Page 5 of A Dash of Scot
Poppy breathed out a sigh of relief. She needed to get out of this house. Away from Mary. Away from the dreariness of mourning. And she understood the irony of escaping the dreary house for a dreary, cloudy day, but perhaps the thick air would do something to make her feel better after all. If anything, it would get her away from Mary and her deep desire to scratch her sister-in-law’s eyes out.
Dougal took both their arms, and Mary’s eye roll could have been felt in London. Poppy wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d caused the earth to quake in some far-off continent.
“Do be back in time for tea,” Mary advised. “We’ve several ladies calling, and it wouldn’t do for you not to be present.” Her words were not directed at anyone in particular but felt by all three, as evidenced by the knowing glances they passed.
Mary practically hissed at the three of them having a bonding moment.
That was hours from now. Where exactly did she think Dougal was going to take them on their carriage ride? Down to London?
Dougal, his voice as calm as one of the lochs on a summer day, said, “I’ll be sure to have them back in plenty of time for tea. Am I invited?”
“No,” Mary retorted venomously, her mouth turned down, but rather than be offended, Dougal laughed as if he were used to his sister’s disposition.
Poppy wasn’t certain she’d ever be used to Mary. Her acerbic tones and puckered features made it look as if she had a lemon rind in her mouth and a dog’s mess on her shoes.
“Shame,” Dougal said, though he didn’t sound too upset about it; in fact, it was the opposite.
If Poppy had the option to be disinvited to tea, she’d feel the same way: happy as a salmon swimming upstream.
Mary muttered something under her breath and then took up her place at the piano, playing a tune fit for a party rather than the melancholy of her sisters-in-law who’d recently lost their father.
Poppy tugged on Dougal’s arm, and he hurried them out of the drawing room without so much as a backward glance. Good riddance.
They donned their coats in the foyer and then proceeded outside where Dougal’s curricle sat as if it had been waiting for them, the top lowered to allow the passengers fresh air and a view of their surroundings. As if he’d swept into the house to swish them away from their misery, escaping his sister being the plan all along.
The coolness of autumn bit through Poppy’s sleeves, and gooseflesh rose on her right arm; her left quite cozy in the crook of Dougal’s hold.
“Please accept my apologies for my sister,” he said as a footman opened the door to the open curricle and put down the steps for them to climb in.
Dougal actually looked sad about it, and Poppy felt bad for him, knowing he’d had to grow up with Mary. That had not been easy, she was certain. She and Anise had, of course, had their rows and didn’t always see eye to eye, but in the end, they were at least kind to each other.
Poppy glanced up at the sky, a mist threatening to come down on them.
“I’ve umbrellas should the sky decide to ruin our day,” Dougal said.
“Thank you.”
Poppy climbed into the curricle, her sister sitting beside her and Dougal opposite them. He wasn’t a bad view to have to watch the whole ride through. She rather liked looking at him. Which was a scandalous thing to think. What lady of good breeding would stare unabashedly at a handsome man?
She supposed she wasn’t a lady of good breeding then, though her mother might throw a fit to hear her think it.
And also unfortunate, given he’d left without a word for nearly a year, and there was every possibility he would do so again. She had no stake on him. A kiss in a garden. A enough dances to make her believe he’d set his intentions.
But that kiss…it had been exquisite and left a mark on her that no other man was likely to erase. And yet, he’d walked away. As if kissing her had been the same as picking up the morning paper. Easily gone through and discarded without a need to review again.
The only thing she currently had going for her was that she resided in his sister’s house. That meant she was likely to see him more often than not.
Dougal handed each of them a wool tartan blanket to place over their laps. “In case you catch a chill.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Poppy said as she spread it over her legs, instantly feeling the warmth of the wool blocking the autumn chill. “For the blanket and for offering to take us about.”
“My pleasure.” He glanced at the massive Edinburgh townhouse, which hid the tyrant he called sister. “I know how stuffy it can be when ye’re all cooped up. And Mary is…not the best company sometimes.” He grinned mischievously at Poppy and Anise as if they shared in some joke. Sadly, Mary’s attitude was not funny. “If ye tell her I said that I’ll deny it.”
“We wouldn’t dare.” Poppy laughed softly, feeling marginally better.
“You both are so different,” Anise pointed out without hesitation. “How do you suppose that is?”
Poppy stared at her sister, shocked she’d voice such a question, even if it were something she’d been contemplating forever. Dougal chuckled at Anise’s bold question, and Poppy let out a breath. She had her ideas about their differences but waited for what Dougal might have to say.
