Chapter 11

11

One week later

T he countryside was lovely. That wasn't a lie.

Nor was it a lie to say that the village of Skerray was quaint.

The house was also quaint.

But when Poppy told herself that she could be happy living in the country in the quaint village in the quaint cottage, she was lying. And it wasn't because any of those things in particular, or even put together, made her unhappy. It was merely the circumstances that had brought her here and the uncertainty of a future none of them had planned.

And the fact that it did not appear anyone had kept up with the cottage since she'd visited as a child.

Several shutters were hanging off the hinges, and the door looked as old as William the Conqueror. Creeping vines had rooted their way up the sides of the house, which could be pretty, but so many of the vines' leaves had browned and grown tangled that it looked messy rather than magical.

The yard was overgrown, too, and while it looked as if someone had attempted to hack at the overgrowth to create a path, they had given up.

"Oh, my," Mama said. "Perhaps inside will look better."

Poppy and Anise exchanged a look. The servants had been sent ahead of them to prepare, but they might have had only a day or two in advance, given the time of their departure, and from the looks of it, they needed a whole month to get it into working order.

As the carriage came to a stop, several people rushed from the house to make a line. Their clothes were dust-covered as they'd already been working hard to prepare the place.

"This will be an adventure," Poppy said. "We just have to remember that, and who doesn't love an adventure?"

Anise and her mother gave her skeptical looks, and then the three of them bustled out of the carriage.

They were introduced to their small staff—a housekeeper/cook, a scullion/maid, and a lady's maid for the three women to share. A man would also work as a groomsman, butler and gardener, calling himself a Jack of all trades.

And that was it.

The servants themselves were a family. Mother and father and their two children, who all lived in a small house a little bit away from the property, meaning that at night, when the lights were doused and all were abed, the house would be empty, except for Poppy, Anise and their mother. She'd never slept in a house without servants. And the idea of doing so was rather unnerving.

Who would protect them should something go awry?

What if they needed something? Were hungry?

The realization had not hit her before. How very spoiled she was, not even used to making her tea.

This was an awakening for certain. Did she even know how to make tea?

They moved into the cottage, where their new housekeeper, Mrs. Bromley, gave them a nice tour, showing them their rooms, and at Poppy's request, instructed her on how to make tea.

Though the outside had looked less than promising, the truth was that the staff had done an excellent job of cleaning up the inside. The surfaces were dusted, the rugs beaten, and the windows opened to let in fresh air. The kitchen was spotless, and the servants had even stocked them with provisions. The bed sheets were clean and smelled like the Highlands air, and the drawing room had a shelf of books that Poppy was dying to read.

By nightfall, she was feeling better than when they'd first arrived. There were three bedrooms as well, so she and Anise were not forced to share, though that first night, they did anyway because they'd never slept alone in a house without at least one servant there. Safety in numbers wasn't something she'd thought about until now.

She had spotted a fire poker in her bedroom that she could use for protection, which she kept close by when they blew out the candles at night. But the thing was so heavy she wasn't certain she'd be able to grab it and make good use of it. Besides, keeping it under her pillow had left ashes on her sheets, making her immeasurably guilt-ridden when Elizabeth, their upstairs maid, saw it the next morning. Guilt had made her ask to help with chores, which she found satisfying, as odd as that might seem. She was accomplishing something, even if it was beating out her frustration on a rug.

But she needed something to keep her safe. It was just the three of them, and word traveled fast, especially in small villages. All would know it was only the three of them—the honorable and the not-so-honorable. This meant that if someone had less than honorable designs, they could enter the premises with a few good tricks and commit their crimes with ease.

It was because of this realization manifesting into a nightly fear that three days after they'd moved into the cottage, Poppy went into the small village general store and bought a hammer, which she kept under her side of the bed should she need to defend her family.

For three mornings in a row, she'd found the hammer missing, and each time, she found it in the tool shed.

"Elizabeth, why do you keep taking my hammer?"

Elizabeth's face paled, and she looked toward the ground. "I put it back where it belongs."

"It belongs where I left it under my pillow."

"Yes, my lady," she said, though her expression begged to know why.

"Please do not remove it." Poppy kept her gaze steady and decided to be open with her maid. "It is quite dark here at night, and we are quite alone."

Elizabeth's mouth popped open as if she had only now comprehended. "I understand, my lady."

Later that afternoon, after coming back from a long walk with Anise, Poppy found not only new locks on the front and back doors of the house but in the bedrooms as well—and her hammer where it was supposed to be, under her pillow.

"Poppy," Anise's voice was filled with excitement as she burst into Poppy's bedroom, waving a piece of paper. "We've been invited to a dance."

Poppy put down the brush she'd been using to brush her hair as Elizabeth was assisting her mother with her morning bath. And besides, she could brush her hair. A simple braid was all she needed in the country. No intricate hair styles here.

"A dance?" After being in the Highlands for two weeks, she hadn't been sure dances were part of the culture this far north of Edinburgh, even if Dougal and her brother had assured her society was alive and well in these parts. To her, they could have been dumped in the middle of nowhere.

"Aye, look." Anise thrust the invitation toward her. The paper was simple, and the calligraphy was simpler. As simple as the house and as quaint as the village. Where she was at first disparaging, she now found it charming.

The dance was to be held at a dance hall—which Poppy hadn't realized this small town had. A bonus. Where could it be? She'd not seen one near the general store or the milliners.

"Say you'll go with me," Anise begged, going so far as to get down on her knees and put her hands together in prayer.

