Chapter 5

5

A s fast as she scurried toward her room, Poppy was surprised she hadn't lit the carpet runner on fire. She checked to make sure, prepared to see smoke rising from the wool pile, but the Leven green, blue and white tartan remained unscathed.

As she stared down the hallway, Poppy wrenched open the door, half expecting Mary to chase after her, but only the ghost of Mary's ire followed. She closed the door quickly behind her, clicking the lock into place just in case, which caused Anise, who was scribbling furiously in her diary, to drop her quill and look up at her worriedly.

"Mary," Poppy said as if that were enough explanation.

Anise nodded and went back to dashing off her sentences.

One day, might they say things like, "Oh, I was just Mary'd." Or "My goodness, don't be such a Mary." Sad really, how one bad Mary's attitude put such a stigma onto another. She knew plenty of Marys who were nothing but sweet.

"What's got you so frenzied?" Poppy asked.

Anise dropped her pen again to flop back in her chair and dramatically press her hands over her heart. "Oh, Sir John, wasn't he a dream?"

Poppy shrugged, frowning a little. Dream was really an exaggeration, wasn't it? "Hard to say, as we were only acquainted with him for a few minutes. I thought the colonel rather charming."

Anise rolled her eyes.

Poppy crossed the room to take up the chair by the window. "Why are you rolling your eyes?"

"He's boring." Anise made the word "boring" sound utterly dull, the way she dragged it out and added a nasal twinge to it.

Poppy didn't agree. Colonel Austen seemed to have more personality than Sir John in the few minutes they'd gotten to know him, but perhaps she could be persuaded otherwise. She was coming to things from a practical standpoint. Anise, more often than not, went about her judgments from the heart. Both methods had their merits and, when put together, could be very complimentary of one another. If one wasn't so stubborn—that was the hurdle most days.

"I think you find Sir John more interesting because he was a little closer to your age," Poppy suggested.

"And yours. The colonel had to be thirty at least. Practically ancient. Do you think Sir John is attached?"

Poppy bit the inside of her cheek. Thirty wasn't ancient at all. In less than ten years, she would be thirty, and she hardly considered those meager number of years would make her suddenly decrepit. But she supposed that it might seem aged for Anise, who was not yet even twenty. Poppy kicked off her slippers and tucked her feet up under her legs. "Couldn't say, but I doubt he would have volunteered to come and call on you if he was. That would be an insult to his fiancée."

"Good point." Anise rested her chin on her hand and stared into space, her eyes mooning over some imagined romance. Poppy could practically see the affair playing out before her, and if Anise kept looking off like that, she was liable to end up rushing off with Sir John before she knew him properly enough to ascertain if he had a middle name.

"You know," Poppy hedged, "it's not your responsibility to marry yet. No need to settle for just anyone."

The glazed look in Anise's eyes faded, and she focused on her sister with a frown but didn't say anything, which was rather unlike her. Her silence was worrisome.

"What is it?" Poppy urged, one stockinged foot unfolding to press to the floor as if that might somehow ground her.

"Mama has made it clear one of us should marry soon to secure our future."

"And that responsibility should fall to me as the eldest sister," Poppy said. "You should wait until you're in love."

Anise's frown increased, adding a hint of not quite malice but something akin to it. "And yet you've had all this time and not seen to it." She flung her hand toward the door. "Locking us in here because our sister-by-marriage is a tyrant. This is no way to live."

Perhaps another sister would take offense to Anise's tirade, but not Poppy. She was used to her sister blaming her for things, even if they weren't her fault. And there was a measure of truth in what Anise said. Poppy had not tried hard enough to entice any bachelors into asking for her hand. But she'd been mending a foolishly broken heart. She wasn't at all surprised at Anise's thoughts put to words. After all, she knew her sister well, and she knew herself just as much. They were close friends most of the time, but every once in a while, Anise, being the younger sister by two years, would feel a sense of competition, the need to prove herself. And in this instance, she thought Poppy had done them a disservice and that she would step in to right it.

Poppy was mostly patient regarding her sister and let her antics go. But in this situation, she could not. Anise was only nineteen and, most of the time, acted quite a lot younger. She'd lived a sheltered life, not that Poppy too hadn't been coddled by their doting parents, but Anise especially had been.

In this situation, Poppy wasn't going to make it a competition. There was no argument; she would take care of them, and Anise would need to understand that. "There was not a sense of urgency previously," Poppy said, trying to compassionately relay that with Papa alive, she hadn't needed to marry so swiftly. "We couldn't have known that what has come to pass would be so soon."

