The trunks had arrived, and Daisy could see now why the duke’s wife had claimed this particular modiste as the only one who would do. There were day dresses, tea dresses, and evening dresses, all done in simple and elegant designs. Some were eminently suited to mourning in deep grays and lavenders, though some did seem a bit too cheerful for the state. There was a particularly charming dress in a reddish-orange silk that could not be imagined as mourning clothes—it was divine, but she might wait a few weeks at least before donning it. In all the selection, the modiste had made the most of it with cut, fit, and ingenuity. This night, Daisy had enjoyed donning a light silk gown, dyed a deep gray and decorated with pearl beading on the hem.
As Daisy rode in the carriage beside Mrs. Jellops on the way to dinner at the Minkertons, she could not help but think this was her first venture out into society since her father’s death. It was only to be a small dinner, but it was something.
Lady Bartholomew and her daughter, Miss Minkerton, had called upon her and issued the invitation. She’d found both ladies remarkably pleasant, though Miss Minkerton was perhaps a bit subdued. The longer she’d thought upon it, the more she’d wondered if Miss Minkerton were not in some way like herself. Wishing to be carefree and yet not quite as able to as other ladies.
She had always noticed it about herself—she had not the blithe spirits that seemed to come so easily to everybody else she encountered. She had gathered, from hints here and there, especially from Lord Dalton, that she was viewed as rather cold. Miss Minkerton was not cold, not in the least. But there was something in her manner that set her apart. A hesitancy that spoke of private thoughts and a mind not at peace.
“Mrs. Jellops,” Daisy said, “how did you find Miss Minkerton?”
“Oh, she seemed a pleasant girl,” her companion said.
“But did she seem…a bit sad? Or subdued? Or somehow muted?”
“Sad? I did not think so. Perhaps on the quieter side of things.”
“I wonder…”
Mrs. Jellops patted her hand. “My dear, I think you may be more sensitive to variations in temperament than other people. Miss Minkerton was on the quiet side of things because it was likely one of the first calls the girl has made outside of her own little neighborhood. Nerves, you know.”
Perhaps that had been the case, though Daisy was not entirely certain. She gazed out the window at the darkness, only the crashing waves in the distance and the salt in the air belying that they were near the sea.
Lord Dalton was on his horse and led the carriage. She could sometimes glimpse him as they made a turn.
She sat back, knowing full well that she should not be trying to glimpse him at all. She had reminded herself of that idea just about every morning. He would come out of the cottage and sit on a bench with his coffee, unshaven and only wearing trousers and a thin shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He was devilishly handsome in his disarray and she would peek round the curtains at him. She had seen him at night sitting out there too. It was very wrong! Now, he had to go and sit a horse so finely.
He did most things very finely, despite his reputation of being difficult.
Daisy supposed the Minkertons would not mind that he was difficult. After all, they had a daughter to settle and he was to be a duke.
Daisy sat up straighter. Of course! This dinner was not meant to cheer Daisy, it was meant to introduce Miss Minkerton to Lord Dalton. How did she not see that before?
How odd that she would not have realized it. When she was her father’s daughter, she’d questioned everything and put a cynical eye to every case. Her wits and suspicions were always sharpened and on alert. It seemed that now that his ever-present disapproving eye was gone, she’d softened and become less discerning.
It was not a promising development. If she meant to live without a husband, she must learn not to be taken advantage of. Sharp wits would be necessary. Servants, merchants, unwelcome lotharios—they would all take their chance. She must be prepared to spot any mischief or schemes.
Her thoughts drifted once again to Miss Minkerton and this evening’s plan to present her to Lord Dalton. Would he find her pretty? She suspected so. Daisy did not see how anybody could look upon Miss Minkerton and fail to see the depths of her dark eyes or her generous lips always seeming on the edge of a shy smile. Very unlike Daisy herself. She thought, standing next to Miss Minkerton, she must seem rather brittle and frosty.
“But she will not be right for him,” Daisy said softly.
“Who will not be right for who?” Mrs. Jellops asked.
“Belle Minkerton for Lord Dalton,” Daisy answered. “She is too pliable, I think. He’ll be best suited to somebody who can stand up to him.”
Mrs. Jellops laughed and said, “By his own reckoning, he is not suited to anybody. Though if he were, I suspect he’d do well with a lady who could cheer him up a bit. No matter, I do not believe Lord Dalton will ever be caught.”
No, of course, he would not be caught. Any more than she herself would be caught. He would not go starry-eyed over Miss Minkerton, no matter the lady’s attractions.
Daisy was slightly disturbed to notice that the idea sat very well with her.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Charles saw the house come into view ahead and turned up the drive. The Minkertons had been sensible enough to line the drive with torches to lead the way. In this neighborhood, one might ride themselves off a cliff and into the sea if one were not careful. Though the coachman swore he’d grown up in these parts and knew the roads like the back of his hand, Charles had ridden ahead of the carriage to avoid such a disaster.
He was rather cheered to be dining out. Mr. Flanagan did indeed produce a good dinner, regardless of how much Bellamy complained about him, but the atmosphere of his crumbling abode rather ruined the effect. When one was employed in driving off daring insects, both flying and crawling, and a cat who had made herself at home and was not afraid to demand her share of beef, one could hardly concentrate on one’s plate.
He had supposed Miss Minkerton would be thrown at his feet, as all young misses seemed to be, until he’d considered that Burke would have warned them of his views and disposition. It hardly mattered, he supposed, as many a lady had made a run at him and then abruptly turned the other direction after conversing with him for any length of time.
Charles knew he ought to make himself more congenial. He was perfectly capable of it. It was just that he found these hordes of ladies not so subtly vying for a title so irritating! He had already shouted from the rooftops that he would not marry. He had not shoutedwhy, though. As he’d thought more and more about it, he did not see how he was to explain it. Anybody hearing him would think him out of his wits. Or worse, ridiculous.
