Daisy Read Online Free PDF

instant dismissal if she showed so much as an inkling of disrespect and, since Curzon was more of a power in her world than the Countess, she was positively falling over herself in an effort to be helpful.
    For the next bewildering hour, Daisy learned the expertise of a really good lady’s maid. A faded blue silk gown was sent off to the laundry room to reappear half an hour later looking almost like new. Wielding the curling tongs, Plumber unloosened Daisy’s long hair from its braids and set to work to put Miss Chatterton’s hair up for the first time. Maids bustled in with lotions and scents, pins and pads. The pads were attached to the sides and the top of the head and her masses of heavy brown hair curled up over them. After a diminutive maid had stitched that offending length of whalebone back into its moorings, more pads were tucked into her stays at the bust and hips and her waist was lashed so tight, Daisy thought she would faint.
    Another snap of Plumber’s magic fingers and a pair of high-heeled evening slippers were conjured up. “Height,” said Plumber severely, “is all the thing.”
    The little clock tinkled six. There was only time for Daisy to catch a glimpse of the tall, beautiful girl that was miraculously herself in the glass, then her fan was put in her hand and Curzon was waiting at the door.
    His wooden face creased in a benign smile. “Well, Miss Chatterton, don’t we look a picture!”
    All poise lost, Daisy flew into his arms. “Oh, Mr. Curzon, I was so horrid to you. How can you forgive me?”
    “There, there, lass,” said the butler. “We’ll have a talk tomorrow. Now don’t cry and spoil that lovely face. Come along, His Grace is waiting.
    As they approached the library, Curzon whispered, “Don’t be put off by his manner, miss. He’s one of the best.”
    Daisy smiled at him mistily and nodded. She was thinking only of the Earl and the fact that Curzon was talking about the Duke of Oxenden did not occur to her.
    Curzon threw open the double doors. “The Honorable Daisy Chatterton,” he intoned and, holding her new hairstyle high, Daisy entered the room, tottering slightly on the unaccustomed height of the borrowed shoes.
    The Duke uncoiled himself from the depths of an armchair and stood silently surveying the girl on the threshold. The library was dim, lit only by one lamp in the corner. Daisy’s delicate hourglass figure was silhouetted against the light from the hall, swaying slightly on her high heels. She moved forward into the room and stood timidly, in the center, her large eyes looking questioningly at the Duke.
    “I knew your mother,” he said abruptly, motioning her to sit down. “She stood just where you are standing. I was just a schoolboy down from Eton but she treated me with grown-up courtesy. She had great charm.”
    Daisy remained silent and the yellow, heavy-lidded eyes surveyed her curiously. “We met before,” he added gently.
    Daisy flushed. She had been hoping that this terrifying aristocrat would have forgotten her school girl escapade.
    She opened her mouth to thank him for rescuing her and then remembered he had merely been the Countess’s messenger and shut it again.
    He continued to survey the silent girl. “You did not know of your father until your guardian’s death?”
    She shook her head.
    “He is well,” he said slowly. “I saw him last month in the South of France.”
    “Could you give me his address, Your Grace?” asked Daisy. “I would like to write and…”
    She stopped as the Duke shook his head. “It would not be any use. He is not a good correspondent and would not reply to your letters. He means to return to England soon.”
    “Why did he leave? Is his health bad?”
    “No, he is in perfect health,” replied the Duke.
    How could he tell this fragile girl that her father had fled England after he had been found cheating at cards?
    “But I don’t understand…” she began when a footman padded into the