Chapter 15

15

P oppy stood as still as she could at the top of the stairs, attempting to listen in on the conversation below; however, they weren't talking loud enough. Rather frustrating for those trying to eavesdrop. The other possibility was that she was losing her hearing and was in need of a listening horn, which she didn't have on hand and wasn't likely to find.

Elizabeth came out of Mama's bedroom, having been in there to tidy. She smiled at Poppy and opened her mouth to address her, but Poppy quickly put her finger to her lips. The last thing she needed was for her snooping to be found out by anyone. The house was small. Small enough that at the base of the twelve stairs was the door to the drawing room, and a few feet inside there was Dougal Mackay. She was well and truly only fifteen feet from him.

And it would be mortifying for anyone to realize she was up here snooping.

Especially Dougal, whom she'd given the cut direct on purpose, hoping he would leave, but like a thistle, he'd stuck himself to her metaphorical skirt and come inside.

Elizabeth scooted around her, down the stairs and out of sight. Fortunately, she didn't say anything or give Poppy a look that made her feel sillier than she felt already.

My goodness, the way he'd looked at her when he'd stopped his horse so abruptly. As if he were surprised to see her outside of her own home. As if he hadn't been headed there to see her. And his nonsense about happening to be in the area. There'd been anguish in his gaze when she'd rejected him, and part of her had yearned to stop the hurt.

But she hurt, too, and it had been all his stupid doing.

Why was he even here?

And then he'd claimed not to be betrothed. That Lucia was at home with her father. Did he think that Poppy was stupid? That she would take him at his word? What actually was going on here?

Of course, she knew her questions could be answered if she talked to him instead of eavesdropping.

But she was scared. Because there was a chance he hadn't broken off his engagement, that he was placating her, and that meant he had no business being in her home. Make that no business in Skerray, either. Castle Varrich was at least several miles from the village. That was where he should be, if not back in the city.

To think she'd thought herself special when he had shown up in Edinburgh, had come to her brother's house unannounced, swept into the drawing room, asked her to go for a ride, and then got her iced cream. All of the hopes she'd tried to repress since the previous season when they'd kissed and then he'd abandoned her, had burst through the brick walls she'd built to hold them in, flooding into her with brightly colored fanfare.

Dreams that had been dashed as spectacularly as they'd developed.

Dougal Mackay was too good at breaking down her defenses. Too good for her wellbeing, to be sure. Too much for her to defend herself. She was ready to toss aside her instincts and defenses the moment he was in her presence. Ready to let him lead her down the path of a broken heart again.

She was a fool. And foolish enough to be desperately in love with Dougal Mackay.

Poppy let out a sound of disgust, then clapped her hands over her mouth. Thankfully, at the same time, laughter sounded from the drawing room, a joke she'd missed but had covered up her own noise.

What was he doing in there? Trying to woo her mother over to his side? He would easily transfix Anise, as she was more gullible.

Besides herself, however, Poppy felt the most sorry for Colonel Austen. He'd obviously developed feelings for Anise, and she, in turn, had developed feelings for Sir John, whom she'd danced with not once, not twice, but three times last night. This was a major impropriety on her part, which Mother had allowed in her desperate attempts to find her daughters suitable matches. Tongues were surely wagging this morning about the new lasses on the market and how one had dominated the interest of a handsome, eligible bachelor.

Anise had woken early, expecting to see a note from Sir John, but none had come so far. He'd swept her off her feet and then vanished. Not unlike what Dougal had done to her. Well, hopefully not the same. For her sister's sake, she hoped that Sir John was still in town.

Poppy sank to the top step, her elbows on her knees, her head in her hands.

Below, Elizabeth reappeared and made hand signals that Poppy couldn't identify. Then she motioned as if she were sipping from a teacup, and Poppy decided that must mean she was asking if Poppy wanted to take tea in her room.

No, she didn't want to take tea alone. But neither did she want to take tea in the drawing room with the rest of them.

A quandary. She wanted to know very much what was happening behind closed doors. And very much why Dougal was here and what had happened with Lucia Steventon.

"Shall I pop my head in and get ye a sense of it?" Elizabeth whispered, quite a bit louder than Poppy appreciated.

