Dukes to the Left of Me, Princes to the Right (9 page)

“Yes, an honor,” Eleanor echoed.

Beatrice surreptitiously hit Eleanor’s thigh.

Poppy moved in front of the two of them while Natasha looked about the room as if no one else were in it, even though Aunt Charlotte was staring goggle-eyed at her.

“I had hoped for a private audience,” the princess said in a honey-thick Russian accent.

“Oh, we’ll oblige,” Aunt Charlotte said, picked up her teacup, and left.

Beatrice and Eleanor, too, picked up their cups and exited the room right behind her.

“Wait!” Poppy called to them.

But they shut the drawing room door, and she was alone with the princess and her two dogs.

Natasha sat on the settee with them. “So,” she said, “you’re doing it again.”

“What?”

“What you did last night with those chamomiles in your hair. Calling attention to yourself, when really, you are better served blending in.”

“I am?”

“Only a rare few of us are meant to shine, Lady Poppy, and you are not one of them. But don’t despair. Yes, you’re to marry the Duke of Drummond, but no doubt he shall remove you to his estate in the north, where you can be a docile, almost invisible wife, which is your duty.”

Poppy cringed inside. She did not want to be a docile, almost invisible wife to anyone. She must explain that she was
not
to marry the duke. But how could she?

She’d no idea.

“Yes,” she said vaguely. “We’re, um, betrothed, but you know how those things go. Can’t look too deeply into the future. Would you care for some tea?”

“It’s much too early,” Natasha returned abruptly, and eyed the painting of St. Petersburg over the pianoforte. “My English contacts tell me you have a passion for my country, and now I see for myself that you do.”

“I do my best,” Poppy said, “to learn about
all
the world’s cultures, although, yes, I have a special place in my heart for Russia.”

And Sergei
.

Natasha leaned forward. “Tell me, when did this courtship between you and Drummond take place?”

What a shame she’d changed the subject. Her courtship with Drummond was hardly Natasha’s business, but Poppy dared not tell her so. “I recently purchased a Russian icon that I’ve yet to hang on the wall,” she said instead. “Would you like to see it?”

Natasha gave an impatient sigh. “I see icons in Russia all the time.”

“Of course.” Poppy swallowed hard.

Natasha appeared quite content to sit where she was. Forever, if need be, judging from the way she eased herself farther back into the settee. “You were about to tell me how you and Drummond came together.”

Goodness gracious, Poppy thought, what was she to do? She’d have to make up a grand story, the way Cook did. She only wished she had a simmering pot to stir.

“We met at the circulating library. I’ll never forget it.” She laid a hand on her breast. “My heart—”

“I didn’t ask for maudlin details.” Natasha rolled her eyes. “Love has nothing to do with courtship, or at least it shouldn’t.” She stood, rather violently. “I came today to say that it’s unfortunate you’re involved with Drummond. I was beginning to think you should serve as one of my attendants at the Lievens’ ball, where my wretched brother and I are to unveil my uncle Revnik’s last masterpiece.”

Poppy’s face flamed.
Wretched
was a strong word. And Sergei was her beloved. But she couldn’t very well defend him. Family matters were family matters. And she wasn’t in the family—yet.

Nevertheless, perhaps she could serve as a mediator of sorts, remind Natasha of her brother’s good qualities. “Do you … do you and Sergei ride together?” she asked the princess. “Or play card games?”

“Shut up about him.” Natasha curled her lip. “He makes me ill.”

“W-why?”

The princess scowled. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Poppy gave a nervous shake to her head. “No. Not really.”

Natasha gave a short laugh. “He is a brother. Brothers
rot.
”

“Oh.” Poppy raised a shaky hand to her breast. “I’m an only child. I’d no idea.”

Drummond apparently despised his brother, too.

The mere recollection of the duke’s existence brought to her mind his captivating sneer and condescending manner. Both made her palms itch to wring his neck.

Natasha jutted her chin at her. “What’s your answer?”

Poppy flinched. “I’m afraid I forgot the question.”

She’d been thinking of Drummond, after all, and before that, all she’d heard had been the word
wretched
being used to describe Sergei. It had been like a knife through her heart.

“I asked if you will accept the great honor of serving as one of my attendants. You will be privileged to hold my gown and adjust my tiara, a gift of the czar himself. The ball shall be the event of the Season. But now you’re too busy preparing for your wedding. What a shame.”

Natasha raised her shoulders the tiniest fraction and let them fall.

“Oh, yes, I’ll be much too busy preparing for my wedding,” Poppy assured her. If she didn’t play the happy bride-to-be, the princess would report it all over Town, and then every suitor she’d ever had would call her a fraud. “And I wouldn’t be a very good attendant, I’m afraid.”

“Why is that?”

“I don’t want to blend in, as much as you believe I need to.” Now she let
her
shoulders rise and fall a fraction of an inch. “I plan to attend the event at the side of my future husband. I shall waltz with him and perhaps even kiss him in front of all the company.”

Oh, God. She didn’t want Drummond. And she wasn’t a hoyden. Why had she said all that?

Natasha gave her a glittering smile. “Good luck with your duke, Lady Poppy. Rumor has it he has no heart, but that’s neither here nor there.”

Poppy tried to be grateful for the remark. She’d been reared to think the best of people, so there was the slightest chance it had been made with friendly concern.

But she doubted it. If the princess felt anything like she did now, she was hoping Poppy would trip over her hem and fall down. Poppy was wishing the very same for Natasha.

But the princess strode smoothly out the front door, down the steps—her corgis’ ears like little flags—and was swept up by a footman into her carriage, which went rollicking away with much yapping from its interior and at an unnecessarily high speed.

