by Meara Platt
Nathaniel waited for the door to close before turning to Poppy. “Thought we’d never be rid of him.”
“He was only being polite, Nathaniel. Why were you so rude to him?”
“I wasn’t rude. He understood my meaning.”
She settled into a chair beside a pile of musty ledgers. “And what was your meaning other than being rude?”
He settled beside her. “I was warning him to keep his hands off you. He may be a man of the church, but his thoughts about you are anything but saintly.”
“He was only being polite.” She opened the newest ledger and began to peruse it.
“He was lusting after you. Wasn’t it obvious?” He took out the two letters. “Let’s see if he’s the bounder who sent you this love letter. Then we’ll get down to the nastier business concerning Lavinia.”
They could have looked at any of the entries, but Poppy turned the pages to Walter Fitch’s baptismal record first. “Well, the vicar isn’t my secret admirer. That’s for certain. The handwriting isn’t even close. But look, Dr. Carmichael wasn’t joking. Walter’s full name is Walter Poppy Fitch.” She turned to Nathaniel with a starry smile and a look of innocent wonder. “They really did name him after me.”
“Are you surprised? You probably saved Mrs. Fitch’s life.”
She shook her head. “Hardly that. She’s a sturdy woman. I had little to do other than hold her hand and calm her down.”
Nathaniel caressed her cheek. “The touch of Poppy,” he murmured. “Never underestimate its gentle power.”
She blushed. “Anyone could have helped her.”
“But only you did.” Nathaniel knew she didn’t take compliments easily, and that made him all the more determined to give her as many as she deserved. Indeed, he needed to make up for all the years he’d ignored her.
Gad, he’d been such a fool.
“Let’s start back about thirty years and search forward from there,” he said. “Hopefully, something useful will leap out at us.”
It didn’t take long before Poppy inhaled lightly. “Look, Nathaniel.”
He moved closer. “What did you find?”
“I didn’t know Miss Billings was born in Wellesford. I thought she’d only moved here a few years ago.”
She was referring to the bookshop owner, Felicity Billings. Nathaniel knew his sister liked her and that was saying something, for Penelope took time to warm up to people. Yet, she’d felt comfortable with Miss Billings from their very first encounter. “That’s interesting. Let’s look closer. Hell.”
“What is it? You have such an odd look on your face.”
“My grandfather signed as a witness.”
Poppy’s eyes widened in surprise. “You don’t think…”
“What other explanation can there be? Why would my grandfather be at her baptism otherwise? Serving as witness?”
Poppy pursed her lips in thought. “It’s so odd. I don’t see any resemblance between Lavinia and Miss Billings.”
Nathaniel didn’t either, but that signified little. “She might take after the father’s side of the family.”
“I suppose.” Poppy began to nibble her lip, the gesture momentarily distracting Nathaniel as he thought of the pleasure he’d have in tasting her lips again.
Bollocks.
He shifted uncomfortably, suddenly aware of the intimacy of their surroundings. The vicarage library was a tiny room filled with old books. The table was small, and they’d had to draw their chairs quite close to each other in order to both fit.
Sunlight filtered in through one small window. Dust motes were dancing amid the lone ray of light. The room smelled dank and musty after the recent rain. But Poppy’s scent, that touch of lavender, gave the room a feel of heaven. “We ought to pay a call on her next.”
He rose, for another moment beside Poppy and she’d be on his lap, and he’d be kissing her. And doing whatever else his depraved mind wished him to do to the girl.
“Do you mean for us to leave now?” She gazed up at him, confused. “But we’ve just started. Perhaps your grandfather, or even your father, signed as witness elsewhere. Shouldn’t we satisfy that possibility before taking off to accuse poor Miss Billings?”
“Poor Miss Billings?” He frowned at Poppy, not that any of this mess or the turmoil he was feeling at the moment was her fault. “She might be the one attempting to extort payment from her own mother.”
