Chapter Text
“Oh, Poppy dear. Don’t look so dour,” Mirabelle admonished from her seat on the floral chaise.
“Yes, my sweet Poppy, there’s no need to sulk. You knew this was coming. It comes for all of us eventually.” Poppy scoffed, her gaze shifting from her spot on the library’s window seat.
“I know you jest, comparing this horrible circumstance to death. But I would welcome death with open arms than be subject to this.” Mirabelle and Danae giggled on the couch as Poppy turned to press he back against the bookcase and peer back out over the orchard.
“Poppy. Marriage is a blessed occasion! We should all be so lucky to receive a proposal of marriage in our position.”
“But to Lord Julri? He is cruel and humorless and has horrible lecherous grabby hands.”
“That may be but you may not have a choice soon,” said Danae.
“Yes, we may all have to find a new home once our long lost cousin arrives.” Mirabelle said, causing Poppy to whip around fiercely.
“That’s another thing entirely! Why must we forfeit our home to this distant cousin of ours simply because we do not have that stupid organ dangling between our legs?! It is outrageous. It is unfair and I do not stand for it.”
“This is just how things are, Poppy. Your Lord father, God rest his soul, did not leave a male heir. We can hope that our cousin allows us to stay here, but it will be up to him.”
“What have you heard of this man, the Marquess of Narin” asked Poppy as she paced the edges of the room. “What is he like?”
“I heard he’s fabulously wealthy and looks as such. He gets his clothes from Paris! And his hair is as fair as cornsilk. Oh, hopefully he hosts a ball here. The townspeople would love it!”
“Yes! I’ve heard speak of his parties. So elegant and decadent with endless champagne and dancing until the sun rises.”
“How can you two think of drink and dancing when we may be forced out of our manor. My father’s manor!” Poppy exclaimed, her throat thick with an impending sob and her knuckles white from wringing the daylights out of the edge of her shawl.
“What on earth is all of this caterwauling, girls?” Granny called from the doorway, carefully walking to the large velvet couch and plopping down beside Danae.
“Poppy is particularly offended by our cousin’s impending arrival.” Danae whispered.
“Offended does not even begin to express how I feel.”
“Oh, Poppylan, please do see some reason. This is the way things are and the way things have been done.”
“But, Grandmother! Why? I should be my fathers heir. I know the land like the back of my hand. I know every brick and beam and floorboard of this house. How is it fair that this stranger gets to take over as lord of this manor when he’s never even been here?”
“Well,” Granny said, peering from behind crescent shaped glasses at her fiercely independent granddaughter. “Sometimes life is not fair and we must grin and bear it. So, when your cousin Quinceton arrives tomorrow, you will put on a polite smile and be the best hostess Wilkes Manor has ever seen. Am I quite clear?” Poppy fiddled with the fringe on her shawl, staring at the damask rug in frustration.
“Yes, grandmother.” Poppy hesitantly agreed. “But what of the proposal from the Baron’s son? Lord Julri?”
“I have neither accepted nor denied the proposal of marriage from the Baron’s son. I have heard your opinion on the matter but I would like to remind you that it would put you in a good position should Cousin Quinceton wish to remove us from the estate. A husband with land and coin would give you a comfortable life and a lovely home.”
“But I do not like him and I cannot stand to be around him. Shouldn’t I at least enjoy the presence of my own husband?”
“Would if it were so simple, Poppylan. I appreciate your zest for romance, but sometimes you must put common sense at the forefront.” Poppy stared out the large leaded glass window, the sun beginning to set beyond the trees.
“I’m going to take a walk around the grounds. I will be back before it is dark.” She said, grabbing her book from the window seat and walking towards the door. As soon as they heard the front door latch behind her, Mirabelle and Danae giggled softly.
“Doesn’t she have her knickers in a twist.” Mirabelle said.
“Wouldn’t you? Haven’t you heard the rumors about Lord Julri and his mother’s maid?”
“Oh my, yes! Erdene’s driver told Midge and she told me all about it. Apparently, they were caught in the stables by-“
“Girls! If prayer flew as quickly as gossip, all the saints in heaven could not keep up with it. Now that’s quite enough.”
