Page 52 of A Dash of Scot
“Was she so obvious in her…affection for him?” Poppy’s cheeks colored.
“I may have heard about it or noticed it.” Dougal smiled, though it was filled with a sadness Poppy wished she didn’t have to see.
“She fancies herself in love with him, but I don’t trust him,” she admitted.
“And with good reason.” Dougal rubbed a hand over his face. “There will be things written in the newspaper about him. He’s been accused of…damaging a few ladies’ reputations. Charged with criminal conversation.”
Poppy’s eyes widened. Oh, dear heavens, it was worse than she thought. And Anise—had she been one of those ladies? She didn’t think they’d been alone too often, but Poppy had been preoccupied with her grief.
“He’s…” Dougal pressed his lips together to stop himself from saying another word.
“He’s what?” she urged.
Dougal looked so conflicted, and she imagined he was searching for the right words. “He has a disease.”
Poppy gasped. Poor Sir John! Flashes of their friend home in bed, wasting away, came into her mind. “Oh no, what kind of disease?”
Poppy had to blink as she watched Dougal, one of the manliest men she’d ever come across, blush.
“The kind that passes between a man and a woman.” Judging by the tight guttural sounds, he practically choked on the words as he said them.
“Oh, my goodness.” Poppy’s cheeks might as well have burst into flames for all the heat she felt in them, and now she understood why Dougal was blushing. “Like Henry VIII?”
“Exactly.” He looked relieved that he wouldn’t have to explain further.
“And well, there has been one death associated with his…affections.”
“What? A death? She wasn’t treated?”
“She hid her illness, and so no, was no’ treated. And came down with a fever from one of the sores becoming infected. And then, well, she passed.”
Poppy’s heart seized in her chest. The poor creature. “My… That is so awful.”
“Verra.” Dougal’s face was grim, his lips set in a straight line. He looked off into the distance for a moment and she wanted to know what he was thinking but was too nervous to ask.
But she did need to clarify one thing. “And you’re sure it was Sir John?”
Dougal nodded grimly. “Aye. He fled. I suspect he’ll no’ be back to Scotland, or England for that matter.”
Poppy’s hand came to her chest, and she swallowed hard, her attention drawn to the curricle coming around a bend in the road as they returned from the village iced cream excursion. The vehicle, thank heavens, held her sister, who she hoped was safe from the affliction Sir John had so callously passed on to others.
“She is going to be heartbroken,” Poppy whispered.
“Aye.”
“Does Colonel Austen know?” she asked.
“Aye, and he loves her.”
Poppy nodded. “I thought as much. She had esteem for Colonel Austen, too, before Sir John came about.”
“Then perhaps he will be able to woo her back to him.”
“Perhaps.”
They hurried back to the cottage in silence so they might meet the trio as they dismounted from the curricle. They both worried about what was going to happen when the three arrived. Had Anise already found out about Sir John? Should Poppy tell her sister?
What kind of a question was that? She should definitely tell Anise. The man might have compromised her, too, if he’d not run off after last night’s dance. That also explained why he’d not come to call today. And why had Anise had been so eager to visit the village with the colonel? She likely hoped to spy Sir John, which would have been fruitless. And if she’d seen a newspaper…
