“Then you are in town only to chaperone your sister?”
“I am also hoping to find a suitable position as a governess in a respectable household.”
“You are not in jest?”
“Of course not! I cannot live on my stepmother’s goodwill forever,” Poppy said reasonably.
“Working as a governess can be a thankless position, one also fraught with its own perils, especially if your employer has roving hands.”
Shock jolted through Poppy. “Roving hands?”
“It has been known to happen.”
Poppy lifted her chin. “I will ensure it does not happen to me.”
Concern flickered in his eyes, and he scrubbed a hand over his face. “Richard,” he said with quiet contemplation, “he wanted to see you cared for and protected.”
Poppy frowned, recalling that she had mentioned to James about Mr. Rushworth. “Yes, by marrying the vicar. I do not regret my decision if that is what you are asking.” Not even when she lay in the dark of her chamber, peculiar loneliness and sadness eating at her heart. It felt decidedly unpleasant to be envious of what others possessed—a charming and adoring husband, children, a happy home.
“Do you not want a husband and children?”
Poppy stared at James, wondering at the intimate turn in their conversation. “Why do you ask me this?”
“I want to know if you will truly be happy as a governess.”
“If I had another option, I admit…I admit I…I do not like to dream senselessly nor do I like dashed hopes,” she answered impulsively, stepping away from him. Being this close to James made her feel too warm. It was discomfiting because of how much she liked the sensations.
“Miss Ashford…Poppy.”
She faltered. “Yes.”
“I would like to help you.”
“Help me do what?”
“Attain your dreams.”
Poppy laughed, utterly startled by the man. “And what dreams are those,” she whispered. “I hardly know them, for I cannot afford to allow myself to dream aimlessly. What would you know of them?”
His indigo eyes darkened with unfathomable emotions. “Richard spoke of you to me quite often. Surely you would prefer to be the mistress of your own home instead of working for someone.”
“There is honor in working,” she said tightly. “Do not look down upon me because of it.”
He stepped closer. “I would not dare look down upon you…ever. But I want you to imagine this season…finding a gentleman you admire, one you can see a life of happiness with. Allow me to help.”
Her heart pounded so fiercely she wondered if he could hear her heartbeat. “And how would you do that?”
“I would provide you with a dowry of ten thousand pounds.”
“Have you gone mad?” she demanded faintly, never daring to imagine anyone could be this kind.
“Richard was my best friend, and you are his beloved sister. I daresay that makes you my sister as well.”
I am not your sister, she silently cried, painfully aware of the breadth of his shoulders, how wonderful his clothes fit, the beauty of his eyes, and his carnal handsomeness. “How would I ever repay you?”
“Nonsense. This is not a loan. It is a gift.”
She shook her head, “I…having a dowry will not make me eligible to gentlemen of the haute monde. I…”
“That is why we will work together to make you eligible.”
She choked on an incredulous laugh. “We?”
“Why do you sound so astonished?”
“What can you do to make men notice me? I am passably pretty with little to no connection—”
“You are beyond lovely,” he said with such intensity, he stole the air from her lungs. “One look in your eyes and a man will fall into a space he does not even understand but is fully aware of due to the racing of his heart, and the sensation of tumbling into something greater than himself. Your smile is one of the most radiant I have ever seen, and your hair is like a raven’s feather. Lush, vibrant, and beautiful. I dare not comment on the shape of your body in fear of appearing a scoundrel in your eyes.”
“Do you say this to flatter my vanity or because you have experience of it?” Poppy asked softly, wondering at her boldness in doing so.
He chuckled, yet his eyes were somber. “I dare not speak casually with you; however, I am not ashamed to admit your prettiness makes my heart tremble. Imagine the impact on a gentleman who is seeking a wife.”
Poppy did not miss the implication that he was not in search of a countess. Rebecca’s disappointment would be most profound.
“And if I do not succeed this season? It would be laughable to suggest at my advanced age to make a try for another season.”
“I would gift you the same ten thousand pounds.”
Poppy pressed a hand over her chest. “How would I ever be able to repay you?”
“By living happily.”
Piercingly warm and undefinable emotions swept through Poppy. “Perhaps I should just take the bank draft now.”
“If it pleases you.”
They stared at each other until the yawning emptiness which often haunted Poppy late in the nights expanded through her body. Without a companion, children, laughter, and happiness, living life alone cannot be an agreeable life to anyone. “Do you never plan to marry?” she whispered.
Surprise flickered in his eyes. “Eventually, I will marry. Just not for the foreseeable future.”
And once again, that odd twisting pain went through her. Despite her curiosity about him, she did not have the right to question him. Perhaps should they grow closer, she might ask him about it. “I know nothing about capturing the attention of a gentleman. I do not dance. I do not paint. I have no notions about flirtations.”
“I’ll teach you.”
Poppy couldn’t help smiling at him. “To dance and to flirt?”
His mouth quirked in a sensual smile. “Of course, I am a credible teacher. And we will begin our campaign tonight. We will re-enter the ball, separately, and we will dance.”
“No,” she gasped. “I might fall on my face.”
“We’ll dance the waltz, and I will lead you.”
“James…”
To her utter shock, he stepped closer, placed his hand on her waist and tugged her into his embrace. Poppy barely heard him as he instructed her on where to hold him in return, and then he swept her off her feet. The sounds in the ballroom were muffled but floated on the evening air like night jasmine scent.
A dance. An instructional one and not as if a real beau courted her. Yet it was a magical moment as she breathed in the sweet aroma of spicy sandalwood overlaying the earl’s natural masculine musk. Her head swam a little at the proximity to James’ more muscular form.
Poppy could hear her own heartbeat and the sounds of the night. The glow of streetlights in the distance lit up the silhouettes of trees and the outlines of darkened buildings. The moon and stars sparkled in the velvet sky, and Poppy felt as if she were in some gothic romance where the wicked villain would carry her away to distant climes. They spun and swirled to a music of their own. When they finally came to a halt, she was breathing hard, and her throat felt tight. Poppy remained silent, not wanting to spoil the feeling and fearing she would make a fool of herself if she dared to utter a single word.