Poppy shook her head and took a bite of eggs, chewing quickly. “So, what are we doing, then? If we’re not going anywhere?”
Alex tilted his head, smiling fondly. “I told you. I’m repaying you for your kindness to me.”
Unperturbed, Poppy took another bite of her breakfast. “That tells me nothing,” she informed him after a quick swallow.
“According to several sources,” Alex intoned, folding his arms, “you’ve been working as hard and as much as any of the laborers you hire, despite being mistress of the house.”
“Yes,” Poppy muttered with a snort, “and such a grand estate is mine to be mistress of.”
Alex ignored her and brought his chair back to all fours. “A lady such as yourself should not have to work her delicate fingers to the bone without any respite.”
Poppy laughed at that. “Who has time for respite?”
She received a scolding look for that, so she held up a hand in apology as she continued to eat her food. Clearly, Alex was going to say whatever he liked, and she was supposed to sit here and let him go on in this ridiculous way.
So be it.
At least she had breakfast.
“So, I thought we would spend the day reminding you of what goodness can come from a relief of your duties and occupation,” Alex went on. “You’re not needed here today, not when Stanton and your hardy workers can take care of everything.” He offered her another mischievous grin. “When was the last time you had fun, Poppy? And don’t say the dance, that doesn’t count.”
She opened her mouth to object, but she caught herself at the question.
When had she?
It wasn’t that she did not enjoy her life, because at times, she truly did. She enjoyed the solitude and freedom, the satisfaction of hard work, and the independence of being her own woman without reference to anybody else. She had often gone out into the meadow and sighed with the fresh air, feeling content with her situation. The village had its moments of loveliness, when it didn’t plague her, though she had rarely taken the time to go in unless for necessities.
But fun?
No, she hadn’t had fun in ages. But how had he known that?
She glanced up at him, unaware that she had looked away, and saw him watching her with an understanding smile.
“I know you, Poppy Edgewood,” Alex said in a surprisingly gentle voice. “Once you have a cause or occupation, you devote yourself to it completely and almost never come up for breath.”
It was an astonishingly adept description, which both startled and pleased her, and startled her how much it pleased her, that Alex should know her so well.
“I suppose I don’t,” Poppy murmured, her breakfast almost entirely forgotten. She smiled helplessly and felt an odd tickling sensation in her stomach at the warmth in his eyes.
She’d not been so unsettled by it before, had she?
Surely not. But then, that had been practically a boy’s look, and nothing at all like that of the man he now was.
“Let me give you a day, Poppy,” Alex begged softly. “You deserve it.”
Oh, there went her heart in the face of his smile and sweetness, and it was all she could do to not crumple against her chair from the recurring effects.
“All right, then,” she whispered, giggling a little. “What do you have in mind?”
Alex chuckled and folded his arms more tightly. “You’ll see. Finish your breakfast, and we’ll get on with it.”
Poppy speared some egg and made a show of putting it in her mouth, making sure to moan with dramatic pleasure.
“Good girl.”
There was nothing in the world like the sound of Poppy’s laugh. Alex had heard it over and over in his head for four and a half years, but the reality of it was somehow above and beyond anything he recalled.
He’d had the chance to hear her laugh so much over the course of the day, each giggle seeming to surprise her, as though she hadn’t quite remembered how.
That alone would have convinced him to do more of this stealing her away from her duties and entertaining her, but the shadows that flittered across her features in her moments of solitude were what had done it for him.
So, he’d started with breakfast for her, and then he’d taken her out of the house. They’d gone into the village, in full disguise, and wandered the shops and markets, darting between them like the children of the village did. They found all of their old alleys from days gone by, talked the baker into giving his freshest loaf to them rather than put it out for others to purchase, and had a footrace down the only empty lane they could find, which Poppy easily won. Alex would vow until he died that he had let her do so, but the truth of the matter was that he could barely manage to keep pace with her, and he would not have won in any case.
After the exertion of the footrace, Alex had taken Poppy to the pond on the grounds of Whitesdown, and, after far too much persuasion, convinced her that they should go for a swim. She’d given her fair protestations of having nothing else to wear, which he’d countered by reminding her that they could see her cottage from the pond itself and she would only need to return there for a change.
Poppy had surprised him by jumping into the pond fully clothed, despite having no bathing dress, though her gown was dark enough to mimic one. He’d removed his cravat and jumped in after her. They splashed and swam around, playing childish games and racing, yet again, from one side of the pond to the other. Alex would have won had Poppy not leapt on his back and attempted to drown him. Never one to back down from a challenge, Alex had done the same, though not quite so dramatically.
When Poppy began to shiver, Alex turned his back while she ran back to the cottage, only sneaking a peek once or twice for good measure. When she was safely away, Alex got out and changed into the fresh clothing he had brought for himself, then ventured back to the cottage for the next bit of his surprise.
A picnic luncheon, prepared by the friendly and discreet Mrs. Brown, followed by a hayride, which Stanton was only too pleased to provide, and with a delightful commentary that had them all roaring with laughter.