Anise squared her shoulders, digging in her heels. "Perhaps we should have."

Poppy could see she was going to need to be a bit stronger with her sister than she wanted to be. Well, she wasn't unused to fighting with her. And this time, she wasn't going to back down.

"Perhaps we might have, but we didn't. And death is never something scheduled, is it, sister? Rather popping up when you least expect it or want it. And we cannot live our lives with a knife to our throat. Rushing into one decision after another without consideration because someone might die."

A knock sounded at the door, and their mother's sweet voice sounded on the other side as she jiggled the locked door. Anise bounced up and unlocked the door with a look toward Poppy that said, "See what you did," though she'd done nothing.

Mama walked in, her face rather pale, wringing her hands. Anise, duty done by unlocking, returned to her seat at the writing desk.

"My dears, I think we have a bit of an issue." Mama looked ready to faint.

Poppy hurried over to her mother, taking her elbow and guiding her to their chaise longue to sit. "What is it?"

"I am not normally a sneak."

"Of course."

"But I overheard something I perhaps should not have."

"Tell us, Mama," Anise said, putting down her pen and twisting in her desk chair to face them.

Their mother glanced toward the door as if someone might burst through it, catching them in a bit of gossip.

"Mary was…well, she was speaking rather loudly, to be sure, and I happened to pass by the door, and I'd not have normally stopped, but I couldn't help myself."

Poppy bit her lip to keep from telling her mother to get on with the story already.

"She was telling Edward that since he's been put in charge of dispensing your dowries, he should figure a way to lower your dowries and think of their own son's legacy—keeping the rest for their child as payment for boarding us now. That a thousand pounds each was too much to give and that all the food and extra work for the servants now was somehow taking away from their child."

"But how? Edward didn't inherit Papa's money and properties. That all went to our cousin. He's only the executor of our dowries. It hardly seems legal."

"Exactly." Mama pulled a fan from her sleeve and started to air her face, drawing in her breaths quickly. "She is going to rob you girls in any way she can, no matter the law. And me. My first husband, Edward's father, left me a house in the Highlands. I've had it let out for years, the small amount of money going back to the land, but she even suggested he sell it. Sell my house."

Poppy had known about the country house. And the only reason they hadn't gone there instead of begging Edward's charity, was because moving to the country meant giving up any hope whatsoever of them finding suitable matches.

"Nay, Mama, Edward won't agree. He's not so mean. And besides, why would he risk it?"

Their mother shook her head. "When it comes to Mary, Edward doesn't seem to have a voice any longer. She also said…" Mother fanned herself harder. "That you weren't really his sisters, being that you were from another father, and there was no way to prove that I was really his mother since no witnesses to his birth were alive—except me."

To even suggest such a thing was mind-boggling. Poppy's mouth popped open repeatedly and then shut as she tried to wrap her head around what Mary was insinuating. "That absolute wench," Poppy said loud enough that it covered the expletive murmured by Anise—thank heavens or their mother would have fainted right away. "Is she claiming Edward was switched at birth? In that case, there's no way to prove that his father is his father. What a can of worms she's trying to open. And for what? We've never done anything to deserve her ill-treatment."

"I always thought her a bit of a viper, but I never thought she'd let her venom out. Nor did I think Edward would be poisoned so heartily. He was always such a strong-minded lad." Mama shook her head. "But I heard him say nothing to naysay her. And I mean nothing. She could have been talking to herself for all I know."

"Perhaps she was merely practicing her speech to convince him," Anise offered.

Mama shook her head. "I'm afraid the noise was coming from his study. I doubt she would have been practicing alone there. Too many ways to get caught, though she'd talk her way out of it. She's quite bold, but I don't think that bold."

"I wouldn't put it past her," Anise said.

"Nor would I. I don't understand. Why does she loathe us so much?"

"Some people, Mary being one of them, are inexplainable," Mama said. "There doesn't seem to be a reason other than it is just who she is."

"I think you're right, Mama. Should I talk to Edward? Remind him of his duty and the illegalities of what she's suggesting? The trust will not just fall to him. It can't. And he can't take away your house."

"I had never wanted to put a voice to this, but I thought that house might be our saving grace if we cannot stay here."