“Yes, Gran,” the girls said shamefully in unison.
•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•
Poppy sat beneath her favorite tree, the orange light of sunset glistening off the pond beyond the orchard. She had tried reading but the tensions gripping her nerves could not allow her to get past the first sentence on the page. Her father’s death had not been sudden but it felt so nonetheless. They had spent many a quiet evening beneath that very tree, his body weak but mind sharp as he explained to her life’s mysteries and told her jokes and prepared her for a life that wouldn’t have him in it. Her father was fairly progressive, much to the chagrin of his peers, and raising a strong independent and self-sufficient daughter had been important to him. Poppy knew, despite the mild scolding for optic’s sake, that he was always proud each time she stood up for herself.
“Poppy, your tongue is sharper than any blade forged by man. Be careful how you wield it,” he’d warn in jest. He was her best friend and she only hoped her future husband, whoever he may be, would be able to fill that aching empty spot in her life.
•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•
“How much further we got?”
“Not much further, I promise, brother. Be patient and enjoy this lovely idyllic roll through the countryside.” Quincey said, leaning to stare out the window at the vast rolling fields of green.
“We’ve been traveling for three days. Been nothin’ but countryside for all three. Why did ya drag me along on this trip anyhow?”
“Because, brother, you need a change of scenery. For the past few years, your only views have been the battlefield or the four walls of your chamber at the estate. I’ve hosted dozens of balls since you’ve been back and you haven’t attended a single one.”
“Don’t like parties,” Tora grumbled. “Havin’ to fend off all of those ladies hungry for a man with a title is tiresome. All the lords pedalin’ their daughters like common whores. Otherwise it’s the men askin’ about the grizzly details of war, so consumed with the stories of blood and viscera but don’t have the stomach to actually fight. ‘s all pathetic if ya ask me.”
“Well nobody did ask you,” Quincey said, leaning back in his seat. “Besides, it will be fun to meet these new country cousins. Lady Wilkes has told me the girls are very excited to have guests at the manor. But the hamlet is quiet so you should be able to have some peace.”
“Why must we go at all? Ya aren’t going to be movin’ into Wilkes Manor so why bother?”
“As heir, no matter how distant, I have become master of the estate and it is my duty to make sure everything is up to snuff, that the people of the lands pay their taxes and are generally happy. I intend to allow the girls to live in the manor for as long as they would like or until they find suitable marriages. From what Lady Wilkes has written, all three have appropriate suitors but apparently one of them has a personality that screams ‘future spinster’.”
“And what does that mean?” Tora asked, eyebrow raised.
“Well, two of them were described as ‘sweet lovely girls with delicate and charming dispositions.’ The youngest Wilkes was described as ‘a stubborn willful lass with a sharp wit and even sharper tongue.’”
“Sounds feisty,” Tora remarked, his lips twisting up into a slight smirk.
“Yes, she sounds like just the kind of girl you would like though I doubt she’d be charmed by your dark and moody constitution. I’ve half a mind to leave you there and have you haunt those halls rather than my own.
“Fine by me.” Tora huffed, watching the horizon as Wilkes Manor appeared beyond the verdant hills.
•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•
“Stand up straight, girls. You are ladies, elegant and poised and ready to make a good impression.” Granny said, assessing Mirabelle and Danae as they stood at the edge of the carriage path in front of the manor. “Where on earth is Poppy?!”
The sound of little footsteps crunching against the gravel clumsily yet quickly caught their attention and a disheveled Poppy appeared as though Gran’s word summoned her forth.
“I’m here! I’m here! I’m not too late, I hope.” She said falling in line with her cousins. Gran’s face fell as she took in her granddaughter’s appearance. Mud on her hem and leaves in her hair and grass stains on the elbows of her gown.
“Really, Poppylan?! You look like you crawled out of a foxhole.” Mirabelle whispered harshly.
“Lord Quinceton will think we adopted a little swamp witch.” Danae giggled.
