Page 39 of A Dash of Scot
“I always thought once she had a son, she would calm down, but it only seems to have made her madder.” Aunt Judith shook her head and let out a sad sigh.
“What do I do, Auntie?”
“Oh, pish, darling, it’s obvious. Go and try to woo Poppy Featherstone. Be honest with her about what happened with Miss Steventon, and be honest about your intentions and your past transgressions. She, as I recall, is quite an intelligent creature. If she’s worth her salt, she’ll accept your groveling and say yes.”
“She is verra intelligent, which is why she may no’ accept.”
“She will be hard to win over if she thinks you’ve betrayed her,” Aunt Judith said. “But when have you ever been one to quit?”
Dougal nodded. Winning Poppy over was going to be very difficult indeed, especially after their last meeting when she looked at him as if he were a pile of rubbish—worse than a pile of a rubbish, a pile of rubbish that couldn’t stop flinging itself on her. It had gutted him.
But his aunt was right. And Poppy was who he truly wanted to marry. Why wasn’t he already there groveling to make it work?
“What are you waiting for?” Auntie stood up, shooing him with her hands. “You only have two weeks, lad. Why waste it here ruminating?”
Dougal leapt to his feet. “Any advice for wooing a lass who hates ye?”
Aunt Judith smiled. “As I said, be honest. She’s smart and will see right through any shite you try to feed her.”
Dougal blanched. Did his Aunt, the duchess, use an expletive?
“I said what I said.” And with her nose up in the air, Aunt Judith marched out of her drawing room, leaving Dougal with his jaw near the floor.
13
The small village was alive after dark, which Poppy found fascinating.
Oil streetlamps crackled and flickered, not yet replaced with gas as they had been in London and Edinburgh. Seeing those flames lick behind the glass gave the village a vintage and cozy feel that Poppy hadn’t realized she liked until now.
By the time they’d reached the outskirts of the village, a line of horses and carriages slowed the pace as guest after guest arrived at the dance hall on the other side of town. Perhaps the entire county was coming tonight. And perhaps they’d make a few friends.
Poppy loved her sister, but one thing she’d found since they’d come to Skerray was that she was often lonely. Her friends had yet to visit, and she couldn’t blame them. It was the height of the season, and what reasonable lass of marriageable age would abandon the prospects of a proposal to visit a displaced friend?
The closer they drew to the dance hall, the louder the music and laughter filtered through the air. Poppy smiled at Anise, who’d grasped her hand and practically bounced on her rear in her eagerness to get inside for all the fun.
More so than meeting friends, Poppy hoped for the distraction of a new flirtation, though this time, she wouldn’t allow herself to fall as hard as she had for Dougal Mackay. And she certainly wouldn’t let anyone kiss her until the ink was dry on the paper. She couldn’t let her heart be broken again.
Then again, she did need to remind herself that this time around, it was not about love. Or desire. Nay, this husband hunt was about security.
All she needed was a little bit of interest from a decent man. Someone she could respect and vice versa. A marriage deal. A contract. She needed to wipe all notions of love or anything fanciful from her mind. Get the deed done, Poppy, so Mama and Anise can relax.
Save her mother and sister. That was her mission.
They alighted from their carriage and entered the low-lit hall; it was warm with all the bodies crushed together. Scents of candle wax, punch, sweat, and…was that livestock? There was a lingering flower scent from the copious bouquets, perhaps to offset the country smell of—she couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but it reminded her of a barn.
“Elizabeth told me that when they aren’t using the dance hall for dances, they use it to show off livestock,” Anise said, pinching her nose.
“That makes sense.” This was the country after all. Spaces had to be used.
A group of musicians played lively music, and dancers frolicked in the middle, their moves slightly more boisterous than one might find in Edinburgh and certainly more than in London.
Poppy smiled, having observed that the farther north one went, the less all the proper rules of London society mattered, and she rather liked that. Society edicts were too constraining. As she tapped her foot, learning the styles of dance by watching, she found a little more weight removed from her shoulders.
Contradictory with Poppy’s desire to be less constrained was that Anise needed all the constraining she could get. Even now, she was squealing and pointing out the handsome gentlemen in attendance.
“Oh, he is certainly delicious. Even rivaling my dear Sir John.”
The fact that Anise barely knew Sir John and had only seen him face-to-face twice didn’t seem to matter to her when it came to holding him close to her heart. Poppy couldn’t decide whether Anise was a romantic or she’d gone mad. But to be fair, the gentlemen she had pointed out were rather handsome in a much more rugged way than either of them were used to.
