“No we don’t. At least, not for people we—”
Oh, dear. Drummond was heading their way. She took a deep breath and tried to compose herself. With her love for Sergei gone, what was standing in the way of her engagement to the duke anymore? She’d spent more time dwelling on his kisses than on the tenets of the Spinsters Club … rules that she’d clung to rotely for so long.
But they were good rules, she reminded herself. Especially the cardinal one: Don’t marry unless you love him and he loves you.
It seemed such a simple requirement. But it wasn’t, was it?
Her relationship with Drummond, she was coming to find out, was like a tangled bundle of yarn. She kept trying to unravel it, smooth out the knots, and understand what she had there, but …
It wasn’t so easy.
“Prince, Lady Poppy.” Already Poppy recognized that stubborn tilt to Drummond’s chin that meant he would brook no interference with his plans.
Sergei sighed. “I told you, Duke—”
“You can navigate the property yourself, I know,” Drummond said, “but I brought the lady a piece of bread to feed the gander.” And he handed Poppy the other half of his Bath bun.
“Thank you.” Poppy forged ahead with two men, each of whom was causing her loads of trouble in his own way, and found the gander by a copse of trees. She tossed him the Bath bun, and it landed on the grass near the dirt track he’d made from his constant, insatiable need to find his mate. With a squawk, he waddled quickly over and demolished it, spewing crumbs everywhere.
Sergei walked closer to the bird. He knelt, aimed an invisible rifle, and fired it. “Ka-pow!” He grinned back at Poppy and pointed a thumb at his chest. “I am master of this domain.”
She forced herself to smile. “I believe Lord Caldwell is, but I—I know what you mean. I think.”
“Stop talking to that pompous ass a moment and listen to me,” Drummond whispered to her.
“I have to talk to him,” she hissed back. “Groop’s orders. Besides, he’s from a ruling family, and he thinks he was born to conquer everything he sees.”
Drummond arched a brow. “Oh, is that what a royal does? Trods over everything he encounters and says it’s his? In my book, a good ruler craves knowledge about an unknown territory and shows a respectful appreciation for what he discovers.” He stared down her bodice. “I have a yen to explore—”
“Shush,” she whispered, but a slow heat spread through her veins at the look in his eye.
Sergei trudged back to them, his invisible gun forgotten, and the gander at his heels. The bird poked his beak at each of them, presumably for more Bath buns.
“Be gone, silly gander.” Sergei waved him off with a hand.
But the gander stayed right next to him, and as they walked back to the picnic area, the large, white bird didn’t leave Sergei’s side.
“Damn you, waterfowl!” Sergei shouted, stomped his feet, and clapped his hands, but the gander wouldn’t go.
“You make a noble pair,” Drummond said equably as they trudged on.
“What do you mean?” The prince looked suspiciously at the duke.
Poppy nudged Drummond with a sharp elbow. “He meant you appear quite distinguished,” she told Sergei, “with a great bird at your side.”
“He will be at my side no longer.” Sergei maneuvered behind Poppy in an obvious bid to foist the bird’s devoted attention upon her.
Surely a true gentleman wouldn’t do that, she had the unwelcome thought, and wondered why she hadn’t noticed Sergei’s childish side when she’d been fifteen. Then again, she’d been a mere child herself at fifteen.
“The gander can’t help himself,” she said to Sergei. “I think he’s in love with you. Perhaps he thinks you’re his wife.”
“He doesn’t love me,” the prince said, drawing in his chin. “He doesn’t think I’m his wife.”
“Well, if he does, it’s not your fault,” Poppy soothed him. “She’s been gone these two years. He’s been searching for her.”
“It’s a tragic story,” Drummond murmured.
Poppy cast him a dark look, which he ignored, the mischief maker. She could see the little boy’s gleam of amusement in his eyes every time he stirred up trouble, rather like Lord Caldwell did with Lady Caldwell.
Were all men this way?
Or just the ones who wanted a certain woman’s attention?
Could Drummond actually be jealous?