“It’s just a little dirt,” Poppy mumbled, trying to shake off the caked mud from her dress.
“It’s no use now,” Granny said, tapping Poppy’s leg with her cane. “The carriage is approaching.”
The glossy black and gold carriage crested the hill, the pounding of horse hooves upon the gravel mirroring the sound of Poppy’s own heartbeat in her ears. It stopped in front of them and the footman descended from his perch to open the cab door.
“The Marquess of Narin, son of Duke of Narin, Quinceton Balthuman.”
“Thank you very much, Damien.” Quinceton said as he stepped down onto gravel.
Sophisticated and fashionable. Those were the words that immediately popped into her head as her distant cousin Quinceton and only possible remaining male heir climbed out of the carriage. His tailcoat was the same brilliant icy blue of his eyes, a matching bejeweled cravat pin glistening amongst the stark white of his shirt and waistcoat. Dark fitted pants were tucked into the most supple pair of leather boots. He was as fair as the girls had suggested, his blonde locks combed back though a soft wave fell across his forehead. He stood before them with a genial smile.
“Sweet cousins, how wonderful it is to meet you all,” he said bowing deeply and dramatically. “And very lovely to see you, my beautiful aunt.” Quinceton walked over to the old lady, taking her extended hand and placing his lips upon the top of it. Poppy heard rustling and the sound of another person exiting the carriage. She looked away from where Quinceton was gabbing with Gran to see the unexpected guest climb out into the light.
He may have been the tallest man she had ever seen, his broad shoulders straining the seams of his black tailcoat. His thick black hair was pulled away from his face in a loose braid, wisps framing his chiseled face. It was the color of his eyes that she found so striking. They were a rich shade of honeyed amber, glowing from behind heavy dark brows and thick lashes. In every way that Quinceton was light, he was dark; his hair like spilled ink against his white shirt and his skin bronzed.
Poppy suddenly felt too visible, her face flaming at the mud on her dress and the grass stains on her elbows. She could feel her sweaty hair stuck to her neck and forehead. Irritation swiftly replaced her embarrassment; to be placed in a tizzy by a man she’d never even spoken to was ridiculous. This was very uncharacteristic for her, to be so taken by a chiseled jaw and strong shoulders and a hot gaze. A hot gaze?
Those golden eyes were staring right at her though she couldn’t pinpoint his expression or the way it was making her feel. His mouth was curved up into an amused smile, his cheek dimpling. How obscene that little divot was as Poppy’s heart thundered in chest, a twisted heat coiling in her lower belly.
“Please allow me to introduce you to my dear brother, Captain Tora Balthuman. I hope it’s okay that I brought a guest along with me.”
“The more the merrier, my lord. We have plenty of room for all at Wilkes Manor. Let me introduce you to my beautiful granddaughters. Danae and Mirabelle,” she said as the girls curtsied. “And that wildling down at the end,” her cane pointed accusingly, “is my youngest, Poppylan.”
Poppy curtsied, bending her knees slightly and dropping her head. To her horror, leaves fluttered off her hair where they were stuck to her braids.
“Delighted to meet you, my lords.”
She had caught his attention immediately. At first, he found her bedraggled appearance humorous. She looked like she went tumbling through the woods, which very well could have been what happened. But beyond the twigs and dirt, she was exquisite. Her fair skin was so deeply flushed from the apples of her rosy cheeks disappearing into the modest neckline. The butter yellow of her dress brought out the warm tones in her wide eyes like sweet brandy. Her tawny hair was twisted up in intricate braids atop her head, little pearls nestled in the plaits and curled tendrils tumbling from the back and around her face.
“Please let us go inside. We have tea prepared in the parlor for your arrival,” Gran said, motioning towards the doors. Quinceton stepped up to her, offering his arm as they entered the manor, Mirabelle and Danae following closely behind. Poppy exhaled as she saw their backs disappeared into the house, her hands flying to her hair and feeling the remaining leaves beneath her fingers.
“Shall we?” A deep voice rumbled. Poppy looked up and found him, those amber eyes staring down at her, his bent arm extended for her to take. Hesitantly, she wound her arm around his and grasped his forearm with her other hand. The muscles beneath his coat flexed beneath her grip.
