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

T he spring breeze lifted Daffodil’s locks as she and Isabelle huddled closer together.

“Thank you for coming with me today, Daff.”

Daffodil squeezed her friend’s arm. “It’s my pleasure. I could use the distraction.”

A maid trailed behind them as they walked the short distance to the residence of the Duke of Hathshire.

Isabelle’s wish to start a library for those less fortunate was off to a surprisingly good start.

It seemed her father supported her plan and had arranged for her to take stock of some of the better libraries in London society and make a list of which tomes she might be able to borrow for her enterprise.

The renowned Duke of Hathshire was one of those who’d offered up his private collection for perusal, and Isabelle had been fairly dancing with delight all morning as she’d prepared for this afternoon outing.

“Just think what marvelous books he might have,” Isabelle sighed as they sauntered toward his townhome.

Despite Isabelle’s excitement, neither of them walked quickly. The fresh air and sunshine were too rare a treat after days on end of gray, dreary weather. Even the breeze demanded to be appreciated after so much time spent indoors.

“Does His Grace have a great collection?” she asked.

“I suppose I’ll find out.” Isabelle smiled. “I’d imagine most of his books are kept at his countryside manor. My father says that’s where he spends most of his time.”

Daffodil nodded. She’d heard the same. She didn’t know much about the duke, aside from the fact that he seemed to eschew society.

“Can’t blame the man,” she said. “If I were able, I’d run away from London too. In fact, I just might…”

She wouldn’t, and they both knew it. Daffodil could never abandon Delilah like that. But right about now, the thought was appealing.

Isabelle cast Daffodil a sympathetic look. “Was this new suitor really so awful?”

Daffodil shivered, but not because of the spring breeze that whipped their skirts around their ankles. Her mind filled with the image of his cold, callous eyes, and the way he’d taken every excuse to steal touches and improper looks. Had Mr. Benson been so very awful?

Another shudder racked through her. “Yes. He’s dreadful, Isabelle.”

Her friend held onto her arm tightly, as if she could save her if she held on firmly enough. With a sigh, she told Isabelle every horrid detail of her blessedly brief encounter from a few nights prior.

She’d been sparse with the details when her friends had gathered around her upon her return that evening.

Delilah had looked distraught enough when Daffodil had admitted that she wasn’t fond of their mother’s new choice of suitors, she hadn’t wanted to distress her sister even more by going into detail of just how wretched he was.

She gave her head a shake when she reached the end of the story. “But it’s over now. And with any luck, I won’t have to see him again until the Borelands’ dinner party next week.”

“Maybe you’ll find a better prospect in the meantime,” Isabelle offered, her tone so sweet and hopeful, Daffodil didn’t have the heart to scoff. Not outwardly, at least.

But truly, what were the chances that she’d somehow be miraculously saved from this match? Even if another gentleman came along—one who had the sort of wealth her family needed—what were the odds he’d be any kinder or more clever than dreadful Mr. Benson?

Besides, she’d meant what she’d said to that grumpy fellow at Aubrey’s soiree. She wasn’t at all certain she wanted to marry and be a mother at all.

She sighed and shook her head. The whole point of joining Isabelle on this excursion was to distract herself from her troubles, not dwell on them. “Tell me more about this library of yours and the books with which you’re hoping to stock it,” she said.

Isabelle launched into speech, as Daffodil settled into the conversation. Isabelle was nothing if not passionate about her project, and Daffodil smiled as she listened, enjoying the other girl’s excitement, even if it did leave her feeling a bit desolate that she didn’t have a passion of her own.

All too soon, they arrived at the townhome. A housekeeper let them in once Isabelle informed her of her name and the reason for her visit.

“Ah, yes, my lady,” the older woman said as she gestured for them to enter. “His Grace did tell us to expect you.”

Daffodil’s lips parted on an exhale when she entered the foyer with its vaulted ceiling and marble floors. An ornate tapestry hung to her left while an intricate oil painting took up nearly the entire wall to her right.

“His Grace is an avid supporter of the arts,” the housekeeper said when she caught Daffodil staring. To Isabelle she added, “Which is why he’s keen to support your library, I’d say.”

Isabelle smiled. “Then it’s a pity he’s not in residence more often. I’m sure my father and I would enjoy his company.”

“Oh, he is in residence, my lady,” the housekeeper said as she took Daffodil’s cloak from her. “But I’m afraid he’s indisposed this afternoon, he’s…” She hesitated and then her face split with a cheerful grin. “He’s taking tea at the moment.”

The housekeeper turned on her heel. “Follow me, if you will. The library is this way.”

Isabelle gasped with delight when they reached the large, stately room. Even Daffodil stared in awe.

“His Grace says you’re to make a list of your preferences and he’ll review them in due course.”

The housekeeper started to leave, but Daffodil stopped her. “Would you kindly show me to the washroom before you leave us?”

