Page 35 of A Dash of Scot
This was an awakening for certain. Did she even know how to make tea?
They moved into the cottage, where their new housekeeper, Mrs. Bromley, gave them a nice tour, showing them their rooms, and at Poppy’s request, instructed her on how to make tea.
Though the outside had looked less than promising, the truth was that the staff had done an excellent job of cleaning up the inside. The surfaces were dusted, the rugs beaten, and the windows opened to let in fresh air. The kitchen was spotless, and the servants had even stocked them with provisions. The bed sheets were clean and smelled like the Highlands air, and the drawing room had a shelf of books that Poppy was dying to read.
By nightfall, she was feeling better than when they’d first arrived. There were three bedrooms as well, so she and Anise were not forced to share, though that first night, they did anyway because they’d never slept alone in a house without at least one servant there. Safety in numbers wasn’t something she’d thought about until now.
She had spotted a fire poker in her bedroom that she could use for protection, which she kept close by when they blew out the candles at night. But the thing was so heavy she wasn’t certain she’d be able to grab it and make good use of it. Besides, keeping it under her pillow had left ashes on her sheets, making her immeasurably guilt-ridden when Elizabeth, their upstairs maid, saw it the next morning. Guilt had made her ask to help with chores, which she found satisfying, as odd as that might seem. She was accomplishing something, even if it was beating out her frustration on a rug.
But she needed something to keep her safe. It was just the three of them, and word traveled fast, especially in small villages. All would know it was only the three of them—the honorable and the not-so-honorable. This meant that if someone had less than honorable designs, they could enter the premises with a few good tricks and commit their crimes with ease.
It was because of this realization manifesting into a nightly fear that three days after they’d moved into the cottage, Poppy went into the small village general store and bought a hammer, which she kept under her side of the bed should she need to defend her family.
For three mornings in a row, she’d found the hammer missing, and each time, she found it in the tool shed.
“Elizabeth, why do you keep taking my hammer?”
Elizabeth’s face paled, and she looked toward the ground. “I put it back where it belongs.”
“It belongs where I left it under my pillow.”
“Yes, my lady,” she said, though her expression begged to know why.
“Please do not remove it.” Poppy kept her gaze steady and decided to be open with her maid. “It is quite dark here at night, and we are quite alone.”
Elizabeth’s mouth popped open as if she had only now comprehended. “I understand, my lady.”
Later that afternoon, after coming back from a long walk with Anise, Poppy found not only new locks on the front and back doors of the house but in the bedrooms as well—and her hammer where it was supposed to be, under her pillow.
“Poppy,” Anise’s voice was filled with excitement as she burst into Poppy’s bedroom, waving a piece of paper. “We’ve been invited to a dance.”
Poppy put down the brush she’d been using to brush her hair as Elizabeth was assisting her mother with her morning bath. And besides, she could brush her hair. A simple braid was all she needed in the country. No intricate hair styles here.
“A dance?” After being in the Highlands for two weeks, she hadn’t been sure dances were part of the culture this far north of Edinburgh, even if Dougal and her brother had assured her society was alive and well in these parts. To her, they could have been dumped in the middle of nowhere.
“Aye, look.” Anise thrust the invitation toward her. The paper was simple, and the calligraphy was simpler. As simple as the house and as quaint as the village. Where she was at first disparaging, she now found it charming.
The dance was to be held at a dance hall—which Poppy hadn’t realized this small town had. A bonus. Where could it be? She’d not seen one near the general store or the milliners.
“Say you’ll go with me,” Anise begged, going so far as to get down on her knees and put her hands together in prayer.
“Oh, do get up, sister. We beat these rugs often, but you’re wearing white, and even a clean rug isn’t fully clean when it comes into contact with white. Of course, I’ll go.”
Anise leapt to her feet and wrapped her arms around Poppy. “Thank you so much, Poppy. You have no idea what this means to me. Let us see what we can wear, and maybe we can convince Mother to take us into town for some new ribbons for our hair at least.”
“I think we can manage a few new ribbons for certain. It’s not as if we’re asking for new Highland trousseaus.”
Anise clapped excitedly and danced around the room with a pretend partner.
“Is it too much to hope that Sir John will come? He did promise.”
“If he promised, then I suspect he will.” Poppy sat back against her chair, her brush forgotten as she watched her sister, living vicariously through her happiness. She chose not to think of how unlikely it was for a young, handsome and wealthy man like Sir John to leave a city full of other eligible brides and ones with significantly higher dowries.
As it turned out, they needn’t have convinced Mama about the ribbons, for as soon as their mother found out there was to be a dance, she declared it a village shopping day and ordered the curricle readied. The dower cottage had an old curricle that Jack had fixed for them. The carriage they’d had for the long ride from London had already been returned to her brother’s residence, though he’d been charitable enough to provide them with two horses.
“I prefer to walk into town,” Poppy said as her mother and Anise prepared to climb into the curricle with Anise grabbing hold of the reins. “The two of you go ahead of me.”
“Are you afraid of my driving skills?” Anise asked suspiciously.