“Poppylan, is it?” Tora asked.
“Yes,” she nodded. “Everyone calls me Poppy.”
“I’m very curious,” he leaned down to say lowly in her ear. “Did ya try to fight the forest itself?” Poppy’s head whipped up to look at him, his face much closer than she anticipated.
“My lord?” Her brows stitched together with confusion.
“Ya look as if ya waged war with the trees,” he said, reaching up and plucking a small twig from her braids.
“Well, I never start a fight I don’t think I can win,” her face hot from his proximity. She could catch his scent, an earthy mixture of wood and spice and tobacco.
“Smart girl,” he replied, that blasted dimple reappearing in his cheek. He nudged her in the direction of the doors, their pace slow behind the rest of the group.
“There was a cat, you see, and-“
“And ya thought you could win a fight against a cat?” Poppy was beginning to get frustrated with his teasing, her cheeks puffing up in irritation.
“You said you were curious and I am trying to tell you but you continue to interrupt me,” Poppy paused, suddenly realizing she was speaking to an earl in this way. “My lord.” She could feel his shoulders shaking with quiet laughter.
“By all means, sweetheart. Continue your story. No more interruptions, I swear it. And please,” he said, dipping his head low again to nearly whisper against her ear. “Please call me Tora.” Sweetheart. The phrase leaving his tongue was like nectar, the whisper of his own name weakening her knees.
“So, there was this cat,” she started, “he is an old cranky thing that managed to climb to the very top of an old tree. And I didn’t think he would make it down so I climbed up to get him. The branch broke and I took a little bit of a tumble.”
“And what of the cat?”
“He walked away unscathed,” she replied. They rounded the corner to the parlor, everyone milling about with a cup of tea in hand.
“Well, next time ya decide ya wish to risk your neck saving an ungrateful cat, let me know. I’ll catch ya.” Tora walked her to a floral settee by the window and helped her down on the cushion, his touch skating down her arm to grasp her hand. It was warm and toughened, the callouses on his palm rough on her smooth skin. Her eyes found his, twinkling with some sort of otherworldly mischief.
Was he flirting with her? In her grandmother’s parlor? Poppy peered around to check if anyone else witnessed their interaction. It seemed they were all engaged in conversation around the tea cart, nibbling on various finger sandwiches and sweet pastries. Quinceton did catch her eye for a moment, his gaze flickering between her and the tall dark man. His lips briefly quirked up, his brow raised as he glanced at their joined hands.
Poppy yanked her hand out of Tora’s grasp, the tips of her ears hot with shame. She placed both hands in her lap and stared at them resolutely, refusing to look back up at the man though she could feel his presence even as he moved slowly about the room, a heat gently brushing against her skin.
He needed to step away from her, regain his thoughts and composure. As she held onto his arm he could catch her sweet scent; rose water and apple blossoms and sweat. Tora briefly wondered if this would be her aroma after spending countless hours with her alone in a dark room. This was ridiculous to be so worked up over this tiny woman he just met. But she was soft and lovely and he could tell from their brief interaction that she could put him in his place with a stare.
“Poppy, did you hear? Cousin Quinceton wants to throw a ball here before months end. Isn’t that wonderful?” Mirabelle said, coming to sit down next to Poppy on the settee.
“Quite,” Poppy replied.
“Do tell, my lord,” Mirabelle asked, turning in her seat toward where Tora stood, leaned against the wall by the windows. “What are the Marquess’s grand balls like? I’m sure they are the most elegant.
“I do not attend the balls,” he said a little more gruffly than intended. “They do not interest me.”
“Oh, of course. That’s why you do not attend them,” Quincey said, slipping into a large wing back chair. “Can’t dance.” He whispered, causing both girls to giggle a little.
Poppy turned to look at him, her fingertips on her lips to suppress her laughs. His high golden cheekbones were dusted with the blush of embarrassment, a suddenly shy look on his face. She stood, walking past the tea cart and grabbing a couple strawberry tarts to place on a cloth napkin. He turned at the rustle of her skirts, her wide eyes staring up at him, delicate desserts in her palm.
