He adroitly rebuffed all nudges or overtures that suggested he walk with Rebecca in the gardens, showing James to be a consummate player in the game of avoiding matchmaking mamas and ladies with ill-intention. Poppy was almost embarrassed by her stepmother’s insistence and at one point had hurriedly turned the conversation toward mundane and safer topics.
She excused herself before their departure, hurried up the stairs to her guest chamber, closed herself inside and flung herself onto the bed, burying her face into the pillow. It was with a distant sort of amazement Poppy realized she was laughing and sobbing.
Oh, James, how outrageous you are, but thank you!
Chapter 7
The following day, Poppy, along with Lady Daphne, three footmen and a lady’s maid, departed London for Chatham. The journey did not take that long, and after only a few hours, they arrived at a most beautiful and charming mansion situated on splendidly manicured and well-tended grounds.
On the journey down, Daphne had informed Poppy that James had thought it prudent she received some lessons in how to dance and how to ride a horse. Poppy had not the benefit of receiving those instructions as her sisters had, and apparently, dancing and knowing how to ride were an important part of courtship. In the nights it was dancing, in the days it was promenading or riding horses or taking a carriage ride in Hyde Park.
Poppy had not objected to his thoughtful plans and felt pleased to be away from her stepmother and sisters for a week or two. Despite their incivility and unpleasantness, she had a deep affection for her family, though she found them odious and trying at times. A part of her wondered how successful Rebecca would be in her plans to capture James’s heart back in London.
Poppy silently admitted she would not know how to bear seeing James as her sister’s husband. Not when Poppy herself had such a yearning for the blasted man. Puffing out an irritated breath, she glided down the winding staircase of the manor toward the ballroom.
Today her dancing lessons would begin. She would learn to dance the quadrille, the galop, and the outdated minuet because, according to Daphne, one might never know when it will be in fashion again. Poppy would also learn the Viennese waltz and the polka.
Poppy entered the large ballroom to find a slim and fairly tall gentleman awaiting her. He bowed when she entered, and there was a twinkle in his brown eyes. He sported a thin mustache, had an angular jaw, and a most elegant nose. His was a handsome sort but did not seem arrogant. In truth, his warm smile immediately put Poppy at ease.
James and Daphne’s Aunt Marielle—as she insisted for Poppy to call her—had been in attendance when they arrived. She had traveled across country from Bath at her nephew’s behest and was now a spectator to Poppy’s lesson. Daphne had been annoyed and mentioned ladies of their advanced years did not need a chaperone, and she herself was already a widow. Aunt Marielle was a very buxom woman with the liveliest and most full-throated laugh Poppy had ever heard. She had liked her immediately. Aunt Marielle also shared the same indigo eyes as Daphne and James and their fair coloring and dark hair.
Daphne was also in the room, positioned in front of the pianoforte on a long, padded seat, and when she saw Poppy, Daphne ran her fingers over the key in a jaunty jig.
Pleasure rushed through Poppy, and her fingertips tingled. That was where she wanted to be, seated before the grand piano playing her music, feeling the notes sinking into her bones and soul, taking her to a place where dreams and peace and happiness were found in music.
“Aunt Marielle,” Poppy greeted with a wide smile. “Good morning.”
“Hullo, Miss Ashford, I am Mr. Benedict Titus,” the young gentleman said, walking over to her, “I will be your dance tutor for the next few days. We will start with the more popular dances first. The polka and the waltz. Perhaps we might even get to the quadrille, but you will know enough to soar.”
Poppy smiled, dipped into a curtsy, and went over to the man who had extended his arm to her in an exaggerated flourish.
“The polka is all about beats and steps,” he said, twirling his finger in the air. “It is fast, dizzying, and most importantly, fun!”
That seemed to be some sort of cue for Daphne to start playing lively music.
“We will be in