Poppy pursed her lips. “That is the act of an angry, bitter person. Miss Billings does not strike me as possessing any of those sentiments. She’s very nice and always cheerful.”
Nathaniel folded his arms over his chest. “And all the while, she could be plotting her revenge.”
“Sit down, Nathaniel. Why don’t you take me to town after we’ve finished perusing these records? You can buy me a lemonade and then we’ll pay a call on Miss Billings.” She cast him one of her rare, impish smiles. “She has some naughty books that Penelope, Olivia, and I are eager to read.”
He groaned. “Naughty books?”
He ought to have been angry, but Poppy never misbehaved except for that one time she’d taken his clothes from the bank of the pond. She’d been casting him impish smirks more often lately, and he liked that she seemed to be coming into her own, no longer feeling she had to be perfect and dutiful.
He was glad she was ready to step into the world and experience some of it, but he didn’t want her to experience too much of it. She was still innocent and not to be trusted on her own.
That he was the biggest danger to her respectability was of no moment. He’d always do right by Poppy. He had to keep reminding himself of it. If ever they… if ever he… but he wouldn’t. And if he did, he’d marry her.
Lord! He’d used the ‘M’ word. The ‘M’ signifying peril to all bachelors. Danger. Warning. Sailing into uncharted seas.
“Well, Olivia is going to purchase these books since she’s now a married lady and knows about such things. We won’t get to read them unless she decides it is safe for us to do so.”
He rolled his eyes. “Olivia? An eighteen-year-old girl who has been married merely a week?”
“She is wise beyond her years.”
Nathaniel gave a laughing groan and sank back into the chair beside her. “Very well. Let’s go through the rest of these entries and see what else turns up.”
They scanned the pages through a period of five years and then broadened the search to ten years. Miss Billings remained their best and only lead. They’d also compared Poppy’s love letter to every signature and found nothing helpful.
Finally, Poppy arched her back and sighed. “I really thought we’d find something of interest, but there’s nothing else here.”
He took her hand and helped her to her feet. “I owe you a lemonade. We’ll talk about what we’ve found once we are out of earshot.”
They bid Vicar Carstairs farewell.
Nathaniel remained silent as Carstairs spent too long over Poppy’s outstretched hand. Lord, he was a fawning dolt. Otherwise, he liked the man.
Would he be as much of a fool when he fell in love?
It wasn’t far to the center of town, but Poppy began to use her five senses again as they approached the magistrate’s house. She closed her eyes and twirled in a slow circle. “Just feel this beautiful day, Nathaniel.”
“Stop dancing about, Poppy. Aren’t you thirsty?” He knew he was being surly, but he was not going to explore his feelings just now. He already knew what he was feeling. Anger for the revenge Miss Billings was plotting. Inexplicable lust for Poppy.
Indeed, inexplicable since she had yet to try a single test on him.
And that irritated him to no end.
“I can feel the warmth of the sun as it touches my skin.”
“Walk in the shade, Poppy. I don’t want your skin to burn.” Unless it burns in response to my touch.
And those errant thoughts were exactly why he had to stop feeling.
That damn book.
“Poppy, you are as subtle as a battle axe. I will not be manipulated by you or The Book of Love.” But he caught her hand and tucked it in the crook of his arm. “Those cinnamon buns smell awfully good. Let’s stop there first. We can eat them while you have your lemonade.”
“I’d rather have a slice of lemon seed cake. Cinnamon buns and lemonade don’t go together very well.”
“As you wish.” But afterward, they were going to have a serious discussion with Miss Billings.
Was she Lavinia’s blackmailer?
Chapter Ten
“Nathaniel, I think you ought to wait outside while I go in and have a chat with Miss Billings. She’ll speak more freely to me while we are alone. Does that plan suit you?”
“Yes.” He gave a curt nod. “I intimidate most people. You have a way of making them feel comfortable enough to spill their guts to you.”
“Oh, that sounds jolly,” she teased.