“I apologize, my lord. I did not mean to laugh at your expense. I’m sure you’re a wonderful dancer,” her voice was like birdsong, soft and light and sweet.
“Think nothing of it. He’s right, anyway,” he said, his smirk returning. “I am a shit dancer. Pardon my language.” To his surprise, she just giggled at his profanity, another sound he wanted to commit to memory.
“Care for a tart? I made them and I grew the strawberries myself,” she said, extending her hand out. He reached out and plucked one from her palm, his gaze holding hers as he brought it to his mouth. The berry was sweet on his tongue, the pastry flaky and buttery. She brought the other one to her own lips, taking a small bite out of the corner. A bit of crust stuck to the edge of her bottom lip.
“Delicious,” he said, reaching out to brush his thumb against the crumb. Poppy stared at him, the blush rising in her cheeks, down her neck and across her chest. His hand lingered on her chin, her skin hot beneath his fingertips. “Strawberries happen to be favorite.”
“Is that so?” She said, a touch disappointed when his hand left her face. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Ya intend to spoil me with treats?”
“I spoil everyone with treats. It’s just my nature. And why not afford our esteemed guest the same treatment?”
“Well, if ya insist, I won’t refuse. Tell me more of your nature,” he said with a small warm smile.
“I am not particularly interesting, my lord,” Poppy laughed, perching herself on the deep window sill. Tora noticed the way the afternoon sun framed her like a halo, glowing like an angel.
“Let me be the judge of that,” he said, leaning against the window frame, arms crossed and eyes watching her curiously.
“I paint and play the piano, very poorly though. I like to read. We have a modest library here.”
“If ya like books, you should see the library at Quincey’s estate in Narin. Buncha first editions, lost original manuscripts.”
“Really?!” Poppy beamed. “How magnificent! I’d love to see it some day.”
“And I’d love to show ya.” His smirk was back in full force and Poppy was nearly ashamed to find his teasing so charming.
“Are you always this flirty, my lord?” His eyebrows shot up as she gave him a playfully questioning look.
“Flirty? No, rarely am I flirty. Are you always this feisty, Miss Wilkes?”
“Feisty? I’ve never been called feisty before. Usually I’m described as bullheaded and relentless and argumentative.”
“Now who on earth calls a sweet thing like you all of those wretched words?”
“Grandmother, for instance. My cousins. Most of the maids. My governess. Many of my formerly potential suitors,” she listed. Tora chuckled harder the longer the list grew. “The village baker.”
“What did ya do to the baker?” Tora was grinning with mirth.
“I did absolutely nothing to the baker. He was trying to cheat me! I know old loaves when I see them, I could have beat him over the head with the baguette he tried to sell me and I told him as much. He called me a few choice rude words so I started baking my own bread. Horrible man will never get another penny out of me.”
“Like I said, sweetheart. Feisty.” Poppy wished for him to reach out and touch her again. This handsome guest was doing things to her, stirring feelings deep in her belly she had only read about in the romance novels she stashed away in her dresser. What would it be like to be pursued by this man, son of the Duke of Narin, infamous military hero? He seemed at least a little interested in her and if Gran forced her to marry Lord Julri, perhaps a summer of stolen kisses and strong arms wrapped around her would be a good memory.
Poppy shook her head slightly, releasing that notion from her train of thought. Surely he had women falling all over him if not for looks then for his title and standing. What would a simple country girl have to offer? Her dowry was modest and she never felt like a great beauty especially compared to the ladies of court. He was a flirt and that was all, but she could enjoy the attentions.
“I plan on going into town on the morrow. Would you like to accompany me, my lord?”
“It would be my pleasure. I can stop into the bakery, give that man a scare if you’d like for treating ya in such a way.” He said with a teasing scowl.
“As satisfying as that would be,” Poppy giggled, “I believe the baker has paid aplenty.”
“So what errands have we to run in town?”
