Having taken the time to bathe, shave, and dress for dinner, Langham joined his guests in the drawing room, where they were discussing the latest bills up for debate in the Lords. He wasn’t particularly political, but he took his responsibility in Parliament seriously and tried to keep abreast of the more pressing of the issues that arose in the government.
The prospective brides, he was pleased to note, seemed happy to leave him to his conversation, and thanks, he supposed, to the performance he and Poppy had put on during afternoon tea, they made no attempts to attract his attention. He could not help but be pleased.
He was listening to Bellwood’s rather verbose explanation of some parliamentary act or other relating to the Canadian territories when a hush fell over the room. Bellwood continued to speak, but when Langham saw Poppy standing in the entryway of the room, he stopped listening.
As if pulled by an invisible thread, he crossed the chamber toward her—all but unaware of the way his family and guests watched him.
She was so changed as to be almost unrecognizable.
It wasn’t just the gown, which was, admittedly, lovely and shaped her curves in ways he would find it difficult not to think about later in the cold solitude of his bedchamber.
It was the way her very manner of being seemed to have…softened. And there was a vulnerability about her that made him want to sweep her into his arms and promise that all would be well.
Her hair, striking before in its guinea gold luster, was no longer wound tightly around her head in an uncompromising coil. Instead, it was now dressed in a loosely gathered knot atop her head with a single shining coil draped over her collarbone. The style was meant to make a man think of replacing that curl with his lips, and Langham was no proof against its allure.
He shook his head as if that could clear the image forming in his mind. He was not supposed to be lusting after her, for pity’s sake. He was meant to use her as a shield against the marriage-minded misses who were no doubt watching them with avid interest now.
Swallowing the lavish compliments that hovered on the end of his tongue, he instead tried for cool appraisal. “My sister’s maid was able to work a miracle, it seems. It is a lovely gown and suits you,” he said, though his voice sounded hoarse to his own ears.
Her eyes flashed with something that looked like hurt for the barest moment before she resumed her customary poise. With something like relief, he bowed and then lifted her hand to his lips for appearances’ sake. After that, he avoided her eye, and when he placed her hand on his arm, he was almost able to ignore the lemon and roses scent of her as they crossed to where his sisters were standing with the dowager.
“I believe there is a saying about silk purses and sow’s ears,” Poppy said evenly as they walked, and she sounded so convincing that he was almost assured he’d misread her momentary discomfort a moment ago. “But you are correct, Your Grace. Manners is a genius with a needle and thread, and I’m grateful to Lady Felton for the loan of the gown. It was very kind of her to come to my aid.”
“Nonsense,” said Charlotte, who had been watching their approach with an acuity that made Langham wish he’d been gifted with duller siblings. “The gown looks far better on you than it would have done on me. Don’t you agree, brother?”
He could see from the glint in her eye that Charlotte had got some bee in her bonnet over Poppy. Wonderful.
Aloud he said, “I do agree that it is a most fetching gown. On the matter of how it might have looked on you as opposed to Poppy, however, I will hold my tongue. It is never wise to compare two ladies in company.”
“I am just grateful you were able to come down after all,” Genia said to Poppy with a warm smile. “I always hate to remain in my rooms when there is sure to be spirited conversation in some other part of the house. One is always afraid of missing out.”
“It has been so long since I’ve attended a gathering like this,” Poppy said ruefully, “I’m afraid I’d almost forgot that feeling. But I do understand what you mean.”
“And of course you must be thinking about your poor sister,” Charlotte said, surprising Langham with her show of empathy, and also reminding him just why Poppy was at Langham Abbey in the first place.
He was about to say something that might reassure her that he hadn’t forgotten her sister’s plight when the dinner bell sounded.
Cursing the protocol that required he escort the highest-ranking lady into the dining room, rather than his betrothed, he gave Poppy a nod of reassurance, then moved toward the Duchess of Gerson so that they could lead the way.
Throughout the meal, he kept a watchful eye on the other end of the table, where Poppy, to his relief, seemed to be managing her dinner partners with aplomb. Though he shouldn’t be surprised, given the deft manner in which she’d handled his grandmother and sisters, not to mention the other guests at tea.
She looked up at him just then, and the sight of the smile she gave him made his heart give a terrifying lurch in his chest. She was playing a role, he chided himself, willing his fool heart to return to its natural rhythm. The look she’d given him was no less practiced and no more genuine than the laughter she used to deflect the flirtations of Lord Toby Dalrymple on one side, or her attempts to charm the irascible Sir Hugo Ballantine, one of his grandfather’s cronies, who sat scowling across from her.
“It’s clear you’re fond of her,” said the Duchess of Gerson from where she was seated beside him, smiling indulgently. “You cannot seem to take your eyes off of her. I would not have been content to accept Alice’s defeat for anything less.”
She said the words in a joking manner, but Langham suspected she was all too serious. Of course, given his lack of interest in the chit, Lady Alice was not, and never had been, in the running to be his duchess. But he wouldn’t tell her mother that. “She is a remarkable lady,” he said instead, and meant it. He had never met anyone like Poppy before.