She couldn’t believe it. And it was easy enough to push the thought aside when they arrived back at the picnic. Sergei demanded the servants restrain the gander and then stalked off in a rage toward the house without addressing his hosts.
* * *
Nicholas watched in disbelief as the prince stormed off and the gander started a plaintive honk.
“My goodness,” Lady Caldwell said. “I do believe the bird does think the prince is his long-lost wife. He’s never acted so besotted about a person before.”
“I wonder what it is about Sergei that makes him so attractive?” asked Poppy. “His garments? His hair?”
“No, it’s because he is a goose, the silliest, most self-absorbed Russian prince I’ve ever met,” interjected Lord Caldwell.
“He’s the only Russian prince you’ve ever met,” said Lady Caldwell with a chuckle.
“Be that as it may,” Lord Caldwell said. “He’s still a goose.”
Nicholas couldn’t agree more. “We should escort Mr. Gander back to the pond,” he said. “Poppy? Shall you come?”
For the first time that morning, she gave him an uncomplicated smile. “Of course.”
“Too bad Boris is occupied,” said Lord Caldwell.
The little dog was being trailed by two footmen around the massive trunk of an oak tree near the house.
“Corgis excel at herding geese, you know,” Lord Caldwell pointed out. “But he has more important business to take care of, and woe to him if he either doesn’t perform properly or is overtaxed by the burden of responsibility placed on him. He could very well set off an international incident.”
“I do believe the gander has already done so,” Nicholas replied.
Lady Caldwell chuckled. “Who knew animals could play such pivotal roles in diplomatic affairs?” She handed several Bath buns to Poppy. “Here. Take these with you to coax the gander along.”
Long-ago memories of being a carefree boy came back to Nicholas when he twisted off pieces of Bath bun with Poppy and—together, laughing—they lured the gander back to his pond. Eventually, the bird waddled off between two trees, content to be back at his favorite place.
“I enjoyed meeting him.” Poppy’s mouth was serious as she looked up at Nicholas. “Thanks for cheering me up. When the prince left in such a rude huff, I could hardly believe I had ever held him in such high regard.”
Nicholas wanted to soak up every bit of impression he could about her—her tiny freckles, her ears, so small and trim. Her mouth, with the delicate cleft shaping her upper lip into a beautiful bow. Her hair, curling in tendrils on her forehead and tumbling in fiery color onto her shoulders.
“Don’t let it bother you,” he said, feeling rather guilty himself. He’d done nothing to make the obnoxious prince feel better. Once again, he’d let personal feelings intrude on his mission. He was jealous—horribly jealous—of the prince and his connection to Poppy.
“I suppose we could have done more to keep him happy,” he said. “But who knew he’d get so upset? We’ll have to work extra hard to get back into his good graces, which means…”
“What?”
“I’ll need you to coax him out of his bad humor.” It went against everything in him to say it. “It’s obvious he has little use for me.”
Poppy sighed. “You’re asking a lot, you know. The man is mad for Spinsters. He found out that I’m one.”
“Everyone knows you’re a maiden and not a married lady.”
“I might as well tell you. It’s the name of my secret club—the Sp
insters Club. We’re all Spinsters with a capital S. And now Sergei insists I become”—she looked down a moment, then looked back up, a faint tinge of pink on her cheeks—“his mistress.”
“Good God, is that what he was proposing back there?” The blackguard! Nicholas felt a sudden onslaught of deep, unadulterated possessiveness toward Poppy.
She nodded. “I didn’t want to tell you because we have to do our duty, remember? You were rather conveniently forgetting during the gander debacle. You were no help at all, as a matter of fact.”
Nicholas placed his hands on her shoulders. “I told you last night I forget about duty when you’re involved. Which is why we need to get you uninvolved. Go home, and be a good fiancée and let me finish this operation on my own.”
“No,” she insisted. “That’s not fair. I’m the one who found the message in the cane. If I hadn’t, you never would have known. And Groop would have given the operation to someone else. I told you at St. Paul’s—I intend to be involved. The same way you intend to keep me as your fiancée.”