The housekeeper took her through hallway after hallway, the townhome larger than she’d first guessed while facing it from the outside.

“Shall I wait to escort you back to the library?” the housekeeper asked.

But the older woman looked distracted as several maids passed by.

“No need,” Daffodil said. “I’m sure I can find my way back.”

A quarter hour later, Daffodil muttered those same words to herself, but this time with an exasperated sigh. “You’re sure you can find your way back, are you?” she asked the empty hallway that stretched before her.

She turned back the way she’d come and then spun in a full circle as she tried to sort out where exactly she’d taken a wrong turn. But then she heard it…voices.

She followed the sound until she came to a room where a young girl’s giggle could be heard. The door was partially open so she knocked, hoping to ask for directions, but the door swung inward at her touch.

She froze, not quite able to believe her eyes. The two people sitting at a small table in the center of the room stilled as well. A little girl in a pretty dress with dark hair and cherubic cheeks stared wide-eyed at her. But it was the man seated across from the girl who left Daffodil tongue-tied.

It was him . The man from the soiree. The tree trunk.

He looked completely ridiculous, large as he was, seated at the miniature table, legs folded awkwardly so that his knees practically bumped his chest.

In his massive hand was the tiniest teacup, looking small and ridiculous perched between his thumb and forefinger.

She blinked rapidly, any words dying on her lips, as the handsome gentleman with the broad shoulders recovered first, setting down the miniature teacup and getting to his feet. “You,” he said.

“You,” she echoed, her voice sounding far less certain than his.

The girl who’d been watching them with a worried expression made a fretting sound.

The sound had Daffodil blinking, coming to her senses well enough to smile at the sweet little thing who had dolls perched on either side of her. “And you,” Daffodil said, softening her shocked tone. “Hello, you.”

She was rewarded with a shy smile in turn.

“What are you doing here?” the man snapped.

The girl’s smile morphed to one of fear at the man’s harsh tone. The man who was…

Daffodil blinked, her mind moving slowly like her thoughts were wading through molasses. “You…you’re her father…”

“Of course I’m her father. This is my home.”

And there it was. The last piece of the puzzle. This was his home, which meant he was…he was…

“You’re not a tradesman,” she said stupidly.

His brows knit together. “No. And you are not a servant in my home. So I cannot imagine what you are doing here.”

Daffodil drew in several deep breaths as she tried to find her composure, which she seemed to have misplaced back in the washroom. “Er, I’m…that is…my friend…”

The duke glowered.

Because of course he did. Was he incapable of any other expression? It would seem so.

He crossed his arms and thinned his lips. The very picture of disapproval. Which would have been quite intimidating…if she hadn’t just walked in on him sitting in the world’s tiniest chair, taking tea with a child and her dolls.

Daffodil’s lips quivered. Her belly spasmed. And then her whole body began to shake as she tried and failed to squelch her laughter.

It burst from her with a loud laugh that made the little girl’s face light up with glee, and her father…

Well, her father did not look amused. His eyes rolled upward as if he was begging the Lord for patience. He returned his gaze to hers with a sigh. “Let’s start over, shall we? I am The Duke of Hathshire. And this…” He gestured to the girl. “This is my daughter, Clarissa.”

Daffodil curtsied to the little girl. “How do you do, my lady.”

The little girl’s giggle split the air like a tinkling bell, making Daffodil’s smile grow. The duke turned to his daughter in surprise. Then he turned back to Daffodil, not even attempting to hide his exasperation when he asked, “And you are Lady Daffodil Underhill, I presume.”

“Oh!” She felt heat flood her cheeks at the mention of her name. Had she really gone all this time without the barest of introductions? “Er, yes, I am, but…how did you know?”

His expression was almost pained, as if he wasn’t sure if he was amused or horrified by the question. “Unlike you, your father had the decency to introduce himself.”

“Ah.” Daffodil nodded. That was right, her father had joined them, hadn’t he? Just before he’d sent her off to her doom.

Not to be too melodramatic.

A silence fell, and Daffodil felt the stares of both father and daughter, realizing a moment too late that she had yet to offer any explanation for her sudden appearance in the midst of their…

Her lips quivered again.

In the midst of their tea party.

Oh drat, she truly had to get a hold of herself. Clearing her throat, she forced her gaze to meet the duke’s. “I’m here as a companion to my friend, Lady Isabelle Carrington.”

She watched understanding dawn in the duke’s eyes. “The library,” he said.

“Indeed.” She began to edge backward toward the door, the full extent of her impropriety beginning to register. “I’ll just, er…”

The little girl’s voice cut the awkward silence. “Tea?”

Both Daffodil and the duke turned to face the girl, who was holding out a teacup to Daffodil.

Daffodil’s heart melted right then and there. She didn’t even pause to consider. To refuse such a sweet invitation was unthinkable. She flicked her gaze to the duke, who gave a nearly imperceptible nod.

Smiling brightly, she moved toward the little girl. “I would love some.”