Then there had been the in-depth tour of the library at Branbury, with Fritz attempting to impress them both with his wisdom and insight, of which he had none. Poppy seemed to enjoy the library very much, which Alex had suspected.
She had once had a decent enough library when living at Whitesdown, but at the cottage she did not. He’d only spotted a handful of books. While Poppy had never been a bluestocking, she had enjoyed books enough. And these days, she took no leisure time to do anything at all, let alone read.
In the library at Branbury, she’d read for a solid two hours, apart from the moments where she had laughed and then read the bits out loud to Alex for his enjoyment. True to expectation, he had enjoyed every one of them. More because it had amused Poppy than because it ought to have amused him, but the result was the same, so it made little difference.
Alex had his own book to read but had no interest in it.
Poppy’s face bore an exquisite variety of expressions when she read, and they captivated him beyond measure. Had he ever seen such a gentle, subtle shift from amusement to curiosity to anticipation in a face? Or ever noticed the many forms her smile could take? Her lips altered their shape with such fluid grace that it was impossible to look anywhere else. He could have memorized every single one of them, if he only knew how many existed.
He’d thought himself bound to Poppy before he’d been taken away, but what he felt for her now bordered on the extreme. A madness was overtaking him, a delirium of sorts that made him giddy with its shifts and sensations. He delighted in everything she did, and everything she was, and what pains he had felt in his life seemed but a distant memory when he was with her. He needed nothing in this world but her, and he would prove himself worthy in time.
Worthy of what, he couldn’t quite admit yet, but the thought remained.
A fine dinner at Branbury had rounded off their visit there, and now they wer
e walking back towards the cottage hand in hand, which seemed to be continuously sending sparks up his arm.
He didn’t mind that one bit.
Poppy sighed a deep, contented sigh that seemed to give him some relief, as well. “Thank you so much for making me do this today, Alex,” she said, squeezing his hand. “I had no idea how much I needed a day just like this.”
He smiled at her easily, loving the way her barely contained hair seemed as wild as they had been today, and it suited her so perfectly.
“It really was my pleasure, and you are very welcome. But you know… we’re not finished yet.”
She turned to look at him with such force they nearly stumbled, and he laughed at it.
“We’re not?”
Alex shook his head, grinning now.
“No, ma’am, we are not.”
Poppy moved in front of him, walking backwards to face him, shifting her hold on his hand to accommodate the new position.
“Tell me! What else is there?”
He shrugged and looked up at the darkening sky, a few stars beginning to make themselves known.
“Oh, one or two things. At this time of day, there really aren’t many options…”
“Alex!” Poppy demanded, squeezing his hand hard. “Tell me! Now!”
“Patience, my dear Miss Edgewood.” He chuckled and wagged a finger at her. “All will be revealed in time.”
She groaned, rolled her eyes, and resumed her place beside him.
“Fine,” she muttered reluctantly.
“We’re almost there, anyway,” he assured her, rubbing her hand with his thumb. “Promise.”
She gave him a harsh look. “We’re almost home, Alex.”
“Just wait.” He cocked his head a moment, then looked back at her. “Does your cottage have a name? An official one?”
“No, not that I’m aware of,” she replied, shaking her head. “We always called it ‘the Cottage,’ and not much has changed since then.”
He made a face. “Not particularly specific, that. It deserves a proper name.”
“Proper houses get proper names,” Poppy retorted, tossing that magnificent hair. “Crumbling cottages like this get names such as Lilac Cottage or Whitewash or Old Cottage.”
Alex grunted, smiling slightly at her suggestions. “Well, I don’t like any of those.”
“Not your house,” she reminded him.
“Still,” he said as they approached the spot he’d intended, where Stanton had seen to his other task admirably. “I think that… What have we here?”
Poppy stopped and looked just ahead of them, a faint gasp escaping. “No… You didn’t!”
“I did,” Alex claimed with a nod. “Well, technically, Stanton did, but it was my idea.”
“I don’t care who actually set out the blankets,” Poppy protested with a sharp shake of her head, releasing Alex’s hand to go sit on the two stacked blankets. “Only that they’re here!” She sat without any grace or delicacy and looked up at the sky, grinning brilliantly, her eyes shifting to Alex. “We’re looking at stars, aren’t we?”
That smile… There was a massive list of extraordinary things he would do for that smile, and a list of quite ordinary things he couldn’t seem to do because of it.
Like breathe. Or speak.
Or think.
But he could nod, and he did so twice, waiting for something else to happen.
Poppy saved him by squealing and leaning back on her elbows, her eyes back on the heavens. “I should have guessed that. It should have been obvious.”
“Not that obvious, I trust,” Alex finally replied, his voice deciding to recover itself. He dropped himself down to the blankets, matching Poppy’s pose. “I only knew how much you love the stars.”
She turned to smile at him, making his heart skip in his chest. “We loved the stars together. How many times did we sneak out to see them?”
He laughed and looked up at the sky, more stars appearing now.
“I lost count. All of our best talks happened under the stars, didn’t they?”