She gave him a small, take-no-prisoners smile.
“Fine.” He sighed. “Then prove your mettle. Use that attraction Sergei has for you. Use your Spinster magnetism and hold a dinner party in his honor. That will assuage his pride.”
“Me?” Her brows flew up. “Throw a dinner party? I can’t do that. Papa wouldn’t allow it.”
“You said you wanted to stay involved. You say Spinsters are bold and can do anything.”
She bit her lip.
God, she looked enchanting when she was worked up and unsure of herself. Then again, she was just as tempting when she was quiet and confident.
Nicholas took her smooth, soft hand in his and pulled her forward, determined that they look like the lovers Lady Caldwell supposed them to be. “Don’t be like the gander, going round and round in circles, getting stuck in the same old routines and expectations. Keep your eyes open for Bath buns. For possibilities.”
“Perhaps I will,” she said stoutly.
“Let’s test this theory out right now. I’ve got a Bath bun of sorts for you.”
“You do?”
“Yes. Just take it. Promise?”
She nodded.
He grabbed her hand and hauled her behind a small shed and kissed her. She didn’t stop him, either. Instead, she tugged his face closer by threading her fingers in his hair and kissing him back.
All around them, the wind rattled an uneven rhythm through the leaves—nature’s song.
His need for her was crazy. Demanding. And highly illogical. There were thousands of girls in London. But the one who’d stumbled into working for the Service, who used to believe she loved a Russian prince, who gave Nicholas every reason to run in the opposite direction—this Spinster—was the girl he wanted to laugh with, to argue with.
To make his own.
CHAPTER 21
Two days had passed since Poppy’s eventful visit to the Caldwells. Mrs. Travers had left their estate wreathed in smiles, her pendant recovered. Natasha had happily returned to London, where she had no one else hovering over Boris but herself. And even Prince Sergei had gone back to Town with a modicum of his pride restored, probably because all the London papers wrote articles wondering where he’d gone off to for a few days.
Drummond had unceremoniously dropped Poppy off at her house and told her he’d some work to catch up on for Groop.
So much for our kisses, she’d thought at the time. But she hadn’t forgotten what he’d said about Bath buns.
About possibilities.
And about ruts.
The morning sun was casting bright bands of yellow into the drawing room at 17 Clifford Street when Lord Derby walked in and held up a thick, cream-colored card.
“Daughter,” he asked in suspicious tones, “what’s this?”
Poppy had been waiting for this moment with a mixture of dread and anticipation. She put down her ongoing needlepoint of the Winter Palace—she’d just pulled out one whole section of thread that she’d done in the wrong color—and took the card.
“It’s an invitation to come to dinner tomorrow night, Papa.” She hoped he wouldn’t make up an excuse not to be there. “I’ve decided to invite the Russian prince and princess—as well as the Count and Countess Lieven.”
She’d had the thought that if the Lievens enjoyed the dinner party, they might very well reciprocate and invite her family to their home for an intimate social occasion. Drummond would come along and perhaps they’d catch a glimpse of the Pink Lady portrait before the ball.
“I can read,” her father said tersely. “I also see you’re sending a similar invitation to Drummond as well as several other acquaintances of mine.”
Aunt Charlotte put aside her embroidery. “Perfectly acceptable mix, I believe.”
Papa glowered at her. “I’m aware of that, Charlotte. But why a dinner party?”
“Why wouldn’t we have a small dinner party?” his older sister asked him.
“Because—” He pressed his lips together.
Poppy stood. “We haven’t had one in a great while, Papa. Not since before … before Mama died. I felt it was time.”
He stared at her, no doubt attempting to intimidate her with his scowl, but she vowed to ignore it.
“Time to do something new,” she added a bit weakly. But there, she’d said it. “I do hope you’ll be here.”
“You should have asked me first.”
She knew that. But she also knew if she had, he would have said no.
“Don’t allow Cook to make anything I don’t like,” he said.
Poppy smiled. “I’ll do my best.”
And then he strode out the front door.
