Chapter 8

8

"M y lord, a missive has arrived for ye. The footman claimed it was urgent."

Dougal glanced up from where he'd been working on ledgers in his study to find his butler holding out a small white card on a silver tray. He always thought the silver tray was silly. As if paper could not be passed between servant and lord, but rather needed to be placed on something expensive first.

"Thank ye, James." Dougal took the small white envelope. The decisive letters of his name looped in black ink. The penmanship was not one he recognized, and given the urgency of the contents, he felt a little apprehensive about opening it.

Dougal tore open the missive, and read the contents once, twice, then a third time for good measure.

My lord,

Begging your pardon for stepping out of bounds, but I thought you would like to know that Lady Leven has requested the packing and removal of the Featherstone ladies to the Highlands this morning. Their departure is imminent.

Respectfully,

Mr. Grant

Butler to Lord Leven

Dougal growled under his breath, feeling as if this sudden change in the course of events was his fault. If he'd not stopped and talked to Poppy last night, there might have still been time to convince his sister to let them remain in Edinburgh, at least until the end of the season, to give them time to find suitable matches.

There also remained the question of why his presence would prompt his sister into such action unless she feared Poppy might interfere with his engagement to Lucia Steventon, and if that were the case, why would Mary be so invested in the young lady? They didn't know each other as far as he knew. Then again, perhaps this was just one of Mary's machinations without an understandable motive. No matter—if he didn't leave now, he might miss their imminent departure, and then he'd kick himself the entire ride up the road to intercept them.

"James, have the carriage brought around. And send a letter north letting them know I'll be arriving within the week, so they need to have the castle opened."

"Aye, my lord."

Dougal crumpled the note and tossed it into the rubbish bin. It wasn't unusual for him to go to his sister's residence, and often, he arrived for breakfast, much to her chagrin. So, he didn't suspect she would have instructed her butler to slam the door in his face—though given it was Grant who'd written the missive, the man would at least do it with regrets. And fortunately, Dougal was right. Rather than him being barred from the residence, Grant let him in with a nod of respect.

"My lord," Grant said, eyeing him warily. "The ladies are receiving guests in the drawing room."

"So early?"

Grant nodded. "They are to depart just after luncheon." He leaned closer and whispered, "Though my lady wished it to have been after breakfast."

"I appreciate the warning, Grant. Ye're a loyal man."

"Others may no' think so." The butler walked toward the drawing room and opened the door, the ladies' voices filtering into the grand foyer. Grant announced Dougal, which brought a hush from the women but a "Hey-ho!" from Colonel Austen, whom he was particularly surprised to see.

Poppy looked up sharply, her eyes narrowing upon seeing him on the threshold of the drawing room. Though she tried to mask her surprise, there was a slight quiver to her lower lip that he wished to quell, though he had no right. There was anger and hurt there, and while he hadn't done anything more to her since leaving her in London, it felt as if she were directly accusing him of something. She was probably resentful that Mary had moved up their departure, which was entirely his fault. Or was it something deeper? Mo chreach , but he wished he could ask her without an audience present.

Dougal bowed. Anise was sitting between Colonel Austen and Sir John on a couch that appeared dwarfed by the two men on either side. If Austen was a surprise, Sir John was even more so. How had that fool ingratiated himself to the ladies so quickly to have garnered an invitation? Sir John was a bastard and not to be trusted, and Dougal was having a hard time holding in the growl he wanted to let out.

Poppy perched beside her mother, hands folded in her lap, though with how her knuckles were white from her grip, she was not seated comfortably. There was no sign of Mary—thank goodness—which he found to be surprising. Mary wouldn't normally have wanted to miss this for the world. Especially the sad goodbyes that were a result of her machinations. Not to mention that she would want to mess up any pleasantries.

"Lord Reay," the dowager said rather coldly. He'd not been on the frosty side of her attention before now. Something had definitely changed overnight, and he didn't think his evening drop-in was the reason. "A surprise to see you this morning, sir."