Poppy hardly remembered the house in the Highlands, save for the one summer they'd gone to stay there. It was small, and felt quite rustic. They had pretended to be farmers those few weeks and had a lovely time. The memories of the cottage weren't so bad. But it wasn't a place she wanted to live. So remote…so far from any person, it would not be suitable for two young ladies in need of a husband.

Poppy and Edward had been close growing up. His father had passed when he was barely out of leading strings, and their mother, desperate not to find herself in the situation she now faced, had married quickly. Until he'd vowed his life to Mary, Poppy might have even said he was one of her best friends. But things changed after his marriage. And Edward started to look at her differently.

Started to treat all of them differently, including his own mother.

Even now, in this massive townhouse in Edinburgh with plenty of bedchambers, she and Anise were forced to share. They'd not shared a room since they were in the nursery together. And it wasn't as if there weren't plenty of other rooms to be had. There were at least a dozen bedrooms in this house. She remembered running through them when they played seek-and-find as children.

This house had once belonged to Edward's father's father, passing to Edward when he was in his late adolescence.

But Mary had insisted that only two rooms be used for his mother and sisters. That only one maid be assigned between the three of them, though they had plenty of servants too.

"I think a conversation is a good idea," her mother said, her shoulders slightly straightening as she said it. "Any time I try to get close to Edward, Mary shows up and intervenes. Almost as if she has some magical insight to mine and Edward's proximity."

"She does the same with me," Poppy said, thinking of what had happened earlier in the foyer with Dougal. "But I'm willing to give it a try, all the same. It can't hurt us more than she already has."

"Perhaps I can distract her," Anise offered.

"A distraction is a good idea. Do it during tea, Poppy?" Mama suggested. "Feign a headache and excuse yourself. She won't be able to leave her guests to find you. And Anise, if she does try to follow Poppy, you should engage her somehow, perhaps with a question the other ladies might be interested in knowing. I'll add on to it for good measure to keep her from leaving."

"Good idea." Poppy hadn't wanted to go to tea anyway. The very idea of watching Mary parade around as if she were some sort of savior and they the lonely paupers who needed her charity was ridiculous. The entire situation was ludicrous and backwards, especially when Edward should rightfully be able to support his own mother. And more so, the dowries belonged to Poppy and Anise, and the house belonged to their mother. None of it was stamped with Mary's name, as much as she was attempting to wrestle it away.

With their plan in place, Mama and Anise went down to tea at the given time. Poppy decided not to go at all, fearing that Mary, in all her machinations, would be able to bar her from leaving.

Even in her room, Poppy could hear the chatter of feminine voices. She was curious what kind of gossip they might be getting up to, but she remained as planned for at least the first quarter-hour in case Mary did decide to check on her or send her maid up.

Poppy thought perhaps she might have gleaned a bit of her sister's pretend fortune-telling because approximately seven minutes after Poppy said she had a megrim and wouldn't be coming to tea, there was a knock at the door, and Mary's own maid came in with a tray of tea that smelled like an old lady's hat.

Poppy lay in bed, the curtains drawn, the lights doused, pretending she was struck hard with an ache in her head.

The maid wasn't there just to serve tea. She was also snooping, even going so far as to pretend to tuck her in to feel the temperature on her forehead. When she fussed about for another five minutes—including "tidying" Poppy's writing desk, perhaps looking for evidence of some sort—Poppy worried that she had been sent to make sure Poppy didn't leave her room, but the woman eventually did depart. And thankfully, it was thirty seconds before Poppy was going to demand she leave, which would have been even more suspicious.

Poppy waited another five minutes to be sure the woman wasn't going to come back, and then she crept to her bedroom door and pulled it open, peering out, afraid of being caught. Afraid of seeing the snooping maid standing sentry, or perhaps even Mary to say, "Ah-ha! I knew you were faking."

But the corridor was blessedly empty. Poppy slipped out of her room, shutting the door silently behind her. She remained still in case the maid popped out of some hidden place, but she was utterly alone.

At this time of day, her brother would either be in his study, or he would have sneaked off to his club—which, if it were the latter, she was out of luck. Please be in your study; please be in your study… She silently repeated the mantra the entire way.

Down the stairs she crept, terrified the whole time, heart pounding, afraid the nosey maid or one of the ladies would depart tea and see her, but she somehow made it outside her brother's study, knocked, and he called for her to enter.

She pulled open the door, stepped through and only breathed when it shut behind her.

"Poppy." He smiled, some of the tension in his features melting as he saw her.

And for just a moment, she remembered them as children playing chase. And the way he always tried to include her, even though his friends thought him odd for doing so.