When Poppy turned back to the drawing room and sank into her seat, she couldn’t help releasing a wistful sigh. A royal from Russia had come to visit this morning. And not just any royal. Sergei’s sister.

How exciting such an event would have been even a day ago. But now that she’d met Natasha, Poppy was the opposite of excited, which was unfortunate. She’d had such hopes they’d be good friends.

Even more lowering was the fact that she was trapped in an engagement to the wrong man and he was to come to dinner tonight. Her temples grew damp at the thought. She had no idea what she’d say to him. She was beside herself that he’d interfered in her life without her permission.

She stood and looked at herself in the mirror. “If he’s not going to play fair, then I shan’t, either,” she told herself out loud.

If he could be like a vampire or a snake, she’d be like a spider in a web, and she’d wrap him up in a little threaded ball at the soonest opportunity. Or perhaps she’d be more like a governess and torture him with boring lectures so that he’d fall asleep, whereupon she’d write nasty things on his forehead, words like
GO AWAY, RUDE MAN
.

She strode out of the drawing room to Papa’s library and then to her bedchamber, where she lay on her quilt and searched through a text on agricultural tools, vowing to find the perfect tedious lecture.

But as she was reading about chaff cutters, dibbers, and flails, she fell asleep.

CHAPTER 11

When Nicholas knocked on the door at 17 Clifford Street at precisely seven o’clock, he was rather irritated and deflated, having waited all day to see if Groop would contact him to tell him Operation Pink Lady would be his.

He hadn’t. And it wasn’t.

Which was why he was scowling when the door was opened by the butler.

“Good evening, Your Grace. I am Kettle, at your service. Do come in.”

With his protruding ears and round face, he certainly matched his name. No doubt Lady Poppy set him to boil often.

“Thank you, Kettle.” Nicholas handed over his cape, gloves, and hat, a wad of cash tastefully hidden under the brim. “I presume you mean Lord Derby is expecting me. He received my note about security measures?”

“You presume correctly, Your Grace.” Kettle discreetly pocketed the bills. “He made sure Lady Poppy’s bedchamber window is locked, and we’ve a servant guarding every exit from the house. Regrettably, the earl was called away with Lord Wyatt on emergency Parliamentary business and is still not back. He begs you to be patient as he’ll be a trifle late for dinner.”

“I’m happy to wait.” Nicholas had dreamed about Lady Poppy’s snapping emerald eyes and coppery mane. And now he’d see her again. He felt exhilarated at the thought, especially because he already knew she wouldn’t be easy.

Not easy at all.

He wondered if a good night’s sleep and almost a full day to reflect upon the advantages of a connection to him had softened her outrage into something more … tamable.

And almost hoped it hadn’t.

“By the by, Lady Charlotte is out for the evening,” Kettle said. “But Lady Poppy awaits you in the drawing room.” He gave Nicholas a meaningful stare. “I know you’ve been approved by Lord Derby, but Cook has told us all about you and your scandalous exploits, Your Grace. And let me assure you, I shall be on the lookout myself, on Lady Poppy’s behalf. Yes, indeed.”

“Shall you?”

“I most certainly shall.”

“Very good, then.” Nicholas patted the butler on the shoulder, and they walked in comfortable silence to the first door on the left.

He waited for Kettle to announce him and heard Poppy bid that he enter. He braced himself and walked into the room.

She was posed by the pianoforte, her back ramrod straight, looking like a diamond of the first water, a large ruby necklace snuggled between her breasts.

Drummond raised her hand to his mouth, turned it over, and kissed her palm, sending a distinct pattern of gooseflesh racing up her arm.

“I’m sorry to have missed your aunt,” he said. “She seems a lively sort of chaperone.” Lady Charlotte had even winked at him last night, after he’d proposed.

Poppy lifted her shoulders and let them drop. “Yes, she’s that way because she’s a Spinster.”

“What has that to do with anything?”

“She can do
what
she wants with
whom
she wants
whenever
she wants,” Poppy said.

“Spinsters are to be envied, then.”

She lifted her chin. “I somehow doubt your sincerity.”

“You should, perhaps,” he agreed. “Except when I’m complimenting you. You’re exquisite tonight.”

“Thank you.” She flushed.

There was the sound of a carriage rattling to a stop in front of the house.

Drummond inclined his head. “Is that your father?”

“Yes. He’s often grouchy. Aren’t you afraid?”

“No, of course not,” he said. “We see eye to eye. I’ve told you.”

She bristled. “Don’t remind me. I demand to know something before he arrives. What does IF mean? And MR? And OPL?”

“You
are
curious, aren’t you?” He gave her what he hoped was an enigmatic smile. “But I won’t tell you. You have no need to know.”

“So? I know many things I’ve no need to know.”

“Well, this will be one less thing. And even if you did need to know, I’d think twice before telling you. Sorry, but my instincts tell me you’re not good at keeping secrets.”

“Your instincts are wrong. Why should you have secrets anyway?”

“Because often the most exciting, most pleasurable things in the world
are
done in secret.” He pulled her closer and kissed the tender hollow at the base of her neck. Her scent was sweet and seductive.

She arched her neck, then seemed to recall herself. “My goodness.” She gasped and pushed him away. “You
are
a scoundrel.”

“You think so?”

“Of course.” She gasped again, but he was determined to be completely unmoved by her outrage and shock.

She drew her brows together. “No one should have secrets. And no one should be invisible. Don’t ever think you shall whisk me away to the north and make me a docile, dutiful wife.”

Nicholas laughed. That was exactly what he intended.

“What’s so funny?” she asked him.

But Lord Derby arrived before he could answer.

“Let’s tuck into our dinners right away,” Poppy’s father urged them. “Lord Wyatt is a demanding colleague. He’s called another meeting.” He took a rather hasty gulp of wine.