Page 45 of A Dash of Scot
But she hurt, too, and it had been all his stupid doing.
Why was he even here?
And then he’d claimed not to be betrothed. That Lucia was at home with her father. Did he think that Poppy was stupid? That she would take him at his word? What actually was going on here?
Of course, she knew her questions could be answered if she talked to him instead of eavesdropping.
But she was scared. Because there was a chance he hadn’t broken off his engagement, that he was placating her, and that meant he had no business being in her home. Make that no business in Skerray, either. Castle Varrich was at least several miles from the village. That was where he should be, if not back in the city.
To think she’d thought herself special when he had shown up in Edinburgh, had come to her brother’s house unannounced, swept into the drawing room, asked her to go for a ride, and then got her iced cream. All of the hopes she’d tried to repress since the previous season when they’d kissed and then he’d abandoned her, had burst through the brick walls she’d built to hold them in, flooding into her with brightly colored fanfare.
Dreams that had been dashed as spectacularly as they’d developed.
Dougal Mackay was too good at breaking down her defenses. Too good for her wellbeing, to be sure. Too much for her to defend herself. She was ready to toss aside her instincts and defenses the moment he was in her presence. Ready to let him lead her down the path of a broken heart again.
She was a fool. And foolish enough to be desperately in love with Dougal Mackay.
Poppy let out a sound of disgust, then clapped her hands over her mouth. Thankfully, at the same time, laughter sounded from the drawing room, a joke she’d missed but had covered up her own noise.
What was he doing in there? Trying to woo her mother over to his side? He would easily transfix Anise, as she was more gullible.
Besides herself, however, Poppy felt the most sorry for Colonel Austen. He’d obviously developed feelings for Anise, and she, in turn, had developed feelings for Sir John, whom she’d danced with not once, not twice, but three times last night. This was a major impropriety on her part, which Mother had allowed in her desperate attempts to find her daughters suitable matches. Tongues were surely wagging this morning about the new lasses on the market and how one had dominated the interest of a handsome, eligible bachelor.
Anise had woken early, expecting to see a note from Sir John, but none had come so far. He’d swept her off her feet and then vanished. Not unlike what Dougal had done to her. Well, hopefully not the same. For her sister’s sake, she hoped that Sir John was still in town.
Poppy sank to the top step, her elbows on her knees, her head in her hands.
Below, Elizabeth reappeared and made hand signals that Poppy couldn’t identify. Then she motioned as if she were sipping from a teacup, and Poppy decided that must mean she was asking if Poppy wanted to take tea in her room.
No, she didn’t want to take tea alone. But neither did she want to take tea in the drawing room with the rest of them.
A quandary. She wanted to know very much what was happening behind closed doors. And very much why Dougal was here and what had happened with Lucia Steventon.
“Shall I pop my head in and get ye a sense of it?” Elizabeth whispered, quite a bit louder than Poppy appreciated.
Poppy’s mouth fell open. Had she spoken her thoughts aloud? She was fairly certain she had not, but what she wanted must have been written all over her face. Saints, but she was coming off as desperate and ridiculous.
She shook her head and marched to her bedroom, where she grabbed a book and then took it outside and down the path to a lovely tree she’d found perfect for laying out a blanket and leaning against to read.
The best thing for herself was to extricate herself not only from the reality of Dougal in her house but reality itself. And a book was always the perfect way to do that.
Poppy flipped to where she’d left off, tugging out the bookmark her mother had embroidered for her last Christmas. She read the same paragraph three times, her mind continuously wandering back to the cottage.
“Enough, you silly girl,” she said aloud, huffing a breath and starting again.
After several more attempts, she was finally invested enough in the story, but then perhaps not. Her eyes started to droop as if her mind had decided that if she couldn’t escape into a book, then she was going to escape into sleep. The idea of going back into the house when their guests were likely still there, as she hadn’t seen them leave, was abhorrent. Perhaps a nap here? Would that be considered dangerous?
Likely not. And so, she let her eyes fall closed, her book laid beside her, the bookmark back in place to mark the page.
“Miss Featherstone?”
A second later, nay, it must have been longer for the sun had started to set, Poppy’s eyes flew open to find Dougal peering down at her.
“Your mother and sister will be glad to know ye’ve no’ been abducted.” His grin was teasing as he stood there, gazing at her with an expression of fondness he shouldn’t be wearing.
“What?” She sat up and blinked, not wanting to rub her eyes in front of him or stretch, though she was certain that would help her to get her faculties back into place.
“Aye, ye’ve been missing for a couple of hours now. And I’m afraid your sister and mother have eaten all the biscuits.”
