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“Alistair!”
“Yes, Your Grace?”
“I’m—er—going to have a guest here.”
“Ah.” Alistair tilted his head, and his eyes shimmered. “Would that be a lady guest?”
“Yes.”
“Ah. What a pleasure for you. I’ll tell the housekeeper. Perhaps she can arrange some rose petals to be scattered about the bedroom.” Alistair winked.
“N-not that kind of guest,” Reggie shrieked, sending a horrified look about the corridor to determine if any chambermaids had overheard. He lowered his voice. “A very distinguished guest.”
“Well, I—er—apologize. I misunderstood,” Alistair said stiffly.
“You didn’t entirely misunderstand,” Reggie admitted. “She is very much a lady. And—er—quite delightful.”
Alistair furrowed his brow. “Will she be accompanied by a chaperone then? I can tell Mrs. Simpson to prepare some Bath buns.”
Reggie scratched the back of his neck. “That—er—sounds good. It will be more of a business appearance for her.”
Alistair’s eyebrows shot up.
“Not the ‘oldest type of profession in the world’ business,” he said hastily, adding a laugh that managed to sound false even to his ears. Doubtless it was the reason for the pained and baffled expression that soon appeared on Alistair’s face.
“Just—er—make certain everything is splendid. Like it always is, of course,” he added, before Alistair could take offense.
His manservant seemed to understand, for he smiled. “Nothing overly romantic.”
He blinked, and for one moment, he imagined Alistair filling the room with flowers for an illicit, ever-so-romantic meeting between Miss Holloway and himself. He shook his head slightly, as if to dispel the scene. Miss Holloway and he were friends. After all, Miss Holloway’s chief topic of conversation with him was the merits of other women.
He sighed. He had a business arrangement with Miss Holloway. He needed a wealthy bride, and she was eager to arrange an appropriate match for him. She was certainly aware of the fact, and he should not ponder her personal merits.
“Well. Nothing romantic at all,” Reggie said. “But—er—pleasant.”
“Perhaps I can tell the housekeeper to put fresh roses in vases,” Alistair suggested.
“That would be splendid.” Reggie beamed, relieved. “And then no one will have to pull the petals off to scatter them about the room.”
“Most beneficial,” Alistair agreed, nodding his head. His eyes twinkled, even though Reggie was certain this was no time for eye twinkling.
“She’ll have to act quickly,” Reggie said, suddenly worried. “My—er—guest is coming tomorrow afternoon. I’m not sure when flower stands are open...”
“I’ll inform her,” Alistair said. “We’ll make sure the apartment is decked with flowers.”
“Good, good.” Reggie scrunched his lips together. “Women are curious things, aren’t they, Alistair?”
“Indeed, Your Grace.”
“I mean, I wouldn’t need flowers if I were to invite a male guest.”
“Perhaps not, Your Grace. Though I might venture to add that flowers are universally appealing.”
“Yes. I suppose it’s good to have women here from time to time.”
“Quite true, Your Grace.” Alistair’s eyes glimmered.
Reggie frowned. For some reason, Alistair seemed to find amusement in their conversation. It was most frustrating, and utterly unnecessary.
*
“ARE YOU CONFIDENT IT’S proper to go to the duke’s house?” An uncharacteristically worried tone was in Mrs. Powell’s voice as she wheeled Daisy toward the duke’s townhouse.
Daisy blinked. “Of course it’s proper.”
“But he’s a man,” Mrs. Powell said. “And you’re an unmarried woman.”
“I’m his matchmaker. That’s an entirely different category.”
“Are you certain?”
Daisy swallowed hard. Had Mrs. Powell seen something in Daisy’s relationship with the duke that she’d attempted to avoid? Had Daisy been too eager to see him? Too happy to chatter with him?
A horrible feeling settled in her stomach.
Heavens.
Mrs. Powell was correct. She was behaving like a foolish schoolgirl. She crossed her arms against her chest and then, conscious of Mrs. Powell’s scrutiny, she dropped them. Her fingers pattered against her chair, and for a moment, she wished she could leave the entry before someone answered the door.
She bit her lip. Perhaps she did admire the duke. Surely that was only natural. There was much about the duke to admire. Perhaps he was not suave; perhaps not every sentence he uttered was a playful jest, honed by years of witty conversation in society’s highest circles; but that only meant the words he said mattered more. There was something raw and unpolished in his demeanor that appealed to her.
“Miss Holloway?” Mrs. Powell’s voice shook her from her reverie.
Daisy had not just been contemplating the duke’s excellent qualities. Not his kind nature, not his broad shoulders, not his sturdy figure....
Her skin warmed, even though Daisy’s skin never warmed. Embarrassment was something for other people, those who weren’t accustomed to entering each room being tinier than everyone else, who didn’t have to scrutinize paths with the same care when they wanted to merely cross the room, lest some impediment hinder them.
