“Ungrateful girl!” her stepmother cried, her lips pinching. “Very well, you will act as a chaperone and a paid companion for the season.”
Shock jerked through Poppy. She had not truly expected this outcome. Without her stepmother’s largesse, Poppy would not have a roof over her head. They could have twisted that truth to earn her compliance. She stared at them, realizing they truly did not want her seeking any sort of position until Rebecca was safely wed. It was only then she would be dispensable.
“You have decided on the gentleman Rebecca is to marry?”
“Not that it is any concern of yours,” Lavinia said with an air of satisfaction, “but we have.”
Rebecca brightened, and her blue eyes glittered. “Poppy, I shall think you a simpleton if you cannot guess who I am determined to marry. Why this season’s most eligible bachelor. He is young and so very handsome! Not to mention wealthy.”
“I am not current with the bachelors of society,” Poppy said drily.
Rebecca twirled, her expression taking on a dreamy cast. “I will only have the Earl of Kingsley!”
“There is a ball tonight,” Lavinia said. “I managed to secure us all invitations, and I was told the earl might be in attendance. His sister is a socialite, and he often accompanies her to balls and whatnot. Tonight will be Rebecca’s chance to meet him!”
Poppy stared at her sister. If anyone could land a handsome young gentleman with such a notable title, it would be Rebecca. She was extraordinarily beautiful with her cornflower blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Her face was also flawlessly designed with a small, elegant nose, gently rounded cheeks, and sensual lips.
“I will require an advance,” Poppy said. “At least two hundred pounds. I cannot…I cannot go about in society as a companion with my current wardrobe.”
“I have some gowns from last season you could wear,” Lavinia said with a careless wave of her hand. “You’ve lost enough weight since…”
Poppy’s stomach clenched. Since Richard died. No longer were their barbs accusing her of being overly plump needed. It had taken months after her brother’s death to regain an appetite and a determination to live happily. “If you will excuse me,” Poppy politely said, turned around, opened the door, and escaped into the hallway.
She inhaled, then exhaled, long and slow. It was not in her to be spiteful and insist she would continue job-seeking, knowing it might affect her younger sister’s chances at a good match. But it was most certainly in her to be compensated for her duty. Pushing aside the annoying guilt, she hurried up the stairs and to the charming bedchamber assigned to her.
Poppy hugged her arms around herself tightly. It was just a few more months under the roof of her sibling and parent. Poppy would ignore all their barbs and cutting comments. She would not even mind being asked to stay in her room when Lavinia and her baron had company over for dinner. No, Poppy would only direct her energies into planning for her future, for no one else would.
Her gaze went to the small treasure chest on her vanity. Going over to it, she opened the lid and lifted a packet of a dozen letters. She untied the ribbon and selected the letter she had received last from Mr. Delaney.
Just thinking his name sent a flutter of warm sensation through her heart and an odd feeling to settle low in her belly. Though she had been broken with grief the one time they had met, she recalled the stunning beauty of his dark indigo eyes, the comfort found in the breadth of his powerful shoulders, the way his presence had sucked away the pain and replaced the emptiness with wonderful heat.
Poppy thought of Mr. Delaney often over the years. When she had felt so hollow and broken, his kindness had filled the hole of darkness she thought would swallow her under. There had been a few times she had taken out his greatcoat and slept with it cuddled in her arms. All the emptiness would then flee, and for that night, her sleep was peaceful.
The very memory had her cheeks heating and a wry chuckle slipping from her.
Her stepmother and sisters had recovered from their grief quickly, and even Lavinia had bemoaned wearing mourning garb.
With trembling fingers, Poppy unfolded the letter.
Dear Poppy,
Thank you for letting me know you will be traveling to London soon and that you greatly enjoyed the gift I sent for your birthday.
She smiled, recalling the music sheets and the candied pineapples he had sent for her. Somehow, he had appointed himself a guardian of sorts. He sent the rare and wonderful gifts that she hoarded and did not reveal to anyone. Poppy, however, treasured the letters they exchanged more than the gifts.
I still do not think my suggestion outrageous. I would like to purchase you a grand pianoforte. It is not an expensive or inappropriate gift amongst friends at all. When you speak of playing, I feel the passion in your words. I daresay I would like to hear you play one day. Should you arrive in Town soon after this letter, please send me a note at my townhouse in Grosvenor Square. I will enclose the full address for you. Perhaps finally we shall meet again.
Your friend,
James Delaney.
Poppy had been in London three weeks now, and she had not sent him any more letters or even a note to Grosvenor Square. There was a nervousness inside her at the thought of meeting him face to face once more. She did not understand it, for nothing untoward had happened at their first meeting.
The memory of being snuggled in his lap, her face buried in the crook of his neck rose sharply in her thoughts, and a breathless sensation swept through her body. She had too much common sense to think a man so well connected and popular as Mr. Delaney might form a tendre for her. It was only a kindness that he had kept up their correspondence these past two years. With a groan, Poppy refolded the letter and put it back in her treasure chest. Surely it could not be over that she felt anxiety searing through her at the thought of seeing Mr. Delaney again.
Chapter 3
That evening they were all bundled inside Lavinia’s town carriage, rattling away to her dearest friend’s midnight ball. Amusingly, Lavinia’s friend also lived on Upper Wimpole Street, perhaps a few minutes' walk, but it would be most unfashionable to appear at any ball on foot.
“You look lovely,” her stepmother said stiffly, a flicker of surprise on her face.
With a jolt of surprise, Poppy realized the compliment was directed at her. “Thank you,” she replied, also noting the assessment of her sisters.
“I never imagined you had such a gown in your armoire,” Lavinia said with a tight smile. “However did you afford it?”
Poppy stared at her sister, wondering if she imagined the hint of envy she heard in her tone. Her stepmother and two sisters were dressed in the heights of fashion with rubies and diamonds winking at their ears and throat. Rebecca’s silken gown was patterned in tiny clusters of magnolia flowers. It revealed her creamy shoulders and had delicate short sleeves and a corsage of cream silk flowers at the center of the lowish neckline. The hem was inset by a slightly darker cream lace with clusters of peach silk flowers regularly interspersed. It was a beautiful dress and this year’s crack of fashion. Lavinia, as a young matron could risk darker colors, had chosen cobalt blue watered silk with a deep frill of Chantilly lace around the neckline and elbow-length sleeves of the same lace above her white satin gloves.