When the bath was ready, Poppy nearly groaned aloud at how good the water felt. The two women took turns pouring water over her head. One of them massaged her scalp with shampoo, and then when they had rinsed it all away, they turned so that Poppy could get out of the bath and slide back into her robe.
With their help, Poppy dressed in the finest evening gown that she had brought back with her, sewn from heavy blush-pink silk with translucent chiffon butterfly sleeves. Poppy turned to the mirror, taking in her final appearance, admiring the complicated knot of braids at the top of her head. A few pieces had been left to frame her face, softening the look. The maids assisted her with her makeup, dabbing a light pink pigment on her eyelids and covering her face with a beige powder a few shades lighter than her skin.
Poppy’s lips curled in satisfaction. She looked dignified. Regal. Against all odds, she looked like she had a place among the nobility. And if there wasn’t one, she would carve it out herself.
• • •
The duke was already sitting at the head of the dining table when the Colwicks arrived. This was Welkish custom?—no one was permitted to sit unless the highest-ranked person in the room was also seated. Lord Edward III, Earl of Marnapur, approached the duke first. His gangly heir, Edward IV, followed, while his wife and two daughters stood dutifully in their shadows.
“How good to see you, Lord Colwick,” Clarence said. “I am glad you could come.”
“Poppy grew up with us.” The earl put a hand to his chest. “It would have been like missing the homecoming of my own daughter.”
He turned to where Poppy stood, behind the left side of her father’s chair. She offered Edward III a gloved hand, which he accepted, kissing the knuckles as was customary. His thick russet mustache scratched the back of her hand even through the silk. “You’ve become a lovely lady, Poppy.” He winked. “Wouldn’t you agree, Son?”
The tips of Edward IV’s ears turned pink. “She looks nice,” he said, his voice muffled as he stared at his feet, awkward in the way teenage boys often were.
“I’m sure you remember my daughters, Lady Cassandra and Lady Olivia?” Edward III beckoned his daughters forward. “You spent many an afternoon with them as a girl.”
Poppy tightened her grip on her banal smile before turning her gaze to the elder Colwicks. Olivia’s and Cassandra’s cherubic childhood features had evolved into hallmarks of Welkish femininity. Their round cheeks had melted into sharp cheekbones, and their matching ginger hair had darkened into auburn tresses.
Poppy had spent many an afternoon at the Colwick house, entirely against her own will. Her parents had insisted, even when she’d cried about how the girls went out of their way to make her feel like an outsider. They had taunted her about many things?—her lack of a title, her low birth?—but there was nothing that pleased them so much as ridiculing her appearance.
Once, on a picnic, Cassandra had removed her bonnet. “Careful, Cassandra,” Olivia had snickered. “Too much sun and you’ll become as dark as Poppy!”
If they had been bold enough to say such things to Poppy’s face, then she was certain they had said far worse, especially when they’d giggled and whispered to each other and refused to let her in on the joke. All three of them had known that Poppy was the punch line. But no longer.
“Of course,” Poppy drawled. “How could I forget?”
The two of them stared at Poppy, but she held their gazes. The girl who had shrunk under their insults was gone. This time when Cassandra and Olivia whispered to each other, there was no giggling.
Good.
In that same manner, the Sutherlands greeted two more families: the Whitecliffs, led by the Earl, Lord Arthur, with his heir Andrew and his younger twin sons, Augustus and Alexander, and then the Viscount Gerald Alderfort, with his wife and heir, James. His daughter, Geraldine, had married a minor lord in Welkland after graduating from Thornhaven a few years ago and rarely visited.
Only three seats remained empty. Before anyone could remark on their absence, the butler announced that the Montroses had arrived.
The Marquess, Lord William Montrose, entered first. Time had not been as harsh on the Montrose patriarch as it had been on Clarence. The only indication of his age was that his thick golden hair had now turned silver, even his eyebrows and well-kept beard. Beside him stood his wife, Lady Elizabeth Montrose. She was nearly unchanged, save for a new set of wrinkles and strands of white running through her chestnut bun.
“Lord Montrose,” Clarence said. “Glad you could make it.”
“A pleasure,” Lord Montrose agreed.
Then their son walked in, and their voices fell away as Poppy’s focus locked on him. Here at last was Richard Montrose II: high society’s golden boy, the youngest captain on the Marnapur police force in history, and, if theMiss Marnapurmagazine that Catherine had regularly mailed Poppy throughout her time at Thornhaven was to be believed, the most eligible bachelor on the island. If Poppy wished to anchor herself to society, there was no stronger rock she could choose than Richard.
She sized him up discreetly, peeking through her lashes. She hadn’t had much cause to interact with Richard when they’d been children, save for rare encounters when she visited Catherine. While Poppy’s change had been a metamorphosis, Richard had only become morehimself. His sandy-blond hair had deepened into a rich gold, and the freckles that had once dusted his nose and soft cheeks had given way to perfect, marble skin, with a jawline and cheekbones that could have made a sculpture weep.
Even his personality had grown stronger over the years. His friendly, boyish nature had translated into masculine confidence that made one avert their eyes in respect, the same way one never looked directly at the sun in all its brilliance. Despite his noble disposition, he wasn’t cold or haughty. He smiled warmly at the other guests, even offering young Edward IV a brisk handshake that left the younger boy starry-eyed. Poppy could see why his superiors had taken to him so quickly, promoting him not once butthricein the last seven years.
In a way, he reminded her of the man her father had been when she’d left: vital, ambitious, and intelligent.Miss Marnapurhad not led her astray?—if there was ever a man to take as husband, it was this one.
At that moment, Richard turned and caught Poppy staring. She met his gaze, then immediately dropped her eyes, feigning bashfulness.Gawping is unladylike,the Hawk had instructed,but when it comes to gentlemen, a little eye contact goes a long way.
Richard pulled out the chair closest to Poppy. Her skin warmed under her dress in response. She inhaled, remaining calm and smiling demurely at him before focusing on her plate.
The first course arrived quickly: a fresh salad of dark-green leaves mixed with nuts and sweet oranges, tossed in bitter dressing. As was custom, the table waited for the duke to take the first bite before diving in. The conversation flowed as easily as the wine and food. A lamb roast followed the salad, which was succeeded by sweet rice pudding for dessert.
For the most part, the men carried the conversation.How interesting, that this dinner was meant to honor my return, and yet no one wants to hear from me,Poppy thought, but she held her tongue, determined to make the best impression on Richard. He was quiet, too, speaking only when spoken to. His humility was a pleasant surprise, especially given his accomplishments, but she wished he’d speak more, to give her clues on how to win him.
