife. ”

Daffodil gave her father a small grateful smile.

He’d support her tonight, that much she knew. No matter how this conversation went, her father would be there for her. It meant more to her than he could know.

He arched a brow. “Are you ready?”

She nodded. She was as ready as she could be.

For what was supposed to be a dinner party, the townhome was much too crowded. And if Daffodil wasn’t mistaken, the party was entirely made up of young, beautiful, eligible women.

All right, fine, perhaps there were men and married couples as well. But when she finally spotted the duke, she was only aware of the eligible young ladies.

There were many. And they were all crowded around Blake.

She pinched her lips together as she watched one perfectly coiffed lady after another smile prettily or laugh at whatever he said.

Jealousy caught her unawares when a blonde she was not acquainted with touched his arm and said something that made him smile.

For a moment her confidence faltered. These women were all so lovely and likely far better at embroidery than herself. Why would he ever choose her? But then…

Then he spotted her.

The voices around her seemed to fade into the distance as his gaze caught and held hers. He didn’t smile. Neither did she. But she could have sworn she felt the weight of his gaze upon her, grounding her, making her feel more confident with just a look.

But then a passing servant brushed her arm with his tray. “Apologies, my lady.”

“Oh…” She tore her eyes away to smile at the servant. “It’s quite all right.”

She turned back but he was gone from her view. A crowd of young men had moved to stand in front of her and she couldn’t see the duke unless she went up on tiptoe or craned her neck to seek him out.

He was here, though. That was what mattered. And those women…

Well, there was nothing she could do about that. She just had to trust that her friends were right. He wouldn’t have proposed unless he had feelings for her too…

She hoped.

Letting out a sharp exhale, she murmured an excuse to her father about needing to find something to drink. She started toward the area he’d been, but he was no longer there. The young ladies, too, had sauntered off without a duke to hold them captive.

Frowning, she scanned the crowd but there was no sign of him, until…

There! She caught sight of Blake just as he slipped into a hallway that led to the private quarters.

He was too far away to follow, but she’d been to the Borelands’ home countless times with her parents, and she knew that if she made her way down the hallway to her right, it would take her to that same wing of the house.

She slipped into the hallway, where a few married couples talked quietly, away from the noisy drawing room and parlor. They paid her no mind as she moved past them farther into the house. She’d just rounded a corner when her path was unexpectedly cut off by the appearance of a stranger.

The man smiled and her stomach sank with revulsion.

No. Not a stranger. “Good evening, Mr. Benson,” she said politely.

“Ah, Lady Daffodil.” His oily voice made her shiver, but it was that hungry look in his eyes that had her backing up a pace. “I’ve been looking for you.”

She blinked, her mind temporarily blank. “Were you?”

She looked left down the hallway she’d just walked but there was no one there. The couple she’d passed must have rejoined the party. The hallway behind Mr. Benson was dark but seemed to be just as empty.

“Indeed,” he closed the gap between them, forcing her to take another step in retreat.

“I-I should be getting back to my father,” she said. “He’ll be wondering what’s taking me so long.” She went to take another step back, but his hand caught her elbow, his grip was terrifyingly firm.

“Now, now,” he tsked. “I just saw your father and your mother. They were having an engrossing conversation with the Borelands.” His smile made her stomach turn. “You won’t be missed.”

“I…” Her mouth went dry and her voice came out too weak. She could hear the party and all the guests in the other room, but somehow now they felt a world away.

“In fact, your mother was so preoccupied by her conversation, I dare say she gave me the cut direct.”

“Oh, I’m sure she didn’t mean?—”

“Got all high in her instep, didn’t she?” He arched his brows and his gaze made her squirm as it drifted down to her lips and her neck and then settled on her bosom. “Are you too good for me now too, is that it?”

“N-no, of course not?—”

“Because I was told I’d have no issue claiming your hand, and I don’t like not getting what’s mine.”

She backed up a step, but he held firm, his grip tightening to the point that she cried out.

To her horror, her cry made his smile grow and she saw a sickening satisfaction in his eyes. “That’s right, love. You do have some time to spare for the generous man who’s willing to take you on without so much as dowry, now don’t you?”

He moved in closer, until she was forced to back up lest his body brush against hers. He shifted forward again. And again.

She opened her mouth, ready to scream, but if she did…

If they were caught together…

“Please,” she started.

“Please what?” His tone was a taunt.

She wet her lips and tried to think of any way to reason with this madman. But then a voice came from down the darkened hall, so low and rumbly and filled with rage it sounded like a growl. “Get your hands off the lady.”