Page 2 of The Duke I Wished For (A Maypole in Mayfair #5)

D espite her flowery name, Lady Daffodil was no wallflower.

Normally.

If the situation were different, she’d be standing beside her cousin Aubrey right now, in the middle of the drawing room, laughing and chatting with the guests who crowded around the new Duchess of Amesbury.

But her cousin was holding court on her own as her husband, the Duke of Amesbury, watched with a doting smile from the far side of the room, where he took part in what appeared to be a lively conversation about hunting dogs.

Daffodil tried to catch whatever it was he’d said that had made his friends laugh so hard, but she was too far away to hear much.

Drat.

This was what she got for hiding. She was bored to tears here in the corner. Not hidden behind curtains, necessarily, just…strategically placed in their shadow.

There was a difference.

The former was pathetic, while the latter was…strategic.

Daffodil flinched at this logic, folding and unfolding the fan in her hand. She was acting like a coward and she knew it.

Worse, she was a bored coward.

She shouldn’t have come in the first place. No doubt Jane would have refused the invitation. Jocelyn would have found some excuse to avoid the dreaded encounter. And yet, the best Daffodil could come up with was to hide among the drapes and hope her mother forgot about her.

Or her father grew weary of this soiree and decided it was time to leave.

Considering her father despised societal functions as much as her mother relished them, the latter seemed the likelier option.

Either way, she hoped to get through this evening without having to exchange pleasantries with the new suitor her mother had chosen…

and hopefully before she perished from boredom.

She fretted with the silk skirt of her gown as she eyed this crowd of lords and ladies. The last she’d seen of her mother, she’d been trying to find Mr. Horace Benson, a man her mother assured her was smitten with her.

Smitten.

With her.

But how? Daffodil had asked.

Her mother’s stare had been blank.

How could he be smitten with me when we’ve never even met?

Her mother had given her the same disdainful “pshh” sound she always used when Daffodil asked questions she deemed irritating.

“There you are!” Her mother’s voice gave Daffodil a start.

The countess narrowed her eyes as she strode toward Daffodil, her anger obvious despite the smile carefully fixed upon her face. “Daffodil, what are you doing over here in the corner?”

“I thought you’d said…” Daffodil floundered. “Er, didn’t you wish for me to wait here until you’d found Mr. Benson?”

Her mother sighed, craning her neck to see past a group of gentlemen standing nearby. “I don’t know what Aubrey was thinking,” her mother muttered. “Inviting all these guests when she knew quite well what tonight was about…”

Daffodil cast a quick glance at her kind cousin. Was Aubrey acquainted with the latest suitor who’d been chosen for Daffodil? He must be a horrid choice if Aubrey went to all this trouble to avoid an intimate meeting.

Daffodil feigned innocence as she echoed her mother, “What tonight was about?”

Her mother huffed, leaning left and right…presumably to find the elusive Mr. Benson. “For Mr. Benson to get to know you, of course.”

“He wishes to get to know me?” Daffodil asked, hating the thin thread of hope that laced her voice. But honestly, the last few gentlemen her mother had forced her to meet hadn’t the least bit of interest in her. They’d regarded her as one might a horse for sale.

That horrid Mr. Pennywind had gone so far as to pat her skirts, mumbling something under his breath about “good birthing hips” as his foul breath washed over her.

Daffodil shivered in revulsion at the memory.

“He wishes to get to know me?” she said again, this time with a hopeful smile.

“Hmm? What’s that?” Her mother turned back to her. “Oh, yes, of course. He thought you were quite pretty from a distance, but he’ll want to see you up close. No man wants to marry a woman with rotten teeth or pockmarked skin, now would they?”

Daffodil’s smile faded fast.

The group of gentlemen nearby shifted, and her mother sighed again as her view was blocked. “Aubrey’s too kindhearted, if you ask me.”

Daffodil bit her lip. No one asked you.

Her mother nodded to the group of men who were talking quietly among themselves. “They don’t belong here. They’re all merchants and tradesmen, the lot of them.”

“Isn’t Mr. Benson a merchant as well?” she asked with feigned innocence. She already knew what her mother’s response would be.

“He acquired a fortune!” Her mother’s eyes widened in indignation before she lowered her voice to a hiss. “And beggars can’t be choosers. Remember that.”

Daffodil clamped her mouth shut. It took everything in her not to point out that it was her mother who looked down upon merchants and tradesmen, not she. But apparently in her mother’s eyes, it was all right to be a merchant or tradesman…just so long as one had a fortune.