“She has certainly managed to endear herself to the dowager,” the duchess said with a nod toward the other end of the table, where his grandmother was smiling at something Poppy had said to Lord Toby. “Though I daresay your grandmother would adore anyone you chose to be your bride at this point.”
“I’m not sure that’s—” He was saved from saying something that would later earn him a scold from his grandmother by raised voices toward the center of the table.
“Miss Delamere,” said Lady Carlyle, raising her hand to get the attention of the table, “you must settle a little matter between Miss Beaconfield and myself.”
He knew from the lady’s tone that she intended some mischief, and to his credit, his cousin Pierce did his best to rein in his wife.
“I’m sure this is something that can be better discussed once the gentlemen have been left to their port, my dear,” Carlyle said pointedly to his wife.
But Lady Carlyle was unmoved by her husband’s warning. “I was certain this afternoon when you arrived that I’d seen you somewhere before. I know you said you’d been away in London for some time, but I’d never seen you at any entertainments in town. Indeed, I’d never heard your name before at all. Then, it hit me! On a lark, a dear friend and I decided to go to a lecture of sorts.”
Langham knew what was coming, but with Lady Carlyle so far into her story, it was impossible to stop her.
“Perhaps the rest of you have heard of Lady Katherine Eversham and Miss Caroline Hardcastle, who write the ‘A Lady’s Guide to Mischief and Mayhem’ column for The London Gazette? Well, they host a lecture series of sorts where they discuss popular novels that center on crime—most particularly those crimes that affect women. The lecture itself was rather dull, if I’m being honest. Far too much chatter about the lower classes for my taste. But what I remember most was a young lady who appeared to be assisting them with organizing the meeting.”
The meandering way in which Lady Carlyle told her tale only served to keep the rest of the table on tenterhooks—no doubt, Langham thought grimly, waiting for the cat’s claw to swipe.
“The thing of it is,” Lady Carlyle continued, “Miss Beaconfield and I both agree—she attended the same lecture, you see—that the young lady we saw, who was clearly employed by Lady Katherine, was you.”
Langham would have thought given the way his fellow peers were marrying into the middle classes—where hard work was considered to be a virtue rather than something of which to be ashamed—would have put paid to this snobbish insistence that it was beyond the pale for a gently bred lady to accept employment. And yet, he would have been wrong.
A few of the ladies gasped, and more than one gentleman cleared their throats, as if wishing to give some show of their surprise without actually saying anything that might insult the duke.
“That is quite enough, Serena. You must apologize to Miss Delamere at once,” Carlyle snapped.
“I mean no insult, dearest,” Lady Carlyle said with false surprise. “It’s commendable that Miss Delamere should have taken employment with Lady Katherine rather than stoop to some other, less respectable, means of keeping herself from the poorhouse. I simply wished to know if my suspicion was correct. After all, it’s possible the young woman we saw was another person altogether.”
“I should have hoped you would know better, Serena,” the dowager began, giving Lady Carlyle a scowl across the table.
But before she could finish, Poppy, her posture straight and her expression one of unconcern, spoke up. “It’s all right, Your Grace. I am not ashamed of my time working for Lady Katherine and Miss Hardcastle—well, Lady Wrackham now. You are perfectly correct, Lady Carlyle, Miss Beaconfield. It was very likely me whom you saw attending them at the lecture. I took a position with Lady Katherine not long after I arrived in London and worked for both ladies as amanuensis, fact-checker, and personal secretary at various times over the past two years. It was a position I enjoyed a great deal, and I do not regret it for an instance.”
“I don’t really see much difference between what Miss Delamere describes and the work of a teacher or governess,” Charlotte said with a shake of her head. “Really, Serena, dear, you are making far more over the lady’s work than is warranted.”
“Indeed,” said Langham, putting his quizzing glass to his eye and surveying first Lady Carlyle and then Miss Beaconfield through it. “Miss Delamere and I became acquainted through her position with Lady Katherine and Lady Wrackham, if you must know. There was nothing improper or unladylike about the work. It was perfectly respectable, as I am happy to tell anyone who wishes to take up the matter with me.”
Under his withering gaze, Lady Carlyle had the good grace to look chastened. “Of course, Your Grace, I did not intend to imply—that is to say, I meant no—”
But the rest of the table, having heard the duke’s family come to Poppy’s defense, had decided there was no scandal and the conversation turned to other topics. Indeed, many of the ladies professed themselves to be regular readers of the “Lady’s Guide” column and began to pepper her with questions.
“She is handling these attempts to put her in her place with remarkable poise,” the Duchess of Gerson said once Langham had turned back to her. “I know from experience how jealous some ladies of the ton can be when faced with a fresh face. And I do believe your Miss Delamere will have little trouble holding her own.”
Thinking back to his earlier conversation with Poppy, Langham was increasingly convinced that the duchess was right. She might have doubted whether she was convincing in her role as a duke’s betrothed, but once again she’d proved herself equal to a societal obstacle thrown in her path.
The more time she spent playing this role, he thought later as he went up to bed, the more he regretted the fact that it was just that: a role.
Because the truth of the matter was, Miss Poppy Delamere would make a damned fine duchess.
