“Her conversation was perfectly civilized,” Poppy said tightly, feeling that Elisa’s manners far exceeded Ainsworth’s.
“She can barely put two words together.”
“Why put forth an effort to do so if they will fall upon deaf ears, sir? One might as well read poetry to a stone wall,” she snapped, entirely forgetting her earlier vow to act sweet and meek. Thankfully, the chime for dinner sounded just then. “Ah,” she said, relieved. “If you’ll excuse me, it seems supper will be served after all.”
Poppy’s arrival that day meant she had the status of honored guest for this evening, so she was escorted into the dining room by Mr. Towers, and seated to the right of him, and to the left of Mr. Hobbson. The following night, she would likely be seated much further down the table. (She resolutely ignored the fact that Carlos escorted Blanche into the room, and sat beside her.)
Both of the older gentlemen were delightful dinner partners, and happy to have a young lady to jokingly pay court to. In fact, thanks to them Poppy nearly forgot the unpleasant conversation of Mr. Ainsworth earlier.
After the meal, the gentlemen remained in the dining room to enjoy the customary brandy and cigars, while the ladies withdrew to sip sherry and gossip until the men rejoined them.
In the drawing room, Poppy was soon accosted by Mrs. Ainsworth. “What a fine color that dress is, Miss St George. So charming for your fair coloring.”
“It is kind of you to say,” Poppy replied. Perhaps Mrs. Ainsworth was not like her husband.
“You’d catch a gentleman’s eye in that,” the older lady went on. “If there were any gentlemen unspoken for in this house, that is.”
The implication was clear. Carlos and Blanche were an item. Irritation stirred inside her, but she said, “Oh, I’m not here to catch anyone’s eye. I wanted a break from the heat of the city. That is all.”
“Well, you look revived already, dear. Not so pinched as Miss Metcalfe. No wonder she cannot even garner a glance from any man.”
“I thought Miss Metcalfe looked quite lovely,” Poppy told Mrs Ainsworth. “I expect she has more suitors than she claims.”
“She has no suitors,” Mrs. Ainsworth said, in a conspiratorial tone. “And the reason should be obvious.”
“It is not obvious to me.” Elowen was darling, and as sweet as Poppy was tart. She knew that most men would leap at the chance to gain a wife of such a gentle disposition.
“The reason is her sister, of course.”
“Because she is the guardian of Miss Elisa? It’s not unusual to have a ward. As long as her suitor has a modest income, the support of one more family member…”
“Oh, don’t be naive,” Mrs. Ainsworth said impatiently. “She has no suitors because she comes from quite poor stock. And no intelligent gentleman would risk passing such an affliction on to his heirs.”
Poppy’s mouth dropped open. Before she could answer, she heard a stifled sound. Turning, she just noticed the hem of a pink skirt around the corner of the doorway. It was Elowen’s, proving she had most certainly overheard the remark.
Poppy glared at Mrs. Ainsworth. She’d have gone after Elowen, but she feared she would be intruding. Yet she could not stand there, not with such vile people. Then the gentlemen filed into the room, and she caught sight of Carlos…just as Blanche rose to her feet and went to him.
“Well, I think I need a breath of air,” said Poppy, rather more acidly than she meant to. “If you’ll excuse me?”
“Oh, but…” Carlos began to say, looking at Poppy as if he didn’t have a lady hanging on his arm.
Blanche broke in, “Certainly, Miss St George. You can go outside and pout as long as you like.” She said the words in such a gentle tone it took Poppy a moment to register the words.
“Pout?” she said. “Pout?” Incensed, Poppy strode to the French doors opening to the terrace, and moved through them before anyone could flag her down.
Outside, the sea breeze made the air much cooler than in the house. Clouds obscured the stars, and far over the water rain threatened. She pulled her wrap tight around her shoulders. “Ugh, such people,” she muttered to herself. How was it possible that the Towers could even be friends with the Ainsworths? And why did Carlos have to be here, with Blanche practically glued to his side? (He didn’t look at all upset to have the gorgeous woman fawning all over him, either.)
Poppy stormed across the lawn at a most unladylike pace, directly toward the stairway down to the shore. How frustrating! To have spent months…pining, actually pining, for a gentleman, only to find that he’d been romancing another woman. And despite her hideous parents, Blanche was far more of a lady than Poppy ever could be.
“I hope they have long, polite conversations forever!” she grumbled into the wind. “I hope she bores him to death.”
With no further thought to the wisdom of it, Poppy stormed toward the steps to the beach below, which lay in total darkness.
* * * *
Carlos stared after the figure in blue. He needed to speak to Poppy properly. He’d hoped to do so during dinner, but he’d got stuck escorting Blanche into the dining room and then had to sit by her while Poppy got to enjoy the banter of Towers and Hobbson. The trio seemed to be having the time of their lives, to judge by all the laughter. He reasoned he could talk to Poppy in the drawing room afterwards, since guests were expected to mingle. But the second she saw him enter, she decided to vanish again.
He had to find her. But first he had to extract himself from the silken snares of Blanche Ainsworth. She always spoke so quietly that he had to stand a lot closer to her than he preferred…close enough to smell the cloying rose scent she wore, and to see the stitching on her finely made gown. But if he was to get information from her father about the local smuggling operations, he’d have to play nice for a while longer.