It wasn't, really. He'd been there most mornings since they'd arrived, but the coldness was clear. He was being blamed. He wasn't invited. He was an interloper. An outsider in this new, small assembly.

"I do apologize for not sending a card," he said. "I wanted to come and"—

he glanced at Poppy, locking his gaze on hers—"apologize for any inconvenience I may have caused."

Colonel Austen eyed him oddly, and Sir John too. At least those two had no idea why he was being shunned. Though, honestly, he'd liked to have known himself, and if they were aware, they might all discuss it in the open.

"What inconvenience is that?" Poppy cocked her head as if she dared him to put voice to her ire, the very reason she suddenly despised him.

They'd been making progress, he thought…

Dougal swallowed. He wasn't normally one to feel nervous in any situation, but heaven help him. Poppy made him feel unsettled, uncontrolled, and out of his depth. "Might I ask for your company on a walk about the garden, Miss Featherstone?" He directed his question at Poppy.

Poppy glanced toward Anise as if seeking confirmation, then back at Dougal. "I'm sorry, I think I'd rather not catch a chill, sir. You're welcome to join us here or perhaps come calling later this afternoon, after luncheon, though I doubt the chill will be gone. Oh, gracious me, I forgot we won't be here this afternoon." She let out a laugh that he saw through for what it was. She mocked him. "And likely neither should you, Lord Reay." Her steely gaze met his, and there was a turn to her lips that was partly cruel and partly wounded. She was lashing out. "Perhaps your fiancée would much rather you take her for a walk about?"

Dougal's mouth went dry. It appeared he'd stepped in it twice. Not only was he responsible for them leaving early, but Mary had clearly shared Lucia's imminent arrival, though she hadn't shared all of the information—like how he didn't consider himself to be betrothed. Everything made sense now. Her anger, her hurt, Lady Cullen's coldness, Anise agreeing she shouldn't walk with him in the garden. They believed him to be some rogue.

And my God, hadn't he proven himself to be exactly that?

Still, Dougal pressed on. He wasn't going to let her go without explaining what the situation was. There were always two sides to every story, and didn't he deserve a chance to share his? "Might we have a word in confidence?"

Poppy rolled her eyes, and Colonel Austen shifted uncomfortably in his chair while Sir John looked as if he wanted this theatre entertainment to go on for a while longer, perhaps with refreshments brought in.

For as much as she put on a show, Poppy's curiosity appeared to get the better of her. And he was grateful.

She stood and marched over to him. The gentle sway of her hips was taken over by her irritation. "We can speak in the corner here, but I will not leave this room with you, and under no circumstances will I be alone with you again. It wouldn't be proper. And I'll not have any more rumors tossed around society about me." She trooped toward the corner, beckoning with a flick of her hand for him to follow.

While he would have rather spoken to her privately, he would take whatever he got from Poppy, even the corner of the drawing room with all eyes on them.

She folded her arms across her chest but thankfully did not tap her foot as he might have expected. "What is it that you wish to say, Lord Reay?"

Anger radiated from her in waves, and he felt guilty for so many reasons. The repeated use of his titled name put distance between them, as if erasing the friendship they'd had…the kiss they'd shared. The way he'd wanted her so badly that his insides ached, and then fear had made him run away. Afraid he'd not be able to give her all she deserved.

Dougal cleared his throat, adjusting the cravat that suddenly felt too tight at his neck. "I am no' betrothed, no' really."

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "And I'm not going to the country, not really. My heart will always remain in Edinburgh." Sarcasm dripped from her words in streams like the wax of a hundred candles on a single chandelier.

"I'd like to explain if ye'll allow me."

She waved her hand, impatient.

"'Twas an adolescent proposal." There, he'd said it. He breathed out a sigh of relief.

But Poppy's expression didn't change. "Did you ask her to marry you?"

"Aye," he drawled out, not sure where she was going with her questions.

Poppy, too, drawled out her words as if she hoped he'd pick up on whatever she was thinking. "And did she say yes?"

"Aye." Dougal shook his head. "But we were young."

Poppy let out a sharp laugh. A quick succession of ha-ha . "I don't think the age matters much if the two of you have consented to marry."