“Well, you have a gentle manner about you. Anyone would let down their guard and reveal their innermost secrets to you. I certainly did,” he muttered, still kicking himself for his lapse in showing her the blackmail letter.
“I won’t be long.” Poppy took a deep breath and then entered the bookshop. “Good day, Miss Billings.”
The chestnut-haired woman with cheerful green eyes came forward to greet her with a smile. “Good day, Miss Farthingale. I’m so glad you stopped by. I just received a shipment of books you and your friends might like. May I show them to you?”
“Of course.” Poppy returned her smile and followed her past the rows of shelves into a small room closed off from the shop by a simple green curtain. The room was stacked with boxes, most of them empty. But there were a few that still contained books.
“These came from London only this morning,” Miss Billings said in a whisper, as though sharing a secret.
Poppy intended to draw more secrets out of her. “Do tell.” She leaned in conspiratorially.
“Well, I believe there is nothing offensive about them. But some men might take issue with my beliefs. Although they are very different stories, at heart, they are each about women rising above their dire circumstances and doing something to change their lives for the better.”
“Interesting. Just how do they better their circumstances? By underhanded means?”
Miss Billings took on a faraway expression as she pondered the question. “No, although others might not agree. How is it underhanded when one is pushed to the brink and must do something drastic to save themselves or those they love?”
“Do they hurt others while saving themselves? Then I would have to conclude such means are underhanded.”
“Perhaps.” She cast Poppy a wistful look. “Not everyone is fortunate to have a loving family or good friends to turn to when in need of rescue. Many people are quite alone in the world. I believe these stories speak to them.”
Poppy gave the woman’s hand a light squeeze. “Oh, dear. Miss Billings, how thoughtless of me. I never asked about your family or your circumstances growing up. Let’s have a cup of tea and talk. You have friends here in Wellesford. You mustn’t ever feel you are on your own. And please, call me Poppy. Friends needn’t be formal with each other.”
She appeared ready to refuse, but quickly relented and cast her another smile. “Please call me Felicity. It feels rather nice to have a friend. I had a few at the orphanage, of course. But we all went our separate ways.”
“I’m so sorry, Felicity. Is that where you grew up? At an orphanage? Was it near Wellesford?” Poppy followed her into another room just behind the display shelves. It turned out to be a small kitchen.
“Yes, the place is only a few towns away from here. The Birdsong Home for Orphaned Girls. I visit there every once in a while, although not as often as I would like. I was not unhappy there. In truth, I was well cared for. But I never knew who my parents were,” she said, suddenly blushing and obviously worried that Poppy would think the lesser of her for it. “I would have liked to learn about them. One feels adrift when one doesn’t know who they belong to.”
She turned away and put the kettle on to boil, then began to fuss unnecessarily while setting out teacups on her table.
Poppy realized the woman was flustered. “Did you ever ask the headmistress at the orphanage about your parents? Surely she would have some idea of your family connections. Someone had to have brought you there and made provisions for your care.”
“Oh, I’m sure the headmistress knows. But she won’t tell me.” She gave a bitter laugh and motioned toward the shop. “My parents were people of means, I think. They left me a trust fund. Not a large one, but enough for me to purchase this shop and still have enough left over to support me, so long as I live modestly.”
Poppy’s heart went out to her, for her own family was big and loving. She could not imagine being alone in the world. “I have a sister. Her name is Violet. And lots of cousins. We’re all named after flowers. My Uncle John and Aunt Sophie have five daughters. Lily, Daffodil, Daisy, Laurel, and Rose. My Uncle George has a son called William.” She grinned. “We called him Sweet William when he was younger because we wanted him to be a flower, too.”
Felicity laughed. “That sounds wonderful.”
“We Farthingales meddle in each other’s business. Always with the best of intentions, of course. We’d never do anything to hurt each other.”
The kettle began to whistle, and Felicity quickly crossed the room to remove it from the heat and pour the steaming water into their cups. “The holidays must have been lovely for you.”