“A merchant in town has managed to acquire me a new water color palette and brushes imported made of Russian sable,” she said excitedly. “And I’d like to see if the bookstore has gotten anything new since I’ve last been. And I’m sure Cook will have a a few things I’ll need to pick up from the market.”
“I will be more than happy to escort ya. We may take Quincey’s carriage if ya like.”
“Would you like all of Moonbright’s eligible ladies of marrying age and their desperate mothers to come the manor to genuflect at your feet? Because that will happen if we take that gold treasure chest on wheels for a spin into town.” Lord Tora’s grimace told he regretted the suggestion.
“That sounds dreadful. Good thinkin’. Though I can’t help but to wonder if ya just wanna keep me to yourself.” His smirk nearly caused her already wobbly knees to buckle. All to yourself. In her dreams. God willing.
“I simply want to be practical. The wagon will do just fine. But if you want every woman in the parish interrupting your afternoons with tales of how their daughters are the loveliest and most polite and most talented when they are almost certainly not, by all means, my Lord, let us take the carriage.”
“No, no. Ya right, the wagon will do. The carriage lacks any subtlety, but so does Quincey,” he replied, tilting his head in the direction of the young lord, animatedly telling the girls a story. His blonde hair shaking loose from its styling as he gesticulated wildly. Poppy giggled as she watched him, then looked back up at his dark brooding brother.
“The two of you are like night and day.” Poppy murmured. Tora hummed pensively in agreement. There was a reason for that, the stark difference in their looks, in their demeanors. But he was not about to divulge the details of his odd parentage to her, not now. Maybe one day if the time came, if he gave into the painful beating of his heart as he looked upon her face. So sweet, so lovely, he never wanted to look away.
“Poppy! Come!” Maribelle beckoned. “Quinceton is about to tell us a story about his latest trip to Paris!”
“I’m coming,” she called back. Poppy turned to curtsy at Lord Tora, but found an extended arm instead. A small soft smile was fixed on his lips, so distinctly different from the heated twist of his smirk. She placed her hand upon his forearm and he led her to the vacant spot on the couch next to her cousins.
“If you all don’t mind, I’d like to have a rest before dinner,” he said formally, addressing the group and bowing. Everyone acknowledged his departure with a soft nod of their head. As he rounded the couch to step out into the hall, Poppy swore she could feel the feather light touch of his fingertip running across her shoulder.
•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•
Tora sat on the window sill of his chambers, the sash thrown open. He had removed his waist coat, undid a few buttons and rolled up his sleeves, the breeze cooling his hot skin. Tora crossed the room to retrieve his pipe and pouch of tobacco from his jackets pocket, sitting back at the window as he packed it full. The snick of the match, the sizzle of it and the light crackle of the tobacco being set aflame. It helped soothe his hot blood, replacing her sweet scent from his lungs. Never in his life had he been taken so quickly by a sweet face and a quick wit.
And she did not fear him, as he found many people did. Though there was a chance she hadn’t heard of his reputation for being a particularly brutal military leader in the conflicts overseas. And though she was open and possibly even a little flirtatious, it wasn’t in the obvious way he’d become accustomed to when around station climbers. A sound from outside knocked him out of his reverie, voices lilting in the open air. He stuck his head a little further out the opening of his second floor chamber and found the three girls with Quincey in tow heading to the gardens. The cousins and his brother were preoccupied by singing and twirling down the path as though at their own private ball. Poppy walked a few paces behind, smiling at their silliness. And as though his gaze had tapped her shoulder, she turned, immediately finding his eyes. Cheekily, she curtsied low like the queen was standing before her. He could do nothing but nod, his heart clenching as grin spread across her face. She turned back to her cousins, shuffling quickly to catch up with them and disappearing behind a tall hedge.
“Hells,” he muttered around his pipe. “She is going to ruin me.”
•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•
Poppy woke with a start, the sweat glazing her skin freezing in the cool night air. She had a perfectly lovely day which was now ruined by the recurring nightmare she’d been plagued with since her fathers passing. Her chest heaved as she tried to even her breathing. Sleep would be difficult to find after that, it always was. She threw back the covers and grabbed her dressing gown from the bedpost.