"But I do no' wish to marry her. I've never had any intentions of marrying her." How could he make her understand?

"Sounds as if you have a problem then, Lord Reay. And as much as I thought we were friends, we are not. And I have my own problems, namely the fact that my brother has betrayed me and we are being forced to move to the Highlands in the middle of the season, and I will have to help my sister transition to a desolate life that she doesn't want. Two spinsters and their widowed mother. It all sounds so trite, and yet it is my new life."

The bitter ache of her words cut through his solar plexus. He wanted to wrap her in his arms, to tell her that he would not let that happen, that she and Anise were too young and beautiful to be spinsters, that even her mother could find happiness. But he could tell by the way she looked at him that anything he said would go in one ear and be tossed in the trash from the other.

"My lady, please allow me to try and make this right." He was mucking this up royally.

"And how do you expect to do that?" Now Poppy's foot did tap, and she looked over his shoulder at the group, her cheeks flushing a light shade of pink.

Dougal dared not look behind him but judging by the overly chipper and volume of Anise's voice, she was trying to get everyone's attention back on her. And then, thankfully, the tinny notes of the piano sounded, drowning their words into the music and away from prying ears.

"I will speak with Mary," he said. "Tell her to see sense."

"That will never happen." Poppy's voice was full of venom, and she rolled her eyes. "Mary and sense are complete opposites. And to be frank, I don't want to spend another minute in this house with her. She is cruel and unkind. We deserve to be treated better. And my brother…" She shook her head, her voice trailing off as it cracked with emotion.

Everything she said was true. They didn't deserve Mary's treatment. None of it. Mary had not changed since she was a child. Back then, if another child wanted to play with her dolls, she didn't only snatch them back and not share—she also destroyed the dolls so even she could not play with them.

The Featherstones were her dolls. And she was tearing them up right now. Gouging them with pins and cutting them with metaphorical scissors.

Dougal had done a lot throughout their lives to hide Mary's true nature from the world. And when she'd found a partner in Edward, Dougal had been relieved to see that the man was truly infatuated with her. That her cruelness did not extend to the man she loved, and somehow, maybe she'd changed. A miracle, really.

But, as it turned out, she must have found the only other person in this world who destroyed their treasures too. Two peas in a pod they were, and Lord help their son to make it through unscathed.

The cross of her arms shifted, and she held her arms beneath the shoulders, hugging herself rather than shutting him out. Dougal swallowed against the ache in his chest.

"Why are you so…" Poppy shook her head, not finishing her sentence, but Dougal could guess what she was asking.

Why was he so invested? He didn't have an answer to that. Perhaps it was inappropriate for him to extend the interest, the concern. But he was human, and what human didn't empathize with another in pain? Especially when he knew his sister was the reason for their hurt.

But there was more to it than that.

When Dougal looked into Poppy's fiery eyes, something inside him that he had long thought dead lit up. It was why he'd pursued her in London and why he'd run from her.

It was why he'd come to Edinburgh to begin with. Why he was here now.

And he knew his actions confused her; they confounded even himself. But he couldn't walk away from her. Not for his inheritance, Lucia, Mary or society itself. At this moment, looking at her usually straight spine curving in on itself, Dougal would have given up everything if only to help her stand up tall again.

"I'm sorry," he said, and he meant it from the deepest part of himself. The urge to pull her into his arms was strong. He started to lift his hands, then let them drop. With an audience present, he dared not touch her, even if his entire body urged him forward.

Without the impending arrival of Lucia, of her calling in on a promise made a decade before, could there have been something more between Poppy and him? A war between sense—Poppy—and sensibility—Lucia—waged inside him. He knew which side he was on; he just didn't know how to get there.

"I am, too," she said, with a small shake of her head, no longer meeting his gaze.

And then she did the thing he'd feared most. She turned around and walked away. She didn't return to her seat at tea but continued through the door of the drawing room out into the grand foyer. The door closed behind her with a gentle snick.

Dougal wasn't certain he'd ever see her again. And the very idea of that snapped his heart in two.