The rest of the morning, she planned the menu with Cook and consulted with the housekeeper until she felt her party was sure to run smoothly and that her guests would be pleased with the fare offered them.
She was discussing seating arrangements with Aunt Charlotte at their noon meal when Kettle came into the dining room with a note.
Aunt Charlotte looked up from reading it. “Princess Natasha has accepted our invitation on one condition. She begs us to patronize a new seamstress on Oxford Street, one of her former lady’s maids. It seems she has ready-made gowns the princess believes will be perfect for the dinner party. She’d be delighted if we would seek her out as this woman is not only talented but dear to her heart.”
“Why, that’s so thoughtful of Natasha! I’m pleasantly surprised to see her thinking of someone other than herself and her dogs.” Poppy chuckled. “She does make an excellent suggestion: new gowns for the party. The ready-made ones will do nicely since we don’t have time to have any made.”
“Very good suggestion.” Aunt Charlotte nodded, well pleased. “I’m glad Drummond has had an invigorating influence on you.”
“Has he?” Poppy put her spoon down, rather surprised.
“I believe he has.” Aunt Charlotte looked at her assessingly.
Poppy felt herself blush. “I think I’ll excuse myself now.” She felt suddenly awkward—and no wonder. She’d much to do. Discussing the duke with Aunt Charlotte wasn’t a good use of the time she had left before the party, was it? Particularly as she found that subject rather confusing.
Now was the time to focus on details, plans … dresses.
An hour later, the seamstress smiled broadly at Poppy’s reflection in the full-length looking glass at her shop. “The color matches your eyes and complements your hair,” she said with genuine admiration in her voice.
Poppy was a betrothed woman now, the seamstress had reminded her, so she should venture beyond pastels. As a consequence, she’d selected a deep emerald-green satin sheath with shimmering emerald-green beads sewn to the skirt and to the tight, three-quarter-length, sheer lace sleeves.
“And the bodice.” Aunt Charlotte stood back to admire her in it. “It sets off your charms to perfection. I like seeing you this way, my dear.”
Poppy smiled
. It was her first time wearing this magnificent glowing green color, and she loved it. The fit of the gown was superb, the bodice perfectly hugging her breasts, the skirt falling in sleek lines. She felt like a princess, a very grown-up princess. It was ironic that she should be grateful to Natasha for bringing her and this fabulous garment together, but she was. She couldn’t wait to tell the princess so at the party.
And another part of her couldn’t help thinking about Drummond. She shouldn’t care what he thought. She shouldn’t care at all. But part of her, no matter how hard she tried to ignore it, couldn’t wait to see his reaction when he saw her wearing this gown. She found herself breathless imagining him eyeing her from head to toe, his gaze finally lingering on her bodice.
She looked down and bit her lip. It was a daring neckline. But perfect.
The party couldn’t come soon enough.
Meanwhile, Aunt Charlotte found a charming dull gold gown. Even though it was nothing like the style she preferred to wear, which was well outdated with panniers and pinched waists, she was happy to carry it home.
“I shan’t even wear my wig,” she said to Poppy. “In honor of our guests.”
The next evening, Poppy donned her gown with high hopes and descended the stairs, her hair perfectly coiffed and her mother’s pearl earrings dangling from her ears. She felt beautiful and elegant, ready for her first attempt at being a hostess.
The china on the dining room table sparkled. The extra candles were lit in a candelabra depicting a famous Russian battle scene, and the fresh flowers gifted everyone with their heady fragrance. From the kitchen, delicious smells wafted through the house whenever a servant opened a door to bring in another serving dish or bottle of wine.
The first guests to arrive were Eleanor and Beatrice. Poppy sat with them to enjoy a comfortable coze.
Eleanor wore an exquisite pale blue satin gown with a wide ivory satin sash banded beneath her breasts. Her hair shimmered with little crystal butterflies pinned to her curls. “Your engagement is the talk of London,” she told Poppy.
Beatrice was stunning in her white Grecian sheath with gold trim and Grecian braid. “And you’re rather a reigning queen.”
Dukes to the Left of Me, Princes to the Right Page 14