years before James had become the earl and discovered that the person he would marry was no longer his choice to make. James had told Richard in a letter about the vow Henry had made to a wine merchant, an oath James was honor-bound to fulfill for his brother and family.
My good fool, I am honor bound to marry Miss Vinnette Winters.
Yet he had also given his word of honor to his friend that whatever he requested in his letter would be fulfilled.
What a damn quandary.
Chapter 2
Present-day… London.
2 years later.
The morning was rather lovely, and Poppy inhaled the scent of spring into her lungs. She loved the flowers that bloomed this time of the year. Snowdrops and primroses were her favorites, and a surge of longing went through her for the small and lovingly tended garden she left back in Lincolnshire. Spring was quite her preferred season; winter, of course, being the one she disliked the most. Hurrying up the front steps of her younger sister’s townhouse on Upper Wimpole Street, there was a definite bounce in Poppy’s step.
This past week, she had interviewed for three different posts—all governess positions in respectable households—and Poppy was extremely hopeful she would secure a position soon. She was four and twenty. It was impossible to continue living under her stepmother’s largesse, especially when given so reluctantly and often remarked that it was a burden to feed and clothe her. She wanted to be comfortably established and not obliged to importune any family member who might regard her as ‘the unfortunate burden.’ Words she’d heard Lavinia use to describe Poppy to her husband.
Poppy was quite determined to make a future for herself that did not rely on the changeable goodwill of others or marriage to a gentleman—not when that prospect for her seemed nonexistent, despite secretly wishing for it so fervently. With a bit of ingenuity and a strict economy, she hoped to live a good life.
The butler opened the door before she knocked, and Poppy smiled her thanks.
“Mrs. Ashford has asked for you to join her in the drawing-room, Miss Poppy.”
Poppy paused in the act of removing her hat. “Did mother say immediately upon returning home, or do I have time to run to the kitchen for a spot of tea and some cakes?”
The corner of his eyes crinkled in a smile. “I am afraid it is right away, Miss Poppy.”
She unbuttoned her jacket, removed her gloves, and handed them over along with her hat. Smoothing down the skirts of her serviceable dark blue dress, Poppy hurried down the hallway into the tastefully furnished drawing-room. Politely she knocked on the slightly ajar door before sweeping inside. Her two younger sisters, Rebecca, and Lavinia who was now Baroness Hayes, sat on a plush dark, green-colored sofa with their mother, Mrs. Hester Ashford, who appeared faint. Alarm darted through Poppy. It seemed something of a serious nature had happened.
“Mother,” Poppy said, for she had learned as a young girl her stepmother must never be called mama. “Is all well?”
“Close the door, young lady!” her stepmother said, rising to her feet. Her stepmother had been the leading belle of her season and was still considered a very handsome woman. If her blonde hair now needed regular chamomile rinses to maintain its color, then at least it did not appear brassy, as if she had resorted to dye. Her once delicate features were currently marred by a scowl, and Poppy knew some delicate lines would be revealed when her maid removed her maquillage. However, it was artfully done, and only those who examined her closely might notice the signs of aging.
Her dove grey silk gown with the fashionable dropped shoulders was elegant, and the hem was decorated by a wide ruffle of hand-made Brussels lace, a matching collar and narrower bands edged the wide sleeves. Poppy thought that she would look prettier if she smiled more, but she only smiled when she was being viewed by men with a fortune to their name. Her stepmother’s eyes were an exceptionally pale blue and could calculate the wealth of a prospective suitor with one glance.
Rebecca and Lavinia, who were beautiful replicas of their mother, also stood, and three pairs of accusing eyes glared at her.
“How could you be so callous with our reputations,” Lavinia fairly screamed. “Can you imagine my shock when speaking with my dear friend, Lady Prescott, this morning? She mentioned the most delightful person she had interviewed to become a governess to her children. I had