Page 4 of A Dash of Scot
Mary’s brow wrinkled that she’d not been formally addressed, but Poppy didn’t care. She was too exhausted trying to please the one person in the house she’d thought she might befriend besides her own sister. A thought that had been dashed about thirty seconds upon entry.
Their mother was far too inside her own grief to be of any comfort.
Anise took that moment to enter the drawing room, too, her face drawn. She headed toward the piano, settling on the bench, her fingers poised over the keys. She took a dramatic breath and started playing Beethoven’s “Sonata,” the keys and notes filled with such sorrow that Mary actually groaned like a petulant toddler.
“Will you both quit your moping?” Mary’s arms flailed with exasperation. “The atmosphere is far too funereal for me.”
Shocked, Anise’s hands fell flat on the keys in a wretched sound, her mouth agape as she stared. During the silence that passed for the next fifteen seconds, Poppy could hear the creaks of the house, the carriages rolling on the cobbles outside, and the beat of her heart in muted tones as if she’d been forced into a bubble and every sound was on the outside of it.
Poppy dropped her book, unable to hide her flinch. “Our father has just passed,” Poppy said. “You might be more considerate in your word choices and in your attitude.”
She regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth. Mary’s lips curled, and she was certain there was about to be a huge rebuke. But a swift knock on the drawing room door had them all quiet and attention on the butler, who was opening the door and announcing that Lord Dougal Mackay was present.
Poppy bounced to stand, smoothing a hand down her skirt.
Dougal Mackay.
They’d met first at Edward and Mary’s wedding several years prior. And then again, last year at a ball in London, he’d swept her off her feet and broken her heart. Back when life seemed easy and grand and her future bright.
To see him now sent a rush of embarrassing heat through her, taking her right back to that ball where he’d danced with her, making her feel as if she were the only woman in the room. And outside, in the garden maze shadows, he’d pulled her in for a kiss that made her toes curl in her slippers until he’d abruptly run away.
If only there’d been at least one other proposal for her hand in marriage she’d not find herself in this situation. But she’d put all her faith in waiting for Dougal to bend down on one knee, not paying attention to any other suitors. But his offer had never come, and he’d abruptly left London for Scotland, and she’d been without a proposal of marriage or any prospects.
When she herself had returned to Scotland, she’d been hopeful for a reunion, but she’d not seen him since, even though she’d looked.
The Earl of Reay sauntered into the room, the very picture of a hero—tall and lithe, his magnetism drawing the eye of all three ladies. He swept off his hat, bent his lofty body in a bow and straightened, a teasing smile on his impossibly perfect mouth. His dark hair was swept over his brow in a way that looked as if he’d just ridden here at a pace that would set Poppy’s heart pounding, giving him both a casual and dangerous appearance.
“Dougal, we weren’t expecting you this morning.” Mary cast her gaze over her brother in a very judgmental way, which Poppy found infuriating.
It was extremely unfortunate for the two of them to be related. As in love with him as Poppy thought she was, she kept waiting for the curtain to drop, and he would reveal himself as harsh and cold as Mary. Even after he’d left London without a word, she’d still held out hope to see him and couldn’t fault him for whatever reason that had called him away. As much as it hurt not to have seen him in nearly a year, she also couldn’t cease the flutter of her belly, the squeeze of her heart, and that smile… He and Mary were too impossibly different for her even to consider they shared blood.
The man was every bit as handsome now as he was the previous times she’d been in his presence. The cut of his breeches showed off the muscles of his legs. His starched shirt was impeccable, and his jacket, spread over his broad shoulders, had the shiniest black buttons.
Dougal ignored his sister’s rebuke and nodded toward Anise before settling his dark eyes on Poppy. “Ladies, ’tis a gorgeous day, and I thought I might offer to escort ye on a carriage ride around the city.” Dougal’s Scottish brogue was stronger than his sister’s by far. Likely because Mary had spent much time in London perfecting the aristocratic accent of the ton, whereas he had preferred the Highlands.
Anise and Poppy had also spent much of their time in London in their youth, never truly developing a strong brogue either.
“Gorgeous?” Mary frowned and glanced outside at the dreary atmosphere; her puckered brow pinched enough that the sky might cry for her.
“Well, we can make it a gorgeous day can we no’? Or at least pretend?” Dougal winked at Poppy.
Something inside her chest cracked. Why was he so different from his sister? Kind, sweet, funny, as if when they were born, the pleasant half of one’s personality went to Dougal and the unpleasant parts were saved for Mary. And why was he acting as though a year hadn’t passed since the last time that they’d seen each other—since he’d kissed away her ability to breathe and see sense? Since he’d abandoned her without a word, taking her hopes with him.
She couldn’t exactly say he’d dashed them or stomped on them; it was more like he’d taken her hopes and tied them up in a nice, neat bow and stuck them in his pocket for safekeeping.
“No, you cannot. That’s rubbish. This weather is not good for the skin,” Mary concluded, dismissing her brother with a wave of her taloned fingers.
“I’ll go.” Poppy made imploring eyes at Anise as it wouldn’t be proper for her to go alone.
Anise looked slightly petulant, only wanting to remain behind and play out the rest of the sonata before spilling another bucket of tears into her pillow. As much as she empathized with her sister, for she’d been on the verge of doing just that before Mary came in to prod her, Poppy also knew it was best for her sister to get some fresh air and have a little bit of amusement, if only to distract her a moment from her grief.
Poppy didn’t stop begging with her eyes. She contemplated outright saying the advantages of the ride, but Mary’s nearly bared teeth kept her from speaking. Dougal seemed to have picked up on her desperation, for he approached Anise at the piano.
“Come get some air, my lady. The sonata will be here when we return, and perhaps the grayness of Edinburgh will add a certain note to your playing.”
How was it that he could say the most perfect things?
Anise glanced up at Dougal, blinking as she processed his suggestion for melancholic inspiration, and then she nodded in agreement.