"May I sit?" she asked, indicating the chair opposite him.

"Of course." He closed the ledger he'd been working in and focused on her, and she wondered if he thought it odd that she was there instead of attending the tea. But he didn't say anything to indicate that. Was it too much to hope that he still knew her well enough to understand she'd find a way out of having tea with Mary?

"What can I do for you?" he asked after she'd settled in the chair.

Poppy licked her lips, which felt suddenly dry, her fingers clasped tightly in her lap. "I wanted to speak with you about my dowry. And about Mama's house."

Edward's features shuttered enough that it reinforced what their mother had thought she heard. Mary hadn't been practicing her tirade. Those demands had been very, very real.

"I wanted to speak with you as well," he said, all but confirming. "I think it best that you, Anise and your mother move to the dower house in the Highlands."

Poppy stilled. Her mind was suddenly obliterated of all thought, as if lightning had somehow come through the roof and into the study, jolting her brain. He wasn't going to sell Mama's house, but her other fear of isolation appeared to be coming true.

"At the end of the season?" she prompted, hoping that was the case. That Edward was going to give them a fighting chance.

Edward shook his head and wouldn't meet her eye, finding the items on his desk to be much more interesting. "Nay, I think now. As soon as possible."

"But Edward, why?"

"Mary thinks it best for everyone. It's time for Mother to go to the dower house my father left for her, and it would be best if you both accompanied her."

At least he wasn't denying that she was his mother, nor was he denying her what his father had left her. There was no mention of her and Anise's dowries either. Perhaps moving them out now was his way of saving them from his wife. And himself from any more of Mary's tantrums.

"How will we marry, Edward, being shut away from society?"

Her brother had the audacity to chuckle. "Certainly, there are men in Highlands. Do you think all those who live there were plopped from the sky?"

"We don't live in medieval times, and we aren't country people. We're not farmers or what have you. Ladies and gentlemen go to their country estates in the Highlands for house parties and hunting parties. We don't even know who they are. We'll be lucky to get an invitation. You are locking us in a closet."

"Oh, you are being dramatic, sister. The dower house is not as isolated as you think. And I'm certain there will be plenty of invitations." He finally looked at her, some warmth around the edges, but it was hard to pinpoint. "I want the both of you to marry, trust me. Besides, it's decided." Whatever warmth she thought she'd caught a glimpse of disappeared.

Poppy sat rigid, devastated. And when she wanted to collapse backward into the chair, to let the frustrated tears take over, the stubborn part of herself, the part that didn't want Edward to see he'd hurt her, kept her spine upright and the tears at bay.

When she'd walked into his study, with the way he'd smiled, she'd thought that he still felt some affection for her. But her mother was right. Mary had poisoned him against them, and he would now send them away to fade into nonexistence. And if they didn't marry, then what? Was that his end game, to outlive them and claim their dowries himself? It didn't work that way, but somehow, Mary had convinced him it would. And it was evident now that Edward was firmly within Mary's grasp.

The only good thing to come of this was that at least he wasn't taking the house, nor yet taking the dowries. He was defying Mary in two small ways. But still…he was banishing them from society, which still hurt.

"I beg you to reconsider, Edward. Anise is only nineteen. Surely, she would benefit from being in society."

"She could also do with some humility." Edward stood, glaring down at her as if he needed the leverage to make himself heard.

Gone were the affections of a brother she'd once loved so much.

Poppy stood. She was tall for a woman, and Edward was short. Their heights were equal when they were both on their feet, eye to eye. "Locking her up in the Highlands won't change her."

"I beg to differ." He slapped his desk, the veins in his next starting to pop as his cheeks reddened. "And please do stop saying I'm locking you up. You'll have a lovely house in the country, and the three of you will make good company for each other. I don't want to hear another word about it. As I said, it's decided. Now, you'd best get back to tea. It's highly improper for you to have left Mary's tea to find me."

She didn't bother to tell him that she'd never even entered the drawing room. "And it's highly improper for a brother to rob his sisters of a life." She stood up, angry now and not caring what she said. "You should be ashamed, Edward. It was your duty to protect us after our father passed."

He glared up at her. "I am protecting you."

And she could see in his eyes that he truly believed it.

Poppy was too stunned, too dismayed, to say another word.

But in her mind, at that moment, she determined she would never marry someone who might have the power to influence her thoughts, beliefs, and values. Edward, the brother she'd always admired, was no longer a person she wanted to be nor a person she could respect.