Poppy sighed beside him, her hand suddenly overlapping his. “Yes, they did.”
They both fell silent for a long moment, content with that slight contact while the night sky began its artistic display, the sounds of the wind in the grass and trees meeting their ears and adding a refreshing symphony of sounds.
Alex had looked at the stars as best as he could from the deck of the ship, when he was able, and once in a while he would find a constellation he recognized from home, but there was something about looking at the stars that brought him back from being Torchon. Something magical that steadied him on the worst days. Even when the layout of the sky was so different from his usual one that it disoriented him, he still felt secure in it.
At the time, he hadn’t identified it properly, but now he knew. The stars were Poppy, and Poppy was home.
This was home.
“I know I’ve put you out a great deal since coming here,” Alex murmured, keeping his attention on the skies, “but I am eternally grateful. And there was no place else I wanted to be but here.”
A soft stroking of his hand made him swallow, and he turned to look at Poppy, who was watching him now, her expression open. Somehow, the stars had managed to find their way into her eyes, and he couldn’t look away.
“Alex,” she whispered, smiling tenderly.
His free hand reached for her face, and her lashes fluttered at the contact, his fingers brushing her skin gently. They fit against her perfectly, just as they always had, but somehow it was more significant now.
After all this time, it was still perfect.
His body shuddered once as that truth sank into him, and before he could lose the heady sensation sweeping over him, he leaned in, his eyes closing.
“Poppy,” he breathed, his lips brushing very faintly against hers with her name.
She sighed, and somehow that sound and the touch of her lips shocked him, and he pulled back at once, resuming his position, attention directly on the skies and nowhere else. He knew Poppy was staring at him, but he refused to see her expression, afraid of disappointment, confusion, pain, or anything else to make him feel worse about retreating so frantically from so sweet a moment.
It had been perfect, and it was perfect, he still felt it. Perfect, but not right.
He wasn’t right, and until he was, they couldn’t be right.
But for now, they had the stars, and he would enjoy them with her while he could.
Chapter Fifteen
Poppy hadn’t felt this wistful in years, if ever, and there was nothing she could do about the smile on her face. She’d tried everything, and it was not going anywhere.
There would be no explaining that to Stanton when she saw him, but she didn’t mind so very much, which was also unusual.
She smiled to herself now as she mixed porridge, of all things, and wondering why she hadn’t heard Alex’s nightmares last night. She hadn’t thought that she’d slept particularly soundly, nor did she think Alex had enjoyed pleasant dreams, but perhaps they were lessening in their intensity. Or perhaps having such a lovely and perfect day had distracted him sufficiently from those thoughts.
She hoped that was the case.
Yesterday had been heaven on earth, and her soul felt rejuvenated from it. Today seemed brighter, her cottage cheerier, and her future… well, she hadn’t really thought much of her future, considering her circumstances, but she suddenly wanted to think of it. Possibly even make plans for it. What plans, she couldn’t have said, but surely, she could plan something.
Anything, really.
After last night, she wondered if Alex might yet be a part of them. She bit her lip on an embarrassed giggle, then laughed loudly as she realized she was nearly burning the porridge because of her absentminded musings. She quickly pulled it from the heat, stirring quickly. She blew on it, laughing still, waving her hand over the pot in a vain attempt to cool it, knowing it would be fruitless
.
“Oh, good. It’s been ages since we’ve had porridge well done,” Stanton commented dryly as he entered the cottage, his clothing already dampened from the work of the morning.
“It’s not that bad,” Poppy replied, scowling playfully as she continued to stir the pot. “A bit of honey will set it all to rights.”
He grunted at that. “You always say honey will set it to rights, and all it does is make a sweeter burned porridge.”
“Would you like some?” she asked as she pulled down a few bowls. “I know how you love a good porridge well done.”
Stanton coughed a laugh and shook his head, holding up a hand.
“No, I’ve eaten, as has Trace. We’re already hard at work, and don’t need our stomachs soiled for the remainder of the day.”
“Then how did you ever know to come in at just this precise time?” Poppy demanded, scooping out porridge for herself. She moved to the table and raised a brow at him. “If you didn’t know there was a fine meal to be had, what brought you in?”
“Smoke,” Stanton informed her brusquely. “I thought you might be in distress.”
Poppy burst out laughing as she sank into a chair.
“And you just walked in as though it were any usual morning stroll? No haste?”
He shrugged his broad shoulders and leaned against the door. “I figured you would be able to save yourself, for the most part.”
“Oh, Stanton,” Poppy laughed, putting a hand to her brow.
“Was I wrong?”
She smiled up at him cheekily. “No, you were not.” She took a bite of porridge, which was rather more burnt-tasting than she would have liked, but she wasn’t about to show that to Stanton. She swallowed and cleared her throat.
“What did you want, then? Tell me now, I’m off to market in a bit.”
“I’ve come to tell you not to go to market,” he replied, his lips curving in an ironic smile.
“Why?” Poppy asked around a mouthful of porridge.
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