Page 26 of A Dash of Scot
“I thought so too.” Poppy shrugged, hardening her heart, and forcing herself not to feel anything. No anger. No pain. Nothing at all.
Perhaps Dougal’s prior attachment to Lucia was for the best. As she’d quickly found out, being in love or ruled over by a spouse could make a person into someone no one respected. And quite frankly, that sounded awful.
I am not Edward.
And she never would be.
No one will rule over me but myself.
8
“My lord, a missive has arrived for ye. The footman claimed it was urgent.”
Dougal glanced up from where he’d been working on ledgers in his study to find his butler holding out a small white card on a silver tray. He always thought the silver tray was silly. As if paper could not be passed between servant and lord, but rather needed to be placed on something expensive first.
“Thank ye, James.” Dougal took the small white envelope. The decisive letters of his name looped in black ink. The penmanship was not one he recognized, and given the urgency of the contents, he felt a little apprehensive about opening it.
Dougal tore open the missive, and read the contents once, twice, then a third time for good measure.
My lord,
Begging your pardon for stepping out of bounds, but I thought you would like to know that Lady Leven has requested the packing and removal of the Featherstone ladies to the Highlands this morning. Their departure is imminent.
Respectfully,
Mr. Grant
Butler to Lord Leven
Dougal growled under his breath, feeling as if this sudden change in the course of events was his fault. If he’d not stopped and talked to Poppy last night, there might have still been time to convince his sister to let them remain in Edinburgh, at least until the end of the season, to give them time to find suitable matches.
There also remained the question of why his presence would prompt his sister into such action unless she feared Poppy might interfere with his engagement to Lucia Steventon, and if that were the case, why would Mary be so invested in the young lady? They didn’t know each other as far as he knew. Then again, perhaps this was just one of Mary’s machinations without an understandable motive. No matter—if he didn’t leave now, he might miss their imminent departure, and then he’d kick himself the entire ride up the road to intercept them.
“James, have the carriage brought around. And send a letter north letting them know I’ll be arriving within the week, so they need to have the castle opened.”
“Aye, my lord.”
Dougal crumpled the note and tossed it into the rubbish bin. It wasn’t unusual for him to go to his sister’s residence, and often, he arrived for breakfast, much to her chagrin. So, he didn’t suspect she would have instructed her butler to slam the door in his face—though given it was Grant who’d written the missive, the man would at least do it with regrets. And fortunately, Dougal was right. Rather than him being barred from the residence, Grant let him in with a nod of respect.
“My lord,” Grant said, eyeing him warily. “The ladies are receiving guests in the drawing room.”
“So early?”
Grant nodded. “They are to depart just after luncheon.” He leaned closer and whispered, “Though my lady wished it to have been after breakfast.”
“I appreciate the warning, Grant. Ye’re a loyal man.”
“Others may no’ think so.” The butler walked toward the drawing room and opened the door, the ladies’ voices filtering into the grand foyer. Grant announced Dougal, which brought a hush from the women but a “Hey-ho!” from Colonel Austen, whom he was particularly surprised to see.
Poppy looked up sharply, her eyes narrowing upon seeing him on the threshold of the drawing room. Though she tried to mask her surprise, there was a slight quiver to her lower lip that he wished to quell, though he had no right. There was anger and hurt there, and while he hadn’t done anything more to her since leaving her in London, it felt as if she were directly accusing him of something. She was probably resentful that Mary had moved up their departure, which was entirely his fault. Or was it something deeper? Mo chreach, but he wished he could ask her without an audience present.
Dougal bowed. Anise was sitting between Colonel Austen and Sir John on a couch that appeared dwarfed by the two men on either side. If Austen was a surprise, Sir John was even more so. How had that fool ingratiated himself to the ladies so quickly to have garnered an invitation? Sir John was a bastard and not to be trusted, and Dougal was having a hard time holding in the growl he wanted to let out.
Poppy perched beside her mother, hands folded in her lap, though with how her knuckles were white from her grip, she was not seated comfortably. There was no sign of Mary—thank goodness—which he found to be surprising. Mary wouldn’t normally have wanted to miss this for the world. Especially the sad goodbyes that were a result of her machinations. Not to mention that she would want to mess up any pleasantries.
“Lord Reay,” the dowager said rather coldly. He’d not been on the frosty side of her attention before now. Something had definitely changed overnight, and he didn’t think his evening drop-in was the reason. “A surprise to see you this morning, sir.”
It wasn’t, really. He’d been there most mornings since they’d arrived, but the coldness was clear. He was being blamed. He wasn’t invited. He was an interloper. An outsider in this new, small assembly.
