Kieran Kramer - Dukes to the Left of Me, Princes to the Right

“Later, perhaps,” he said politely, then turned to Aunt Charlotte. “Would you mind if your niece took me on a tour of the garden?”

Aunt Charlotte shot Poppy a meaningful look, which Poppy ignored. There was absolutely no possibility the earl had romantic intentions toward her. She’d already declined him. Surely he wouldn’t try to win her again.

“Lady Poppy?” Lord Eversly eyed her hopefully. “Would you care to go with me?”

“Certainly,” she said, a trifle hesitant, although she wasn’t sure why.

Outside they wandered through rows of rosebushes.

Lord Eversly stopped near a charming fountain of an angel. “Lady Poppy, I shall get right to the heart of the matter. As I have expressed to your father in a visit to him this morning, I care for you very much. When I heard Drummond is to marry the Russian princess, my heart told me that perhaps it was not too late … for me.”

He gave her a meaningful look.

She inhaled a breath. She’d no idea what to say, so she thought hard for a moment.

“Lord Eversly,” she said eventually, “I’m flattered by your offer. And I’ll be happy to give you my answer at the Lievens’ ball … if you can wait that long.”

For a brief second, he appeared taken aback, but then he recovered. “Of course,” he said warmly. “I’ll be happy to wait until the first waltz. But until that time, I’d like to leave you with a memory I hope shall sway you.”

He took her in his arms and kissed her. The kiss wasn’t particularly chaste, either. He kissed her thoroughly and well.

When he pulled back, he searched her face.

She forced herself to give him a little smile.

“Think about it,” he said. “I’ll make you a good husband. We can be happy together.”

“Yes,” Poppy whispered. “I’ll think about it.”

She’d felt nothing when he’d kissed her, nothing but an awareness of his sweet nature. But having a kind husband was a good thing, was it not?

The rest of his visit passed pleasantly enough. He stayed for dinner and told them he had plans to spend the night at the village inn. He would leave early the next morning for a meeting in London.

Throughout dinner and their short conversation afterward, Poppy was anxious to tell Aunt Charlotte what had transpired in the garden, and she sensed her aunt was anxious, as well. So when they finally shut the front door behind the earl, Aunt Charlotte didn’t even wait to walk back to the sitting room.

“Do tell,” she said in the cozy entryway.

“He asked me to marry him. Again.”

“My heavens.” Aunt Charlotte bit her lip. “Well, we both already know you don’t love him. If you don’t love him, you won’t marry him, correct?”

“Yes, I know.” Poppy sighed. “According to the Spinsters Club. But I’m not sure about those rules anymore.”

She wandered listlessly back to the sitting room and sank onto a settee.

Aunt Charlotte sat next to her. “Why, dear?”

“Because look where love has gotten me.”

“You love Drummond, don’t you?” Aunt Charlotte’s tone was sober.

Poppy nodded slowly. It hurt to acknowledge the fact.

Aunt Charlotte sighed.

“Drummond is to marry Natasha.” Poppy forced herself to say the words. “And according to the Spinsters Club, I should remain a Spinster because I can’t have the man I love. But all those rules are based upon the idea that true love is the only reason to marry. You yourself told me to stay open to the possibilities.”

And so had Nicholas, Poppy recalled bitterly.

“I did, didn’t I?” Aunt Charlotte said, her bright blue eyes troubled.

Poppy hesitated. “Quite frankly, I don’t know if I can live alone the rest of my life thinking about Drummond. I’d rather stay busy—with a good husband, many children, and a new life. I’d like to start over. Who’s to say I can’t fall in love with Lord Eversly? And even if I can’t, we can become good friends.”

“You’re being very practical,” Aunt Charlotte said. “And I must admit, I’ve found solace in other things, too.” She grasped Poppy’s hand. “But you misread my intentions, dear, about staying open to romantic possibilities. You must believe true happiness is possible with Eversly. You can’t marry him simply to run away. Or to cover your hurt.”

“I’m not sure yet what I’ll do,” said Poppy, squeezing her hand back. “So please be patient with me while I think about it this week.”

“Of course. We’ll have a peaceful few days.”

But the next morning, several village women came to visit.

“The Russian prince was seen on the road to our village,” said the squire’s wife, her cheeks pink with excitement. “Someone said he intercepted your carriage, brought you out of it, and got down on a knee and proposed. And then another man, an earl, came here with a massive bouquet of roses yesterday. You’re a popular young lady.”

“When is the wedding?” said another woman.

“And whom shall you choose?” asked a third. “We heard the awful news about your other fiancé. Drummond. He’s to marry the Russian princess.”

“Yes, he is.” Poppy smiled awkwardly. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but as of now, there is to be no wedding for me.”

The faces of the ladies all registered disappointment.

“Poppy’s still thinking,” said Aunt Charlotte.

“So the earl, too, proposed yesterday?” the squire’s wife asked hopefully.

Poppy sighed. “It’s a private matter, ladies. That’s all I can say.”

“We understand.” The ladies departed with many friendly wishes for a good day. But the rest of the afternoon, other villagers gathered nearby in little clusters and were staring at the house.

At dinner that evening, the squire himself knocked on the door.

“I’m going to stop this right now,” Poppy said, and opened the door, Aunt Charlotte at her side.

“It’s my understanding,” the squire intoned, “that Lady Poppy is to be married to the Russian prince.”

Aunt Charlotte opened her mouth to say something, but Poppy cut her off. “I’m sorry, sir, but your information is incorrect. Lady Charlotte and I are departing in the morning for London.”

And she tried to shut the door.

But the squire stopped it with his hand. “Of course, you’ll have many parties to attend in London before the big event. But do let us know when the nuptial feast will occur. If it’s to be in Town, my wife and I would be honored to represent the village.”

“Thank you,” Poppy answered, and managed to shut the door. “Tomorrow morning,” she said grimly, leaning against it, “we’re leaving this place and going back to London to get some peace.”

“I told you once before, village life is as grueling as Town life, if not more.” Aunt Charlotte chuckled.

But Poppy wasn’t amused. She packed her bags and went to bed that night with much to contemplate. The adventures of Clarissa called, however, and she was dying to forget her own troubles. So she opened the novel and read about Clarissa’s until her candle burned low.

Nicholas wasn’t happy. Every night he dreamed about that wretched scene at Lord Derby’s, where Poppy told him she never wanted to see him again. And every morning he’d wake up and hear in his head the cryptic comment Harry had made at their club:

Lucky you .

Was he really lucky?

Or wasn’t he?

He stared at the small oil painting above his desk—a drawing room scene of him and Frank as boys—and came to a decision. He had nothing to lose.

Absolutely nothing.

His properties and title were in a state of decay, his brother was a wastrel, and Poppy rightfully despised him. The sting of her dismissive slap on his jaw had brought home to him the realization that every good thing in his life had slipped away. He wasn’t sure how he’d come to this point, why he’d neglected to respect the age-old adage that nothing worthwhile comes easily.