Page 41 of A Dash of Scot
Poppy watched, standing alone, as her sister was swept about by the handsome and perhaps too charming Sir John. Wallflower was not a term she was used to thinking of herself as, yet it appeared that might be her lot tonight. As she gazed about the room, more females were in attendance than males, and she was a stranger.
“She is so happy,” her mother said beside her, handing her a glass of punch.
Poppy had been so focused on counting those in attendance that she hadn’t seen or heard her mother approach. “She is.”
Lady Cullen squinted toward the dance floor. “Is that Sir John?”
“It is.” Poppy was overly curious to see what her mother thought about his arrival in town.
“Oh, what a dear he is to have come up from Edinburgh to see that she was settled.” Mama smiled, the look so tender and nostalgic that Poppy couldn’t help but wonder if something similar had happened in her past with either of her husbands.
“You think him honorable, Mama?” Poppy tried to keep her tone neutral, not to draw attention to such a question. If her senses were all wrong, there was no need to get her mother nervous over it.
“I do. He seems sweet on her, and she him. And to have traveled all this way?” Mama let out a long sigh. “We might yet have good news this season.”
Poppy pretended to smile. Her fabricated cheer had nothing to do with her sister’s happiness; she very much wanted that if she could find it. More so, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. There weren’t any rumors about him, nor did anyone else in the dance hall seem surprised at his presence. But something was causing her to be vigilant. Perhaps he was too eager? And that eagerness lent to not being genuine?
Anise was beautiful; she was sweet. She was fun. But what about her made Sir John come all this way? Was he in love after only seeing her two times?
“Do you know his circumstances?” she asked.
Mama shook her head. “I hadn’t the chance to check prior to leaving Edinburgh. But I’ll write a few friends to ask.”
“He claims to be renting a manor near town. He must have some means.”
“Well, that is impressive. He must intend to court your sister.”
“I think he does.”
“Then we shall be happy for her.” Mama patted Poppy’s arm. “There will be a beau for you, too, dear. No need to worry over it.”
Poppy nodded, tight-lipped. She wasn’t worried about not finding a beau. Already several older gentlemen were eyeing her. If she wanted to be engaged to an octogenarian, she likely could be within the hour.
Perhaps that was what she should do. Offer herself up as the last wish to a dying older gentleman. After all, she had told herself this was a contract, not a love match. A means to an end.
But for every one of the elder gentlemen she studied, from the top of their balding heads to the odd bend of their aging knees, she couldn’t find the will to ask for an introduction or even show any interest that might have them come forward. She kept finding herself glancing about the dance hall in hopes that Dougal would appear.
Of all the ridiculous notions. Self-flagellation seemed to be a new hobby for her. For what other reason could she possibly have in trying to hurt herself?
Yet she wished that Dougal, too, would be romantic enough to have come up from Edinburgh like Sir John. To rent a house nearby so she might see him often and believe him when he said he had no intention of marrying Lucia Steventon. For him to sweep her off her feet once more. To bend her over his arm and kiss away all the angst and fear since last season. To be number one in his eyes. To be loved, genuinely and wholeheartedly.
But the one thing she wished for most did not appear.
And why would he? She was a fool even to let herself dream. Better to march into the center of the room and start the bidding for her hand. Though truly, she hadn’t much to offer a country gentleman. She wasn’t wealthy, and while she had become quite good at beating carpets, she was woefully untrained in any other aspects of running a country home.
Poppy was a city girl, and while she’d never thought of herself as uneducated before, taking her away from that environment left her feeling inadequate.
Still, she looked. Still, she scanned the crowd, bidding them to part to reveal her dark-haired, grumpy hero.
Her heart sank further and further as every minute passed with further disappointment. She declined her dance with Sir John, feigning a headache, and went to sit on the side of the hall like a true wallflower. He took their mother instead, who appeared to be having the time of her life being swung around by a handsome young man.
And finally, after just three dances, Poppy was ready to leave. All the excitement and newness she’d felt earlier when they’d been on the road was gone completely, replaced by melancholy and self-pity.
Anise and Mama joined her for a cup of punch, both full of smiles and redness on their cheeks.
“I am not feeling well,” Poppy hedged. “I should like to go home.”
“You want to leave? Now?” Anise scoffed. “I don’t want to leave. I refuse! What do you mean you aren’t feeling well? You were fine moments ago.”
