with the pleasant scent of beeswax and orange oil. A long, glass-topped mahogany counter sat at the far end of the store, near enough to the windows to get a modicum of light. On top of it sat a small lunch upon brown paper.
“Sit,” Poppy ordered, pointing to a stool. She went round the counter and pulled out two white cups adorned with blue flowers. Matching saucers and plates followed. While she set about slicing the brown bread, Miranda lifted her cup to inspect it. Royal Copenhagen. Mother’s china. Or what was left. Vaguely, she remembered Poppy stealing out of the house with a large box of undetermined items one summer day, not long after Father had begun selling off the housewares. It warmed Miranda’s heart to see the set.
“I’ve a few more of them,” Poppy said while putting slices of brawn and boiled eggs onto a plate. Her brown eyes glanced up. “You may have a set if you wish. I hadn’t thought to get you a wedding present.”
“No.” Miranda set her cup down so that Poppy could fill it with tea. “I’m glad you have them.”
A pang of nostalgia tightened her breast as she sat hunched over the counter sipping plain tea from Mother’s old china cup. Miranda had missed Poppy, more than she’d let herself acknowledge. Missed Daisy too, come to that.
As if summoned, the front bell jangled. Their heads snapped up in unison just as Daisy’s familiar voice rang out. “You forgot to lock your door, pet!”
“More’s the pity,” Poppy murmured as Daisy strolled in looking resplendent in pink satin and crimson bows.
“Miranda, Panda! That cannot be you!” Daisy’s sky-blue eyes lifted at the corners as she glided across the room to embrace Miranda.
Her soft cheeks brushed Miranda’s, the familiar scent of rosemary blended with jasmine enveloping Miranda like a hug. Daisy stepped back and lifted Miranda’s arms to inspect Miranda’s sleek new day dress of Prussian blue taffeta. “Surely this is not the plain Jane I knew, nor the be-ruffled peony Father packed off nearly two weeks ago.”
“Oh stop,” Miranda said with a laugh and broke free of her grip.
“Come for lunch?” Poppy asked. Her brows slanted ominously.
Daisy gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before glancing at the offering upon the counter. “Er, no.” Her little nose wrinkled. “Minding my figure, pet.” She swept back her undulating train and lowered herself onto a stool with a little plop. “You know what they say. While a man appreciates a feast, too much bounty and he might lose his appetite.” Her hand smoothed over the ample swell of her breast. “I’d prefer a man to be hungry when he eats.”
Poppy groaned, but Miranda laughed. “I’ve missed that foul tongue of yours,” she said.
Daisy stuck her tongue out, and Poppy cracked a small smile. “Why are you here, dearest? Not that I don’t enjoy your company”—her mouth twitched—“only I profess the timing rather coincidental.”
Daisy pulled off her silk gloves. “You found me out. I am spying on you.” She rolled her eyes. “I was driving by and saw Miranda’s coach. Lovely conveyance, by the way, pet. I am insanely jealous. So I ordered the driver to stop. Besides, it keeps me from returning to Craggy, now doesn’t it.”
Daisy’s husband, Mr. Cyril Craigmore, besides being three times Daisy’s age, was a bore and had the face of a cragged mountainside—hence “Craggy.” That Daisy had found the man revolting meant little to Father when Craigmore had come calling. As Father was newly ruined, Craigmore’s wealth held a particular place of import; his seat in the House of Commons had not hurt either. It was only when Craigmore flat-out refused to pass even a farthing in Father’s direction that his opinion of Craigmore turned.
“Now then,” Daisy said and brushed an errant curl from her brow, “what of your lord and husband? How do you find being married to ‘the Bloody Baron, the Dread Lord Archer’? Hasn’t murdered you in your sleep, I’ll give him that.”
Daisy’s humor subsided as she caught Miranda’s eye. “Oh, pet, I was only having you on.” She leaned forward, touching Miranda’s knee. “Well, of course, he isn’t a killer. I knew that right off.”
Poppy did not look as certain but held her tongue.
Miranda pushed away her cup. “And how can you be so sure?” Her voice had gone thick. How close she was to crying.
Daisy cocked her head as she studied Miranda. “Because you didn’t go running off into the night, or reduce him to