Chapter 1
Several years later
Dearest Poppy,
Your mother wrote to me lately, and from her account, I gleaned that you are feeling a bit at odds in London. Not that she complained! She would never, and indeed has nothing but praise for your good spirit and your unfailing help with the family firm. She tells me that you have gained such knowledge about fabrics and the intricacies of the actual import business. Of course, I am not surprised in the least, as you were always a clever child.
You no doubt feel a strong sense of duty to the family, but if you should wish a change of scenery, know that you are very welcome to visit Pencliff Towers in Cornwall. We would be delighted to have you at any time, but the summer here is particularly lovely—which is not a thing I can say for summers in London!
With affection,
“Aunt” Candice Towers
Poppy St George folded the letter back up and replaced it in her reticule. She was no longer a child, but she was still clever. And she could easily read between the lines. It was no secret that Poppy had been feeling at odds lately. Hence this plot between her mother and a long-time friend to pull Poppy out of the city, and out of the doldrums she’d slipped into months ago.
A mewing sound broke her concentration. “Yes, Misty, I shall feed you presently.”
When Poppy agreed to come to Cornwall, she’d made a point that she would not go alone. Her cat would be coming along. Miss Mist, named for the soft grey of her coat, was not fond of the traveling basket she’d been placed in for the journey (scratching the interior constantly during her waking hours). But Poppy couldn’t stand to leave her behind, and anyway, if travel was healthy for young ladies, surely it was healthy for young cats as well.
“Perhaps you can decimate the Cornish rodent population this summer,” Poppy suggested, earning another meow. Miss Mist was a hunter at heart.
The carriage rolled to a halt on the road, which currently ran along the very edge of the headland. The coachman suggested that Poppy step out for a few minutes while he attended to a personal matter. Poppy appreciated the coachman’s tact and dutifully disembarked, walking to the cliffside to look out at the sea.
It was a striking sight. Standing on the windswept, rocky cliffs of Cornwall felt like standing at the edge of the world. The fog-grey waters of the sea stretched out to the horizon, and clouds scudded across the sky. A few fat drops of rain pelted her face. She could not imagine a setting further from the busy, built-up world of London. But it also felt terribly lonely here, and Poppy felt a little trill of fear. Was this what the rest of her life was destined to feel like?
“Miss!” called the coachman. “We’ll be going now.”
Poppy turned her back on the ocean and returned to the coach. She had been assaulted by the vehicle's seats for days now. Her backside was bruised, her dignity was abused, and she was still not to her destination.
“Come along, miss, before the rain soaks you clean through.” The coachman, not much more than a boy, helped her climb into the cab. The one good point was that she now—finally—had the coach to herself. The other passengers had disembarked one by one: at Exeter, at Lostwithel, at other smaller towns whose names had already left her. When the final passenger beside her had gone, Poppy seized the chance to stretch her limbs. But even so, she was ready to be done with the journey.
“How much longer, Mr. Kellow?” she asked the driver.
“Only two hours or so, miss, if the road remains good.”
This was a good road? she thought. Poppy thanked him, knowing he wasn’t responsible for the conditions. Only two more hours of grueling pain. How wonderful.
As the coach continued on its way, Poppy wondered for the hundredth time if she’d made the correct decision in accepting this invitation.
Poppy had known Mr. Towers and his wife since she was a little girl, since they were close to her mother and her birth father (long deceased). Once Mr. Towers retired from his work as a barrister, he moved far away from London. Poppy first thought the idea of Cornwall romantic. Now that she saw the rough hills, the grey waters, and the sparse population, she feared the reality would simply be dreary.
Since her cousin and dearest friend had married last year, Poppy was no longer required as her companion, a position she’d gladly held for years. And indeed, she understood that in some way Rosalind, who Poppy always regarded as the more innocent one, had now grown beyond her.
“To think I turned proposals down!” she told herself. True, she hadn’t wanted to marry any of her few suitors, and particularly not while Rose needed her as a companion. But still…no doubt she’d been presumptuous in assuming her future contained more proposals, especially considering her reduced social status after her mother remarried to a tradesman. Poppy was happy for her mother—her stepfather was a good man who aimed to provide everything his family needed. And Poppy herself had little patience for the complex hierarchy that sorted everyone into little boxes according to their birth names and bloodlines. However, it was an irrefutable fact that English society cared deeply about such things, and Poppy’s standing was now lower and less desirable than it had been when she was younger.
Rain now spattered over the glass window. In the faint reflection, she saw the damp air had made the few curls by her temples fall, so her blonde hair looked much darker and straighter than usual. So much for looking presentable! Poppy traced wet circles on the inside of the glass, unconsciously writing the letter C. Once she saw the image, she made it into a circle, and then wiped the whole thing out with an impatient gesture. The so-called gentleman belonging to that initial did not deserve a place in her thoughts. A pair of dark eyes momentarily haunted her memory—beautiful eyes that had seemed so sincere, but then proved to be quite the opposite.
Fortunately, being composed of fire more than water, Poppy wasn’t a morose person by nature. The clouds and rain blew off within an hour, and the return of the sun and the hints of blue sky restored her usual spirit. Thus she was eagerly watching for the appearance of Pencliff Towers.
The coach turned and passed through a gate onto an even narrower track. When the house finally came into view however, Poppy barely noticed it, despite its scale and grandeur. The horizon beyond was so arresting that mere architecture could not compete. The house perched on a bluff situated above a small, curving bay. Though on the channel side, the waters here seemed as deep and wild as the great ocean to the west must be. Cliffs appeared to enclose the waters below—though a thin line of sandy beach could be glimpsed at the edges of the bay. Poppy hoped there was some way down to the water.
The rock of the cliffs was a dark, streaked grey, with a few trees and shrubs clinging tenaciously to the surface here and there. The top of the bluff was given over to rough, long grasses. In foul weather, the view might be foreboding, but in sunlight it was stunning. Poppy was smiling by the time the coach stopped and the door opened.
“It’s beautiful!” she exclaimed. “I never expected it would be so pretty…the land, I mean, though the house is impressive.”
“Aye, Pencliff Towers is the grandest estate around,” said Kellow. “The only one around, to be honest.”
“Is it so isolated?” she asked in dismay.