Still.
Mrs. Powell leaned down.
“I think the duke is fond of you,” Mrs. Powell whispered.
Daisy raised her chin. “And why shouldn’t he be?”
“I meant fond of you,” Mrs. Powell said.
Daisy blinked. “He’s merely grateful for my professional services. Besides, he was most perturbed to see me the other day at his rendezvous with the princess.”
“He was most distracted by you,” Mrs. Powell said.
Daisy’s heartbeat quickened, but she shook her head. Firmly. “It doesn’t matter.”
“You could marry,” Mrs. Powell murmured. “You do know that, don’t you?”
Daisy frowned. She wouldn’t let Mrs. Powell’s fanciful words enter her mind. She glared, as if the fact might hinder them from entering. “Mrs. Powell, I suspect you are in need of less romantic reading material.”
“You like those books too.”
“Perhaps. But—er—never mind. The point is, perhaps they are as dangerous as some people say.”
Mrs. Powell gave her a wounded look.
“The duke requires funds,” Daisy said, “and my father has none.”
Mrs. Powell scrunched her lips together, but remained silent.
“I am going to match the duke with a woman whose father is in possession of money. That’s the only reason we’re going to the duke’s residence.”
“I see,” Mrs. Powell said, her gaze still focused on Daisy.
Daisy nodded. She would find his ideal match. The man certainly deserved it, despite his habit of scowling in the most frustrating of fashions.
Mrs. Powell sighed. She glanced both ways, as if half-expecting to see Daisy’s father striding on the pavement. Finally, she grasped hold of the cast-iron door knocker and tapped.
The door opened promptly, and Alistair opened the door. He beamed. “It’s you.”
“Yes,” Daisy said.
“I’m so pleased.” Alistair leaned down, and his eyes shimmered. “His Grace is most looking forward to seeing you.”
“We thought he might be terrified,” Mrs. Powell said.
Alistair’s eyebrows darted up, and he emitted a hearty laugh that reminded Daisy of the sounds coming out of public houses after particularly good sports tournaments.
He leaned near Daisy and whispered, “Be sure to compliment the flowers.”
“Oh?” Daisy smiled. “Perhaps there’s hope he can be a good husband yet.”
Alistair tilted his head. “Are you to become his duchess?”
Daisy blinked. Was the man teasing her? “Of course not.”
The man’s face sobered. “Forgive me. I merely thought...” He shook his head. “I’ll tell the housekeeper to bring up some sweets with the tea.”
“How lovely,” Daisy said.
“Cook has been baking all day.”
“I’ll be sure to compliment them as well.”
“I quite like you,” Alistair said as he helped Mrs. Powell lift Daisy and her chair into the house. Then he opened the door to the drawing room.
Daisy rolled over the black-and-white marble tiles, unhindered in the foyer by carpets or imposing furniture. Her heart lightened, and she reminded herself not to become accustomed to the splendor, no matter how mesmerizing the sparkling chandeliers were.
Alistair cleared his throat and announced her, before waving her into the drawing room.
Though she’d been here before, Daisy took in the gilt ceiling, the abundance of vibrant flowers jutting from immaculate vases, and the marble columns. Daisy suspected the latter had been installed for their majestic effect, rather than any worry the ceiling might collapse.
The duke rose and gave a deep bow. “I’m happy you could come.”
“My pleasure.” Daisy beamed and pushed her chair toward the long sofa where the duke sat. Her wheels wobbled over the thick-piled carpets that dotted over the room, but thankfully, Daisy did not need to call for help. Soon she pulled her chair opposite the duke. “How nice to see you.”
“Yes.” The duke stared at her with an altogether unnecessary intensity.
Daisy’s mouth dried. Her heart started to beat with a faster rhythm, and she held onto the handles of her chair, lest her heart be tempted to sway from her body. For a moment, Daisy almost found herself staring into his rich, deep eyes with equal intensity. Then she pulled her gaze away and settled on a vase filled with tulips. “The flowers are beautiful.”
Alistair gave her an approving nod, then cleared his throat. “I’ll inform the housekeeper that your guests have arrived.”
Daisy turned to Mrs. Powell. “Please sit down.”
Mrs. Powell shifted her legs, and an uncertain expression flitted across her face, the kind people had when they ventured on a scene they might deem private.
“You’re my chaperone,” Daisy reminded her. Mrs. Powell sat down quickly and fixed her gaze on the duke, as if she were worried he might leap across the glossy leather scroll-top mahogany coffee table, tip the vase of flowers over, and do untoward things.
Daisy smiled. Everyone was most fussy.
Naturally, the duke would never do such a thing.
The duke’s face sobered. “Perhaps it was inappropriate to invite you.”
