“My father’s heart is deeply buried, but I know where to find it.”
Aunt Helen moved in, her pin curls bobbing as she scrutinized Natalia. “I didn’t think you’d want to attend Poppy’s little tea party.”
Natalia smiled tightly. “Father has asked me to make an effort to appease Poppy. I’ll have a little tea, then go to the bank. I’m excited about a new proposal to develop the Russian turpentine industry.”
Was there anything duller than the turpentine industry? It was hard to know if Natalia was genuinely excited about the topic or merely wanted to escape Poppy’s tea party. A little of both, probably.
Natalia led them into the breakfast room, where Poppy was already entertaining the other elderly aunts. Aunt Helen leaned heavily on her cane as she limped toward the tea table, but Poppy interrupted before she could sit.
“No, no, don’t sit,” Poppy said. “We can’t have tea until you’ve seen the nursery. I know you’ve all been bursting with curiosity.”
Aunt Helen exchanged an annoyed glance with her sisters, but they dutifully followed Poppy down the hallways of white marble and gilded mirrors. Gwen expected the baby’s room to have similar princely grandeur, so she was stunned when she stepped inside the nursery. Everything was black, bronze, and scarlet.
The aunts looked baffled, but Poppy brimmed with pride. “It’s Japanese,” she said, running her hands along the black lacquered crib. “This sort of décor is all the rage in Europe. I’ve heard that the Prince of Wales is redesigning his own rooms in the Japanese style.”
The crib, changing table, and rocking chair were all made of black lacquered wood. Hammered bronze covered the chest of drawers sitting in front of a wall painted in deep red tones. Normally Gwen loved the fresh simplicity of the Japanese style, but instead of the soft muted hues usually associated with it, Poppy had opted for the drama of scarlet and black. Panels of rice paper covered the windows, and a folding screen painted with cherry blossoms was the only hint of joyfulness in the child’s nursery.
“It’s very artistic,” Aunt Martha managed to stammer, and the other aunts nodded in vigorous agreement.
“Yes,” Aunt Helen said, clutching her cane as she scrambled for something nice to add. “It’s very, very artistic.”
Gwen leaned over the crib to pick up a doll dressed in a silk kimono. “This is darling,” she said.
She passed the doll to Martha so the kindest of her aunts could enthuse about the beautifully embroidered kimono. Martha murmured polite comments, then passed the doll to Helen, who looked at Poppy in dismay.
“Dearest, I’m afraid I can’t see it very well in this dim light,” she said. “My eyes aren’t what they used to be.”
“Yes, it’s quite dark in here,” Martha said. “Might we go to the breakfast room, where we can admire this charming kimono properly?”
Poppy seemed annoyed that the old ladies didn’t want to linger in the oppressive nursery, but they were already filing out of the room. The mood brightened once everyone was in the sunlit breakfast room, where a proper tea graced the table and the aunts made a suitable fuss about Poppy’s baby, due to arrive in two months.
After ten minutes discussing the baby, Natalia set down her teacup. “It’s eleven o’clock and past time for me to be at the bank.”
Poppy’s expression cooled. “Then, by all means, run along. It’s certainly no surprise where your priorities are.”
Natalia kept a serene expression on her face as she gave each aunt a quick hug in farewell, then departed. An awkward silence filled the room until Aunt Martha filled it.
“I imagine Oscar is so excited about the baby,” she said. “Have you picked a name?”
Poppy nodded. “We have decided on Alexander. I wanted to name him Frederick Samuel after our fathers, but Oscar wanted something entirely new.”
“What if it is a girl?” Aunt Helen asked, and Poppy looked taken aback. Everyone knew Oscar insisted on having a son. If Poppy dared to produce a girl, she would probably find herself expecting again by the next full moon.
“We expect that it will be a boy,” Poppy replied, effectively shutting down the conversation. She cradled her swelling belly, constantly stroking it with slow, deliberate circles. “Of course, Natalia is going to be very jealous. She’s always fancied herself her father’s pride and joy. She won’t like being supplanted by my son, but perhaps it will be for the best. It’s unnatural for a woman of Natalia’s age to still be single.”
Poppy’s assertions seemed cruel to Gwen, but the aunts agreed. All the Blackstone women had married before the age of twenty, so for Natalia to be twenty-eight and still single was unusual. Gwen probably would have chosen a different sort of man had she waited until she was a little older instead of rushing to the altar with Jasper when she was only eighteen. Instead of a handsome face and academic prestige, she would have chosen strength and integrity and a sense of humor. Status didn’t matter. She wanted a strong, confident man who was a protector by nature. Her gaze trailed out the window as she contemplated Patrick’s raw-boned charisma. He would be a wonderful father, and if they married, it probably wouldn’t take long for her to conceive, would it?
“Gwendolyn! Are you blushing?”
She startled. Aunt Martha had been prodding her, and all the aunts stared.
“I think she’s been woolgathering over a man,” Helen said. “Tell us everything!”
Gwen hadn’t expected to broach the matter so early in the day, but Aunt Helen had just provided a perfect opening. Everyone in her family had been urging her to remarry, and the aunts would surely be delighted, even if Patrick was a little outside their class.
“Yes, I may have found someone,” she said, and all the women leaned forward. Even Poppy seemed curious enough to stop rubbing her belly. “His name is Patrick O’Neill. I met him—”
“That sounds Irish,” Poppy interrupted.
