She started to remove his greatcoat, and James held up a hand.
“Please, keep it to shelter you from the cold on your return journey.”
Miss Ashford smiled, a barely-there curve of her lips, and murmured, “Thank you, Mr. Delaney.”
She whirled around and walked away without looking back. James watched her until she disappeared from his sight. It was only then he continued his journey to the inn.
Almost two hours later, perhaps it could be more, James stood by the window overlooking the forecourt of the inn. He’d taken a bath and had a warm meal but found that sleep eluded him. He held in his hands the letter Richard had given him when they had marched to war.
James stared at it for a long time, wondering if Richard had ever read James’ equivalent letter. After their very first battle together, the wool had been removed from their eyes, and they had discovered the harsh understanding of war. They had decided to write, with the vow not to open their respective letter unless the other died on the battlefield. Those letters would contain their unfulfilled wishes and hopes the other should see fulfilled.
They had kept those letters, and though Richard hadn’t perished directly on the battlefield, James had traveled with the letter today.
What wish did you have, my friend, that you wanted to be fulfilled?
With slightly trembling fingers James opened the letter.
Dear James,
If all is to be believed, I have perished, and you are now reading my last wish. I do hope you are reading this letter many years from now, when we are old men and married with many children, and the only reason we have opened our letters is to reminisce on the past and the foolish hopes we’ve long held in our hearts.
If I have died young, I have failed my family. I am the oldest and should provide suitably for my family. If I have left them in the lurch, the one thing I ask for is that you take care of my sister, Poppy.
When my father departed several years prior, he left my stepmother a very handsome widow’s portion, and for my two youngest sisters, he provided suitable dowries. It was unfortunate that when father married our stepmother, he only had space in his heart for her and the two new daughters she bore him. He only left Poppy a pearl necklace and a painting that had belonged to our mother.
Undoubtedly, at this point, you are wondering what I mean by taking care of Poppy. You are the second son of a well-connected family and have many prospects. I am asking you to marry her.
A feeling unknown to James jolted through his heart, and he read that line three more times before he read the rest of the letter.
Poppy is a lovely girl with many admirable qualities, and she is filled with good humor. Whenever I am morose, she has the most astonishing ability to bring a smile to my lips. She is a bit of a romantic, but I daresay for a man as opposed to sentiments as yourself, it is a good balance. You might never love her, but I know you will treat her with kind consideration. I do not want to deceive you by implying she is the sweetest creature at all times. When the situation calls for it, her charming tongue can become the sharpest sword.
I am shamelessly importuning on your connections, and for our friendship, in the hopes, it will find happiness for her.
Your friend,
Richard.
“Bloody hell,” James muttered, not understanding why his heart pounded so fiercely.
James released another harsh breath. They had written these letters years before James had become the earl and discovered that the person he would marry was no longer his choice to make. James had told Richard in a letter about the vow Henry had made to a wine merchant, an oath James was honor-bound to fulfill for his brother and family.
My good fool, I am honor bound to marry Miss Vinnette Winters.
Yet he had also given his word of honor to his friend that whatever he requested in his letter would be fulfilled.
What a damn quandary.
Chapter 2
Present-day… London.
2 years later.
The morning was rather lovely, and Poppy inhaled the scent of spring into her lungs. She loved the flowers that bloomed this time of the year. Snowdrops and primroses were her favorites, and a surge of longing went through her for the small and lovingly tended garden she left back in Lincolnshire. Spring was quite her preferred season; winter, of course, being the one she disliked the most. Hurrying up the front steps of her younger sister’s townhouse on Upper Wimpole Street, there was a definite bounce in Poppy’s step.
This past week, she had interviewed for three different posts—all governess positions in respectable households—and Poppy was extremely hopeful she would secure a position soon. She was four and twenty. It was impossible to continue living under her stepmother’s largesse, especially when given so reluctantly and often remarked that it was a burden to feed and clothe her. She wanted to be comfortably established and not obliged to importune any family member who might regard her as ‘the unfortunate burden.’ Words she’d heard Lavinia use to describe Poppy to her husband.
Poppy was quite determined to make a future for herself that did not rely on the changeable goodwill of others or marriage to a gentleman—not when that prospect for her seemed nonexistent, despite secretly wishing for it so fervently. With a bit of ingenuity and a strict economy, she hoped to live a good life.
The butler opened the door before she knocked, and Poppy smiled her thanks.
“Mrs. Ashford has asked for you to join her in the drawing-room, Miss Poppy.”
Poppy paused in the act of removing her hat. “Did mother say immediately upon returning home, or do I have time to run to the kitchen for a spot of tea and some cakes?”
The corner of his eyes crinkled in a smile. “I am afraid it is right away, Miss Poppy.”
She unbuttoned her jacket, removed her gloves, and handed them over along with her hat. Smoothing down the skirts of her serviceable dark blue dress, Poppy hurried down the hallway into the tastefully furnished drawing-room. Politely she knocked on the slightly ajar door before sweeping inside. Her two younger sisters, Rebecca, and Lavinia who was now Baroness Hayes, sat on a plush dark, green-colored sofa with their mother, Mrs. Hester Ashford, who appeared faint. Alarm darted through Poppy. It seemed something of a serious nature had happened.
“Mother,” Poppy said, for she had learned as a young girl her stepmother must never be called mama. “Is all well?”
“Close the door, young lady!” her stepmother said, rising to her feet. Her stepmother had been the leading belle of her season and was still considered a very handsome woman. If her blonde hair now needed regular chamomile rinses to maintain its color, then at least it did not appear brassy, as if she had resorted to dye. Her once delicate features were currently marred by a scowl, and Poppy knew some delicate lines would be revealed when her maid removed her maquillage. However, it was artfully done, and only those who examined her closely might notice the signs of aging.
Her dove grey silk gown with the fashionable dropped shoulders was elegant, and the hem was decorated by a wide ruffle of hand-made Brussels lace, a matching collar and narrower bands edged the wide sleeves. Poppy thought that she would look prettier if she smiled more, but she only smiled when she was being viewed by men with a fortune to their name. Her stepmother’s eyes were an exceptionally pale blue and could calculate the wealth of a prospective suitor with one glance.