“I chose Mr. Benson with care, as your cousin well knows,” her mother continued. Her glare had turned back to the group of gentlemen who were so rudely blocking her mother’s view of Mr. Benson.

Daffodil was grateful to the men for unwittingly aiding her in her attempt to stay out of view. She eyed the men her mother was so dismissive of, and truly it was difficult to see how they were any different from the lords in attendance.

They were all well-attired and well-groomed.

One stuck out as he was a good foot taller than the other three and so broad, he reminded Daffodil of the old oak tree on their country property.

So sturdy and large, that tree and its massive trunk had often served as shelter from the storm when she and Delilah were caught out in the rain.

The memory had her lips curving up in a wistful smile. Unfortunately, she was still gazing at the tree trunk of a man when she smiled and he happened to glance over at that precise moment.

Just in time to see her smiling dreamily in his direction like a nitwit.

She snapped her gaze away, but not before she caught his glower.

She peeked back at him.

Which was a mistake. He was still looking at her…still glaring, to be precise. But not even a harsh glare could take away from the fact that this man was handsome.

More than handsome. What was the word for more than handsome?

Isabelle would know if she were here.

All Daffodil knew was that the man had the sort of chiseled features most typically found on Greek statues, with piercing brown eyes and thick black hair that fell over his forehead, giving his otherwise hard jawline and regal nose a rather rakish air.

She’d bet her nonexistent dowry that if he weren’t furrowing his brows in such a manner, and if he were to actually curve that grim slash of a mouth up into a smile, he’d make every woman in this room swoon.

Maybe even her mother.

The thought made her laugh, and her mother’s gaze darted in her direction. “What are you laughing about?”

She quickly hid her smile. “Nothing, Mother.”

“Come along, then,” her mother said, gripping her arm. “If he can’t find you, I’ll take you to him.”

Daffodil had no choice but to follow. But they only made it a few steps before the crush of the crowd forced her mother to drop her hand from Daffodil’s arm so they could move single file through the clusters of guests.

“Don’t fall behind.”

“Yes, Mother.”

But she did fall behind. It wasn’t even like she’d planned it. First her feet seemed reluctant to move and she found herself shuffling behind her mother, falling farther and farther back. Then her stomach revolted as her mother waved to a tall, gangly-looking man on the far side of the room.

Then someone bumped into her, which sent her stumbling sideways.

And that was how she happened to barge into the group of men who’d previously been hiding her and her mother.

“Oh, pardon me,” she said quickly.

But most of the men in the cluster were distracted at that moment by the approach of the Duke of Amesbury.

“Your Grace,” one of the men said. “How good of you to invite us.”

And then the other three men moved toward the duke, and Daffodil found herself standing alone with the tall tree trunk of a man. Or rather, she stood directly in front of him, blocking his path to join the others who were now gathered around the duke.

“Er, pardon me,” she murmured.

He gave a little tip of his chin in acknowledgment, the act stiff and proper. He started to shift, to walk around her, but just then Daffodil caught sight of Mr. Benson again and she panicked, shifting once more to put the tree trunk of a man in front of her.

She’d say this for the tall, broad, handsome fellow…he might have an alarmingly grim disposition, but he made for an excellent hiding spot.

She peeked around his broad frame and her breath caught at the sight of the sneering, pale Mr. Benson. The man looked…awful.

Was that possible? Could a man actually look cruel? Or was she just scarred from her experience with the wretched Mr. Pennywind?

Another peek confirmed her suspicion.

No, he looked wrong. Off. There was a light missing in his eyes, and his chin was far too weak. And?—

“Miss…”

Daffodil lifted her chin to face the man who’d spoken in that rough, rumbly voice. She found herself staring at a cravat, so she lifted her chin higher until she could see those piercing brown eyes staring down at her.

Goodness, he truly was a tall specimen.

His brows lowered even further. “May I help you?”

It didn’t sound like a kind offer of assistance. More like a civil way of saying “get out of my way.” But Daffodil still sighed wistfully as she murmured,“Would that you could.”

He blinked. “Pardon?”

She shook her head. “Apologies for the interruption. But you see, I…” She trailed off with her lips still parted, temporarily speechless in the face of those dark eyes and that furrowed brow.

Also, she had no notion of what to say. That didn’t help her speechless state one bit.