After finding and lighting a lamp, she left her room, quietly padding barefoot down the halls to the library. Poppy was truly disappointed to have such a good day trampled to bits by a bad dream; after sitting in the garden soaking up a little bit of sun, the entire house enjoyed dinner together and she particularly enjoyed the small stolen glances from the dark captain. Something about him, though a touch sullen and broody, was sweet and warm like honey. He had the eyes of a predator but to her, they were rich and deep and she’d happily fall into them.
Poppy carefully pushed open the library doors, closing them behind her and walking over to the shelves. She allowed her fingertips to caress the spines, her eyes trying to read the titles in the soft lamp light. A title for a shelf above her head caught her eye, but was just a touch out of reach. She set down the lamp on a nearby table and looked for something to step up on.
“A-ha!” She said, finding a little footstool in the corner. Poppy dragged it over, the little wooden legs scraping on the floor, and she stepped upon it, but still came up a little short to reach the book. “Oh for heavens sake.”
“Ya know, I thought this would be a quiet place to sleep but I was sorely mistaken.” Poppy yelped and tried to step back down, losing her balance and waiting for the inevitable crash of her body against the floor. Though it never came. Instead, a soft grip around her waist and a hand on her elbow brought her back to solid ground. And though it was so dark in the room, his eyes glowed like burning embers.
“My lord, my apologies. I did not mean to disturb you,” she muttered quickly as though she had burst into his bed chambers. Poppy looked over at the settee in the middle of the room, a pillow and blanket on the cushions. Her brow furrowed as she looked back up at him. “Wait, why are you sleeping in the library? Is there something wrong with your chambers?” His hand was still on her arm, warm beneath the thin fabric of her dressing gown. Poppy noticed he too was wearing his robe, the black silk rich and buttery.
“The chambers are fine. I have trouble sleepin’ in a bed. Too used to floors and cots and windowless tents than a bed anymore.” He said grimly, his hands leaving her. “What are ya doin’ here?”
“I could not sleep either,” she said, bashfully considering telling him about her nightmares. “I like to come here and read when it’s quiet. But I shall take my book and leave you be.”
“Nonsense,” he replied. “This is your library. I’ll go find somewhere else to rest my head. I hear the kitchen has a lovely floor.”
“Please tell me you’re joking,” Poppy chuckled, hoping he wasn’t about to go curl up beneath Cook’s pots and pans. The smirk on his tired face was enough, and giggles pealed from her lips. “Oh, imagine the look on Cook’s face when she comes down to make breakfast and you’re using the sack of potatoes as a pillow.” He laughed, the deep rumble causing Poppy to realize just how close they were, how alone they were.
“Well, we cannot both stay. It would be improper,” Poppy said, sobering up from her giggle fit.
“Improper? I’m merely sleepin’. You’re merely readin’. What is so improper about that?”
“My lord, we are alone with no chaperone,” she whispered, a heat blazing in her cheeks. “At night. In our bedclothes.”
“I think it would be more improper if we were to not be in our bedclothes.” That damned blasted dimple and that cocky eyebrow raised made Poppy’s lips part and her breath hitch. The mere suggestion left her with an unfamiliar throbbing everywhere. “I’m only teasin’, sweetheart. There’s room for both of us here. I won’t tell a soul that you were improper.”
“Yes, I truly am a brazen hussy to come read Milton in my pajamas.” Poppy deadpanned, walking to sit in the chair by her lamp at the small round table. Tora laid back down on the settee, his large body curling up on the delicate piece of furniture. She cracked the book open though she was finding it difficult to focus. After a few moments of silence, his voice rumbled.
“Have you somethin’ to say?”
“No, my lord. Why do you ask?”
“Because,” he said, sitting back up and looking at her, the dim light from the lamp bouncing off her cheeks. “Ya keep sighin’ over there like ya got somethin’ to say and it just won’t come out.” Poppy hadn’t realized she was even doing that. She nibbled on the tip of her thumb.
