Daisy by MC Beaton Read Free Book Online Page B

you must be famished. We shall creep round to the kitchens and forage what has been left over from tea.
    “Forward then! Daisy Chatterton starts her search for love.”
    He chatted away, seeming in excellent spirits and Daisy envied him from the bottom of her heart. She wondered if she would ever feel carefree again.
    She hesitated a moment and turned and looked back at the log.
    “Have you left something behind?” asked the Duke.
    “My childhood,” said Daisy sadly.
    “But not your dreams,” he teased.
    “No,” said Daisy slowly, “not my dreams.”
    The couple caused a great flutter in the kitchens when they strolled in demanding tea—or rather His Grace was demanding tea while Daisy hung back in his shadow. “I don’t think I shall ever acquire an aristocratic manner,” she murmured to the Duke, “if it means putting a great army of servants to a lot of inconvenience.”
    “Nonsense,” he remarked, perched on the edge of the kitchen table. “They love it. Highlight of their day. That right, Curzon?”
    “Indeed yes, Your Grace,” said Curzon smoothly, adjusting his striped waistcoat. “A great event. We shall talk about it when we go home on our yearly visit to our little country hovels.”
    Daisy looked at the Duke in alarm, unable to believe that he would let this piece of impertinence go unnoticed. But he only laughed and said, “Damned radical, Curzon. You’ve known me too long. I suppose what you mean is that we are being a damned nuisance. Come along, Daisy. Drink your tea like a good girl.”
    Curzon, who looked hopefully at the pair when they had come in, dropped his eyes in disappointment. His Grace’s manner toward Miss Chatterton was fatherly to say the least.
    As they were leaving Curzon coughed politely. “Perhaps if Your Grace could spare me a few moments of your valuable time…?”
    “’Course. Run along, Daisy. I’ll see you in the drawing room with the rest of the zoo at seven.”
    When Daisy had left, Curzon dropped his customary wooden manner. “It’s like this, Your Grace. Now, joking apart, you know I’m not a one to take liberties. I’ve known Miss Daisy since she was a babe, her being a member of our methodist chapel.”
    “No, I don’t know Curzon. Methodist, eh! That explains a lot.”
    “It explains why Miss. Daisy has turned out a pleasant-spoken, God-fearing girl,” said Curzon sharply.
    “Well, out with it man. You didn’t waylay me just to read me a sermon. No. I can see something else in those beady little eyes. Philandering in high places. That’s what’s got you.”
    “Exactly, Your Grace.”
    “Well, she’s been hurt badly, Curzon, but she’s got a lot of character. She’s a nice stepper and won’t charge her fences.”
    “Very sound in wind and limb,” said Curzon dryly. “We are not talking of a filly, Your Grace, but of a highly sensitive girl. I feel perhaps if I could employ a maid for her—one of her old friends—it might cheer her up.”
    “Won’t that be a trifle difficult? She can’t really go around being chummy with her maid.”
    “The girl I had in mind, Your Grace, would understand that, although she could be friendly with Miss Chatterton in private, but would need to be a correct lady’s maid in public. The girl I had in mind is a certain Amy Pomfret.”
    “Oh, I remember. The dazzling blonde. Well, fix it up, Curzon, and warn this Amy about the Earl’s susceptibilities.”
    “Very good, Your Grace. There is of course a question of salary…?”
    “In other words, my lady won’t fork out. Tell everyone that Miss Chatterton’s father is paying for it. In fact—this is damned embarrassing, but in for a penny in for a pound—I’ll get my man of business to send Miss Chatterton an allowance through you as an old family retainer and all that. Tell Miss Chatterton it’s from dad.”
    “But won’t Lord Chatterton, so to speak, spill the beans, Your Grace?”
    “Not a hope. That old wastrel won’t dare show his