Poppy's mouth fell open. Had she spoken her thoughts aloud? She was fairly certain she had not, but what she wanted must have been written all over her face. Saints, but she was coming off as desperate and ridiculous.

She shook her head and marched to her bedroom, where she grabbed a book and then took it outside and down the path to a lovely tree she'd found perfect for laying out a blanket and leaning against to read.

The best thing for herself was to extricate herself not only from the reality of Dougal in her house but reality itself. And a book was always the perfect way to do that.

Poppy flipped to where she'd left off, tugging out the bookmark her mother had embroidered for her last Christmas. She read the same paragraph three times, her mind continuously wandering back to the cottage.

"Enough, you silly girl," she said aloud, huffing a breath and starting again.

After several more attempts, she was finally invested enough in the story, but then perhaps not. Her eyes started to droop as if her mind had decided that if she couldn't escape into a book, then she was going to escape into sleep. The idea of going back into the house when their guests were likely still there, as she hadn't seen them leave, was abhorrent. Perhaps a nap here? Would that be considered dangerous?

Likely not. And so, she let her eyes fall closed, her book laid beside her, the bookmark back in place to mark the page.

"Miss Featherstone?"

A second later, nay, it must have been longer for the sun had started to set, Poppy's eyes flew open to find Dougal peering down at her.

"Your mother and sister will be glad to know ye've no' been abducted." His grin was teasing as he stood there, gazing at her with an expression of fondness he shouldn't be wearing.

"What?" She sat up and blinked, not wanting to rub her eyes in front of him or stretch, though she was certain that would help her to get her faculties back into place.

"Aye, ye've been missing for a couple of hours now. And I'm afraid your sister and mother have eaten all the biscuits."

Biscuits? What biscuits?

Poppy bolted up to her feet, shaking the cobwebs of sleep from her brain, and gathered her blanket and book. "What do you mean?"

"They went looking for ye during tea, and when they couldn't find ye, sent out a party to search. All your servants, Colonel Austen, me. I'm glad I found ye."

"I wasn't lost. Just napping."

"Well, I think that's what they make beds for," he teased, but it only made her bristle.

Because they made beds for other things. Things she thought they might do together until Dougal had dashed those thoughts, and all she could think of now was him and Lucia doing those same things.

"Though I canna blame ye," Dougal said. "The weather is enchanting, and I have had more than a few naps against a tree."

Oh, now he would ruin her afternoon napping sessions too? She'd never be able to lean against a tree without thinking of him again. Poppy rushed back toward the cottage, irritated that it had been Dougal who found her, woke her, and now kept stride with her.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" she asked, hoping her tone would be more than a hint he should shoo like a fly.

"I'm right where I want to be."

Oh! The nerve! How dare he say such a thing. With her usual wit and a bit of snark, she said, "Rushing over the grass?"

"With Miss Featherstone, ye forgot to add that." He seemed unbothered by her obvious irritation with him, which only made her more irritated.

"Is that a choice that most people would make? Like biscuits with milk or toast and jam? A walk with a woman they've…" She couldn't finish the sentence; even uttering it made her feel shame.

Dougal stopped walking. She spied him reaching for her elbow and hurried forward. Felt him staring at her retreating back as he said, "Doesna matter, Poppy. Ye're no' most people, and neither am I. However, it is the choice that I'm making."

That made her feet stop working, her legs halting in place. He was making the choice to be there with her. Not with Lucia. It was too much. All of it. Too much and not enough. And so much she couldn't even understand or put words to. As if she'd lost the ability to form thoughts and reason.

Poppy did the best thing she knew how to—she ran. Hurrying away from him, hurrying from the feelings he brought out. But the clouds of confusion followed, and the ache in her chest seized her.

Her heart begged her to turn around, to acknowledge what he'd said, and then demand to know everything.

In the distance, she could hear people calling her name. Understood then that their worry for her outweighed her sentiments where Dougal was concerned. She could give him a piece of her mind and demand answers later, after she let her mother know that she'd not been eaten by wolves, though to be honest, when she was beside Dougal, that was a little how she felt.

Devoured, torn.

Back at the cottage, her mother broke out into singsong pleasure upon seeing her arrival, and Anise let out a long breath.

And behind her, she could hear the very distinct sounds of Dougal approaching.