“It’s just,” she stammered. “You’ve been to war. You’ve seen so much death and destruction. I’ve read correspondences from the wars overseas. Do you ever have nightmares from it?”
“Yes.” Was his short quick reply.
“How do you get rid of them?”
“‘m not sure. But I’ll let ya know when I figure it out. What do you see, in your dreams?”
“My father,” Poppy whispered. “Which I should be excited to get to see my father in any capacity, but it’s always the same and never the way I wish to remember him. He was so full of life and so brilliant. I want to remember the man who would hoist me into apple trees so I could get the best looking fruit. But all I see is this shell who only vaguely looks like him, so still and small in the middle of this big bed and the sheets are blindingly white. He looks at me and exhales and then he just shatters. Shatters into literally a million pieces like an eggshell. And I can’t put him back together like I want because the pieces are so small they crumble when I try to pick them up.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, his body moving across the room to kneel before her. His hands come up to her face, gently stroking her cheeks with his thumbs, wetness spreading across her skin. She had not even realized she began to cry, the tears sliding down her cheeks unknowingly. Poppy suddenly felt silly, interrupting his sleep, blubbering like a child.
“Please, my lord, do not kneel for me. I’m just being overly sentimental.”
“Poppylan, a man could spend the rest of his life kneeling before you and it would be worth every second.” He looked away from, a suddenly shy darkness flitting across his eyes.
“A man?” Poppy whispered. “Or you?” She could hardly believe her own voice. Poppylan Wilkes, a country girl of little consequence, asking this man of status if he meant to worship at her feet like supplicant at the alter of a goddess. Her hand had found his cheek, the warm golden skin so smooth beneath her touch. Tora grabbed her wrist and removed her hand from his face.
“Be careful, little one,” he said, pressing his lips to the inside of her wrist. “You were the one concerned about being improper.”
“I still am,” she breathed. “And my concern is ever growing.” Tora huffed a laugh against her skin.
“I don’t believe your betrothed would appreciate my bein’ here with you.” He said, placing her hand in her lap.
“Betrothed?” She asked, a confused knit to her brows. “I have no fiancé. Just because he asked does not mean it will come to pass.”
“Not a fan of him then?” Tora said, taking a seat at the other side of the small table.
“Hardly. He isn’t very kind and…,” Poppy hesitated. “I’m not naive. I understand men of a certain station have mistresses but he’s so blatant about his ‘secret rendezvous’ with any lass that’ll raise her skirts for him. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I’m a modern woman. But I’d like to think of myself as a faithful one and I don’t want to look like a fool for the rest of my life.”
“I don’t think that’s a bad reason to decline his proposal.” Tora responded, looking at her thoughtfully.
“That’s another thing. I wasn’t expecting any sort of grand gesture, but he didn’t even ask me. He had a message sent to my grandmother that offered to take me off her hands. That’s nearly verbatim. ‘I understand the youngest Wilkes granddaughter has not yet secured a proposal of marriage. I am writing to suggest you allow me to take over responsibility of her person as her lawful husband in exchange for her dowry. She will give me many sons.’” Poppy recited to him, watching his eyes darken.
“Ya not a bloody broodmare.” He grumbled, his heavy brows further shading his eyes.
“You should tell him that because I really doubt he will listen to me.”
“If I ever see him near ya, ya bet I’ll be the one to tell him.”
“My lord, why do I suspect there will be little talking if such a time came about?”
“Because there won’t.” She held his gaze for a long moment, then looked back down at the book in her lap. As she traced over each line, Poppy’s eyes grew heavier, her head nodded, sleep finally pulling her under. She made out the quiet rustling of Tora’s robe, the book in her hands gently pulled from her grip. Her body felt warm and weightless, a whisper against her skin asking where her chambers were. She recalled lifting her arm, her hand limp and heavy, pointing to the end of the hall to the right. The scent of wood and spice and tobacco filled her nose, she greedily breathed in the aroma.
The warmth was replaced with the cool softness of her bed. A touch brushed her forehead and she swore she heard that low honeyed voice.
“Sweet dreams, Poppylan.”