Page 9 of A Dash of Scot
“Indeed, it seems ye do have a talent for fortune-telling. Do tell me mine?” Colonel Austen said, leaning forward over his horse.
“I foresee a brandy before dinner and that you make it through dessert before Mary snaps that it’s time for you to leave.”
Colonel Austen chuckled. “I look forward to seeing your fortune come to fruition, Miss Anise. Should we all get turned out, it sounds as if the two of ye might be able to survive out in the wild.”
“Only time will tell,” Poppy teased.
Dougal couldn’t help but smile. With his friend’s help, he had indeed accomplished his aim to distract the ladies from their grief and make them smile.
3
Though it didn’t normally require much thought, breathing seemed to be a thing Poppy’s body wasn’t doing naturally anymore. And to make matters worse, while she concentrated on trying to take a breath, her knees felt unnaturally hot, as though the heat of Dougal’s body was leeching the mere inch of space between them to taunt her flesh.
Despite the cool air brushing against her cheeks, her face felt hot, and she found herself looking anywhere but at him, now completely aware that he was having such an effect on her. In more ways than one. Of course, there was the physical, but beyond that, her mind was buzzing in a thousand different directions as though someone had unscrewed the top of her head and dumped an entire bee farm inside her brain.
Why was he being so nice?
Nice was good. It was great, fantastic even, but… He’d abruptly left her in London without a word. Why now? Why bother?
Glaringly evident was the fact that Dougal Mackay was acting more concerned for their well-being than their own brother. That stung. She and Edward had used to be close. Before Mary. After Mary, there was a sudden change. No more popover visits. No more letters full of jests. No shopping trips and whirlwind journeys to London to take in the theatre.
But despite the distance that had ebbed between them over the last eight years or so, shouldn’t he care a little bit? Though she supposed Edward thought he was doing a good deed by providing them with a roof over their heads, which to his credit, meant they weren’t homeless, and that was important. And knowing Mary and her resistance, he’d had to put his foot down to get them even that much.
Also, hadn’t it been her father who’d told her once never to expect more from someone than they’d proven willing to give? Edward had changed. And if the last eight years were any indication, she should stop expecting more. Stop expecting the brother she had once known to come back to her.
And if Edward and Mary didn’t care about them, why did Dougal? She couldn’t help but think that Dougal was up to something. Popping up so fortuitously now… What was his ulterior motive?
Try as she might, Poppy couldn’t think of any reasons why a handsome, charismatic Scotsman would come down from his estate in the Highlands to parade her and her sister around town. Protect them, distract them from the machinations of Mary. And was it a coincidence that his friend happened upon them, and that said friend was coming to dinner, and that Anise was blushing ten shades of crimson every time Colonel Austen looked at her?
Poppy’s mind was a whirl of questions and skepticism.
She rather hated that—and the pucker it surely gave to her face.
Skepticism was a new personality flaw that had popped up near the end of her father’s life, and rather than abate with time as sorrow often does, it had only grown.
There had been little contingencies made for his daughters. A meager one hundred pounds a year, which was hardly enough for one person, let alone three, unless they were to move to the country and live in a small cottage, working the land themselves. A thousand pounds set aside for Anise and Poppy upon marriage was better than the per annum stipend, but there were plenty of other ladies in society who had more. And if Poppy were to be honest with herself and with Anise, most marriages were made based on alliances and money. That meant Poppy and Anise would be at the bottom of the proverbial barrel.
No other provisions had been made. As if her father hadn’t planned to die or didn’t care enough to see that his family was cared for in the afterlife. A hasty letter to his stepson—in addition to her mother’s letter to Edward—pleading to provide housing had been the last of his attempts to see them not flung into the gutter for the rest of their lives.
There was no question that she and Anise needed to find suitable husbands—and quickly, or else they would be cut off without a penny. Or at least that is what their mother feared. Because Edward and Mary weren’t going to let them live there indefinitely. Maybe not even to the end of the week.
Though she was Edward’s mother, Lady Cullen had never been well-loved by her son, who seemed to have resented her marrying so quickly after his own father’s death. But now, seeing the situation they were in, Poppy could understand it, even if Edward didn’t realize that Baron Cullen had provided a roof over his young head.
Mother was even less loved by Mary, who somehow managed to conjure enough of a heart to smile at her son, though it often looked brittle enough to shatter.
One of their mother’s greatest fears was that she would be left destitute, so she begged her daughters to marry as soon as possible so she might know at least she’d be kept well by one of them.
Poppy had just celebrated her twenty-first birthday, and Anise was barely over nineteen. Her sister had missed her coming out season due to their father’s illness. And their mother, rightly so, had not thought it appropriate for Anise to be galivanting about town when their father was ill.
Of course, now Mother didn’t feel she could ask Edward to give Anise the coming out she deserved.
And so, her sister was, in turn, quite unhappy not only at their father’s passing but at what seemed to be the passing of her youth and place in society. No longer did she have much chance of a marriage match to a man of means—one who lived in the city and traveled to London. Anise had admitted late into the night that she feared she would be doomed to marry a countryman, one who didn’t even own an evening jacket.
Poppy was lucky to have had a coming out season not only in Edinburgh but also in London last year. The season of the fated kiss. She’d seen plenty of opportunities with handsome men, but had squandered all her attention on the one man who’d abandoned her.
She stared now across the curricle at Dougal, who was grinning in jest at something Colonel Austen had said, which Poppy had completely missed.
Not paying attention to some of the other less charming prospects was foolish now, in hindsight—and not at all like the sensible person she thought herself to be. But she’d not known her father was going to pass so quickly, and her heart had been claimed by a ruse. Nor did she know that they’d be at the mercy of her brother and his wife, whom she hadn’t realized would grow more awful with each passing day. And most especially, she’d not known that Dougal was going to run away. That his kiss hadn’t meant anything. The touch of their lips had been as fleeting as his last meal, it appeared.