"Oh, do get up, sister. We beat these rugs often, but you're wearing white, and even a clean rug isn't fully clean when it comes into contact with white. Of course, I'll go."

Anise leapt to her feet and wrapped her arms around Poppy. "Thank you so much, Poppy. You have no idea what this means to me. Let us see what we can wear, and maybe we can convince Mother to take us into town for some new ribbons for our hair at least."

"I think we can manage a few new ribbons for certain. It's not as if we're asking for new Highland trousseaus."

Anise clapped excitedly and danced around the room with a pretend partner.

"Is it too much to hope that Sir John will come? He did promise."

"If he promised, then I suspect he will." Poppy sat back against her chair, her brush forgotten as she watched her sister, living vicariously through her happiness. She chose not to think of how unlikely it was for a young, handsome and wealthy man like Sir John to leave a city full of other eligible brides and ones with significantly higher dowries.

As it turned out, they needn't have convinced Mama about the ribbons, for as soon as their mother found out there was to be a dance, she declared it a village shopping day and ordered the curricle readied. The dower cottage had an old curricle that Jack had fixed for them. The carriage they'd had for the long ride from London had already been returned to her brother's residence, though he'd been charitable enough to provide them with two horses.

"I prefer to walk into town," Poppy said as her mother and Anise prepared to climb into the curricle with Anise grabbing hold of the reins. "The two of you go ahead of me."

"Are you afraid of my driving skills?" Anise asked suspiciously.

Poppy laughed. "No, but now that you point it out."

"Oh, you," Anise scoffed, but her eyes glinted.

"I merely thought the air would do me good and that as soon as you saw the modiste's shop, you'd be looking for a ready-made dress, too, and I've plenty of gowns to keep me satisfied."

Anise's face lit up. "A lovely idea to look for dresses! I shall dine on bread the rest of the month. Perhaps we should have a few made."

"Perhaps just one," Mama said, at least seeing some sense. "But I don't like the idea of you walking, dear."

"A walk will do me some good, Mama, I promise. And it's perfectly safe."

"Shall I walk with you?" Anise said. The two of them did enjoy their walks together. "Mama can handle the reins, can you not, Mama?"

"I have been known to handle a horse or two in my day."

Poppy shook her head. "Not this time. Don't worry so much. Go on into town. I'll see you all soon."

Poppy laced her boots up and started on her walk. They weren't far from the village. Perhaps a mile or so. The sky was blue, the sun high, and she tied on a bonnet to keep herself from getting a sunburn.

The exercise felt amazing, but she needed the quiet time to think more. With the house so small, she never felt she had any time to herself. And she so loved to think and ponder. To contemplate what they were going to do with their lives. She might need to start incorporating a daily walk. She had spent most of her time helping their sparse staff keep the household running so that Mama and Anise could relax and be happy. Their nerves were much more delicate than hers.

But until this moment—when she was outside in the sun, stretching her legs, feeling the invigoration of movement—she had not realized how much she'd missed and needed this.

She sauntered down the road, looking at the swells of the hills and moors, the various houses and cottages that dotted the landscape. The sheep and cattle. She plucked a flower from where it grew between the two stones that made up the wall beside the road, also serving as a fence on someone's property to keep their animals from wandering.

It was a tiny white flower, its petals delicate as she stroked them. She tucked it near her ear, between the ribbon and her bonnet for an added feminine touch.

She was excited about the dance, curious about what it might be like given the difference in landscape. Would their dances be the same? The punch? Would their evening gowns be out of place? Did people in the county wear gowns? Or did they don their best day dresses?

Poppy wasn't ready to go to a dance yet, but their situation was one she felt partially responsible for. Perhaps if she'd been nicer to Mary, there might not have been a rivalry. But even as she thought it, she knew it for the rubbish it was. Dougal was right about one thing, even if he was a heartbreaker—his sister lived to torment others.

And so, Poppy was going to go and make the best of their new life. The Highlands were truly stunning. She was lucky to live in such a gorgeous and peaceful place, truly.

At the dance, she'd perhaps try to make some friends, in addition to meeting a few eligible bachelors she might be able to add to a list she'd started in her diary, which was still blank. Only the title stood out on the top of the page: Potential Husbands .

The one name she would have liked to add there was one she never would. The notebook had been a gift from her father, and she'd never known what to write in it. Potential husbands seemed like a good entry. And yet that too was blank, just like the rest of her future. It was a wide-open canvas ready to be filled.

Somehow, she had to erase Dougal from her mind. And the only way to do that was to put herself back on the marriage market.

Miss Poppy Featherstone—an accomplished woman nearing spinsterhood—do we have any bidders?

She sighed, seeing her thoughts turning melancholy, and determined she needed to push past those dour contemplations and focus on the good. The things she was grateful for.

The rest of her walk into town flew by as she admired the atmosphere and landscape of Skerray. Took in the sea-salt scent of the coast. And when she made it into the small village, she smiled at its quaintness rather than frowning.

Mama and Anise were coming out of the drapers, spotting her right away.

"Did you find a dress?" Poppy asked.

"A lovely one in a dusky rose. She took my measurements to take it in, but thinks it will be ready in time." Anise's smile was contagious.

"How lovely."

There were new ribbons and a new pair of slippers each, though Poppy did try to dissuade her on the last bit. Each pair of slippers costs as much as nearly a fortnight's supply of food. But Mama wouldn't hear of it and said she'd be happy to dine on bread the rest of the season if it kept her girls in good slippers. Poppy did not think it was likely to come to that, but nevertheless was determined to find a book in the house on gardening in case she needed to start planting their own food.