Page 18 of A Dash of Scot
“Oh, you are being dramatic, sister. The dower house is not as isolated as you think. And I’m certain there will be plenty of invitations.” He finally looked at her, some warmth around the edges, but it was hard to pinpoint. “I want the both of you to marry, trust me. Besides, it’s decided.” Whatever warmth she thought she’d caught a glimpse of disappeared.
Poppy sat rigid, devastated. And when she wanted to collapse backward into the chair, to let the frustrated tears take over, the stubborn part of herself, the part that didn’t want Edward to see he’d hurt her, kept her spine upright and the tears at bay.
When she’d walked into his study, with the way he’d smiled, she’d thought that he still felt some affection for her. But her mother was right. Mary had poisoned him against them, and he would now send them away to fade into nonexistence. And if they didn’t marry, then what? Was that his end game, to outlive them and claim their dowries himself? It didn’t work that way, but somehow, Mary had convinced him it would. And it was evident now that Edward was firmly within Mary’s grasp.
The only good thing to come of this was that at least he wasn’t taking the house, nor yet taking the dowries. He was defying Mary in two small ways. But still…he was banishing them from society, which still hurt.
“I beg you to reconsider, Edward. Anise is only nineteen. Surely, she would benefit from being in society.”
“She could also do with some humility.” Edward stood, glaring down at her as if he needed the leverage to make himself heard.
Gone were the affections of a brother she’d once loved so much.
Poppy stood. She was tall for a woman, and Edward was short. Their heights were equal when they were both on their feet, eye to eye. “Locking her up in the Highlands won’t change her.”
“I beg to differ.” He slapped his desk, the veins in his next starting to pop as his cheeks reddened. “And please do stop saying I’m locking you up. You’ll have a lovely house in the country, and the three of you will make good company for each other. I don’t want to hear another word about it. As I said, it’s decided. Now, you’d best get back to tea. It’s highly improper for you to have left Mary’s tea to find me.”
She didn’t bother to tell him that she’d never even entered the drawing room. “And it’s highly improper for a brother to rob his sisters of a life.” She stood up, angry now and not caring what she said. “You should be ashamed, Edward. It was your duty to protect us after our father passed.”
He glared up at her. “I am protecting you.”
And she could see in his eyes that he truly believed it.
Poppy was too stunned, too dismayed, to say another word.
But in her mind, at that moment, she determined she would never marry someone who might have the power to influence her thoughts, beliefs, and values. Edward, the brother she’d always admired, was no longer a person she wanted to be nor a person she could respect.
6
The dining room at Edward’s house had air thicker than the clam chowder served at dinner.
Dougal looked from somber face to somber face—the Featherstone women, the pinched expression that made Mary look as if she had aspirations of becoming a prune. Edward’s face was even worse. Looked as if the chap had taken a blow to the ballocks and was still feeling the residual ache.
Colonel Austen sat beside Dougal, the Featherstone ladies across the table from them, and Mary and Edward at their respective head positions. Dougal and Austen had attempted to make good conversation, but Mary seemed bent on either shutting them down or putting a firm damper on anything jovial. She was not pleased that Austen was attending dinner. And not because setting an extra place was hard or because there wasn’t enough food. No, she was displeased because she was Mary, and Mary didn’t like anything that wasn’t her idea.
After his and Austen’s initial starts to the conversation, Lady Cullen, too, had tried to engage them all with talks of an opera playing at Covent Garden, but Mary’s snipe was so shrill as to practically crack the wine glass she was holding. Subsequently, not a word was uttered.
The clink of silverware on china echoed melancholily in the vast room. Even the footmen, who stood ready with drinks and dishes to be served, looked uncomfortable in the strange atmosphere. One poor chap nearly spilled the chowder on Mary when she made an aggressive hand gesture toward Austen at his talk of a horse race he’d been to last week.
If only Dougal could somehow record Mary’s antics for her to see. Surely, she wouldn’t want to be depicted in the light in which she currently cast herself. An artist’s rendering might show her as a great, snarling beast. A demon who had come crawling from the earth.
Dougal took a sip of his wine and cleared his throat, needing to break the silence, no matter how painful his sister’s retaliation was. “The chowder is superb.”
Mary swiveled her head in his direction, her pinched visage looking almost surprised now to see him sitting there. What world had she been living in? He wondered, and would even pay money, to see what things went on in his sister’s head. If only to better figure out how to behave around her.
“Of course it is. We would only have the best cooking, using the best ingredients.”
“A delight to know ye are so lucky.” He tried smiling, but Mary bared her teeth at him and then set her spoon down, signaling for the footman to take her bowl, which was probably a good idea, before she threw it at Dougal.
“How was tea?” Dougal tried again in hopes of parting the gloom.
Mary opened her mouth to speak, but Edward’s voice cut across the table. “I’m going to my club. Mackay, Colonel Austen, care to join me?”
Dougal practically choked on his tongue. Edward would cut off Mary? That was a new development…
“But we’ve only been served the first course,” Mary said, her figure held so tightly Dougal was worried she might shatter.
“I’ve not got an appetite, my dear.” Edward pushed back his chair, making it clear he had no interest whatsoever in arguing with her and would not have his mind changed.
