Page 61 of A Dash of Scot
Interesting they chose that iconic place to elope when in Scotland they could have gotten married anywhere.
“Is he? But why? If Campbell is the father of the child that she carries? He has done the honorable thing. I’d think her father would be ecstatic.”
Mama shivered as if Poppy had said something truly heinous. “Maybe he’s not the father.”
“Oh,” Anise frowned. “Then why would he elope with her?”
“Good point. He probably is the father.” Mama made a moaning sound and flicked her fan harder.
“We needn’t speculate on the father,” Poppy said. “The good news is that Lucia has finally married, and it isn’t to Dougal.”
Anise grinned. “Is it too early for champagne?”
Their mother gasped. “Anise!”
“What?” she shrugged. “Aren’t ladies allowed to celebrate good news? Dougal is free to marry Poppy.”
Her mother turned her eagle eyes on Poppy now. “Has he asked? The two of you have been spending an awful lot of time together.”
Poppy swallowed, remembering how he’d begged her to be his wife in the garden, down on his knees in front of her. Told her he couldn’t go another day without knowing she was his… Dear heavens. Heat crept up from her chest, circling her neck before slapping against her cheeks. She had to look away briefly, afraid her face would tell all her secrets.
“He has.” She was proud of herself for being able to say it without her voice cracking or without collapsing from how boneless she felt at the memories of their wicked and delicious embraces.
“Oh my, I think we definitely need champagne,” Anise said again. “Two good news items in ten minutes? How could we not?”
“It is highly inappropriate,” their mother said, flopping delicately on the sofa.
“Who would know besides us?” Anise argued.
Poppy nodded, imagining the bubbles might settle the sudden rapid beating of her heart. “She has a point.”
“The servants would think us drunkards.” Mama frowned.
Anise wiggled her brows. “Perhaps they’d like to join us.”
“Oh no, no, no.” Mama flopped again.
But they didn’t have time to get the champagne or even offer a glass of anything to their servants as they heard the sounds of a rider outside the cottage.
“Who is that?” Mama asked, bounding toward the window with Poppy and Anise, her weakness suddenly gone. “Lord Reay.” Her mother turned to look at Poppy. “Did you know he was coming?”
“I didn’t.” Though she’d hoped against hope.
“Everyone sit,” Mama instructed. “Pretend to be busy doing whatever it is men think we do in drawing rooms besides gossip.”
Anise grabbed her book. Mama opened her knitting basket. And Poppy, too stunned to do anything, stared at the door until there was a soft knock, and their Jack of all trades opened the door and announced Dougal’s arrival.
Dougal stepped into the drawing room, his gaze immediately on Poppy. “Miss Featherstone,” he murmured. “Lady Cullen, Miss Anise.”
“Welcome,” Poppy said, her brain suddenly a blank canvas and all words evaporating like steam on a bath. One look at Dougal, and she was melting where she stood, phantom memories of her legs wrapped around him, her mouth on his.
“If I might have a word with Miss Featherstone,” he asked her mother.
“Oh, I think you can call her Poppy,” her mother said with a slight laugh as if it were all very silly, but Poppy’s nerves made her stomach do flips, and his use of formality made it worse, so she was grateful in fact for her mother’s sudden departure of proper address.
“Yes,” Poppy managed to say, standing on numb feet as she approached Dougal, who held out his elbow and led her outside the cottage. Beneath her fingers, the heat of his arm singed, and she grabbed hold tighter, not afraid to get burned.
They’d not made it ten feet beyond the door before he said, “There’s been some news.”