“Nonsense,” Daisy said briskly. “Everything is quite fine. Besides, you’re a boxer. That’s far the most scandalous thing about you.”
“I suppose it might be difficult to find me a match,” the duke said, settling onto the sofa.
“It would be easier if you didn’t tip princesses into rivers.”
“That was a mistake.” The duke shifted his legs. “And I got wet, too.”
“I’m certain that’s a consolation for her,” Daisy said.
The housekeeper arrived with tea and scones. She grinned when she saw Daisy.
“Those look most scrumptious,” Daisy said.
The housekeeper beamed and scurried from the room.
Daisy tilted her head. “Are the servants afraid of you?”
“Of me?” The duke widened his eyes. “Why would they be? I’m not frightening.”
He growled when he spoke, and his eyes flashed.
Daisy smiled. “I agree.” She removed her notebook from her satchel and opened it.
“No, no,” the duke protested. “Scones first. It’s a house rule.”
“I suppose it’s not a terrible rule.”
“Of course it’s not. I invented it.” The duke sat back with evident pride, munching into a piece particularly slathered with clotted cream.
“Now,” Daisy said, “what would you like to see in a ball?”
“Happy faces.”
Daisy smiled. “That’s a most wonderful instinct.”
The duke’s chest broadened.
“Now, I’ve compiled a collection of women to invite. Princess Aria has already accepted the invitation.”
“Indeed?” The duke raised his eyebrows.
“It seems she has ample funds for new dresses, and there’s a dearth of balls to attend.”
“I suppose that is one thing to base a marriage on.”
“I would prefer you to base the marriage on love,” Daisy said.
“Love?” The duke leaned back, and Daisy nodded.
An uncomfortable look contorted his face, and he averted his eyes. Clearly, men were every bit as out of touch with their emotions as some women claimed.
“It might be difficult to recognize you’re in love,” Daisy said.
The duke’s eyes widened, and his cheeks grew an uncharacteristic ruddy color.
Daisy sighed. Evidently, the duke was even worse at emotions than she’d thought. He seemed thoroughly disinclined to discuss them.
“Still,” she said. “There are certain signs that you might be in love.”
“Oh?” The duke’s voice sounded oddly hoarse.
She nodded. “Yes, hoarseness is one of them. Your lungs might feel less full in the presence of your beloved, and your voice might lose its characteristic strength.”
Footsteps thundered across the room, and she realized Alistair had exited. Most servants glided. Clearly, he must have been in a hurry to exit for some reason.
She shook her head slightly and reminded herself that the duke’s household practices were of no concern to her. There was absolutely no reason in the world for her heart to be aching in the duke’s presence.
This is business.
“You might find that your chest narrows in the presence of your beloved,” Daisy said. “Your stomach might become beset by butterflies.”
The duke laid a hand on his stomach, and an odd expression fluttered across his face.
“It isn’t the most pleasant of symptoms,” she said. “Though I suppose it’s quite distinctive.”
“You’ll be certain to recognize it.” Mrs. Powell bit into a sweet. She smirked slightly. “For instance, you wouldn’t feel butterflies when speaking with me.”
The duke widened his eyes.
“Good example, Mrs. Powell,” Daisy said.
“I was pleased with it.” Mrs. Powell took another sip of tea, then continued to smirk.
Daisy shook her head slightly. Mrs. Powell was behaving most oddly.
“What else might you discover?” Mrs. Powell pressed.
“Well, he might blush,” Daisy said.
The duke grabbed a scone hastily, stretching his arm to the other side of the table and ducking his head down. When he returned with the scone, his cheeks seemed ruddier than before, surely because of the sudden physical exertion.
Daisy frowned slightly. She wouldn’t have thought the duke would have suffered from that action. After all, the man was most muscular. She stared at his chest for a moment, conscious of the ripples underneath his waistcoat.
She averted her gaze hastily, though she had the horrible impression it had not been hasty enough. She refrained from meeting Mrs. Powell’s or the duke’s eyes just in case.
“Are there any more signs of being in love?” Mrs. Powell asked.
“Those are the important ones,” Daisy said, thankful for Mrs. Powell for saving the conversation. She’d hardly come here to gawk at the duke and blush in his presence. She gave her most professional smile at the duke. “So, at the ball, you can see if you experience any of those emotions.”
“To a woman I’ve just met?”
Daisy nodded. “Cupid has a strong bow.”
“I—I see.” He frowned slightly. “Where did you get this information?”
“There was an entire article on it in Matchmaking for Wallflowers.”
“Then you are quite the expert in it.”
“Yes.” Daisy beamed. “I am.”
The duke’s eyes shone as he contemplated her. “You’re like no other woman I know.”
“Well,” Daisy said, “that’s because you have only one matchmaker.”
“Yes,” he agreed after a pause. “I suppose you’re correct.”