Poppy nodded. “They were. We children played with each other for hours on end and often slept four in a bed because we couldn’t bear to be parted even at bedtime.”
“That’s what I miss most.” She wiped a tear and laughed. “I was given a good education and never lacked for food. I was well clothed and well-tended. I was given kindness, but never shown love. That is what I wished for most when I was young. I dreamed of having that sort of love with my family. I dreamed of belonging. But it was not meant to be.”
“You mustn’t give up on any of it,” Poppy said after hurriedly swallowing a sip of her tea. “What if Lord Welles and I were to take you back to the Birdsong Orphanage and demand to see your records? He’s a powerful earl. They won’t refuse him.”
Felicity looked surprised, but not fearful. “Do you think he would? How can I ask him? Why would he care to help me out?”
“Wellesford is his town. He is protective of its citizens. You are not beneath his notice. He isn’t pompous like that. In truth, he’s quite splendid.” Poppy clamped her mouth shut, determined to say no more. In another moment, she’d be confessing how ardently she admired him.
She supposed her face gave it all away, for she hadn’t yet learned to hide her feelings.
“You’re in love with him,” Felicity said quietly. “I don’t blame you. He’s quite a handsome man. I expect most of the women in this village feel the same as you do, but you’re the only one he would ever seriously consider.”
Poppy sighed. “He’s invited Lady Charlotte Winthrow and her father to join us for the weekend.”
“Oh, I see. The duke and his daughter. I hear she’s quite beautiful. I’m so sorry, Poppy. Truly, I am.”
“Charlotte hasn’t won him yet. I’m going to fight for him.” She glanced up, startled at herself for deciding to take action. But this was her heart at stake. If she didn’t fight for her happiness now, when would she ever?
Felicity gave a little cheer. “Hurrah! I shall pray very hard for your success.”
“Thank you. And I shall speak to Lord Welles about your orphanage. Can you close your shop for the day? We could go there tomorrow.”
“Oh, d
ear. It isn’t possible. I’ve started a reading club and we meet tomorrow at midday. I’ll never be through in time. And I hate to cancel it when we’ve just started meeting. It’s new, and I’m afraid it will all fall apart if I’m not here to keep it going.” She sighed. “I’ve waited this long to find out who I am. I can wait a few more days.”
Poppy finished her tea and rose. “Then we’ll plan it for another day. I won’t forget, and I promise you, I’ll speak to Lord Welles about your situation.” After choosing a rather saucy book about a spinster’s adventures in Italy with a mysterious count who awakened her to the joys of womanhood, she left to find Nathaniel.
She found him seated alone in a quiet corner of the Golden Hart, a pint of ale before him. He rose eagerly the moment she entered the establishment. “How did it go?”
He glanced down at her book, noted the title, and groaned. “Lady Cordelia’s Tuscan Adventure? Just what sort of adventure does she have?”
“A love adventure, of course. She’s an innocent English rose that the count has plucked from his garden. You see, she’s on a tour of his majestic home and he sees her standing in his garden amid a bed of roses. Ergo, he plucks her out of–”
“Is that what they call the act of ruining a young lady?”
“She isn’t ruined. It’s romantic.”
“Being plucked is not romantic. Does he marry her after he ruins her?”
She frowned at him. “I don’t know. I haven’t read it yet. I’ll let you know the outcome once I finish it.”
He shook his head and settled beside her when she took her chair. But he leaned close and was frowning back at her. Goodness, he has the most gorgeous eyes. “I don’t care about Lady Cordelia’s misadventures,” he said. “Obviously, we are talking about you. Couldn’t you have chosen something more suitable to read?”
“Something boring, you mean? No. It’s only a book, Nathaniel. I am not about to let myself be plucked by just any man.”
“Lord help me,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “Banish that word from your vocabulary. What of Miss Billings? Did you find out anything useful about her background?”