“Poppy,” her father said, “you’re dismissed. Thank you for your help.”
She ducked her head, rising from her chair. “Lord Montrose, Captain Montrose,” she said, bobbing her head to each of them before hurrying from the room.
She cast one last glance back at the three men. Richard was still watching her, his gaze broken only by the closing door. While Lord Montrose often visited her father on government business, Richard had less cause to come by?—in fact, she could think of only one reason for his visit. Despite her earlier objection that it was too soon for a proposal, it seemed to her that one was on the horizon nonetheless, perhaps within another month or so. Good, she told herself. This was what she wanted, after all. The sooner his name was bound to hers, the better.
Chapter Nine
A Perilous Proposal
On Saturday morning, a week after he’d come to speak to her father, Richard took Poppy to watch a game of polo in his family’s box at the local club. He had taken her out almost every day since that first dinner together, a fact that had not gone unnoticed by others. The couple had been featured inMiss Marnapur’s gossip column at least twice, and other eligible society ladies shot Poppy frigid stares when she was out with Richard. She basked in their glares as she sat in the Montrose family box, savoring fragrant black tea and scones with jam and clotted cream.
After the match had ended, Richard rose and offered Poppy his hand. “Shall we leave? There’s one more thing I would like to show you.”
Intrigued, Poppy followed him back to the Peregrine. He drove them over Morning Bridge, out of the Welkish sector.
Poppy sat up straighter as they entered the Virian side of the city. Marnapur was divided by a river that flowed out to the sea. The Welkish families had taken residence on the west side, in green estates backing onto fine, sandy beaches. The east side was smaller, its shores rockier and less attractive, the ramshackle buildings crammed tight together, barely wide enough for the trucks that bore industrial supplies to scrape through. On occasion, their drivers struck people, often children too small to be seen over the wheel.
Richard slowed as he drove them deeper into the east side, carefully navigating past the marketplace and shabby shops, taking them away from the tall, smoking factories and toward the tin-topped homes of the slums. Despite herself, Poppy clenched her fists, unsettled by the proximity of pedestrians to the car, keeping a special eye out for any children.
Richard noticed her discomfort. “Don’t fret, Miss Sutherland. The doors to the vehicle are locked. These people cannot harm you, I assure you.”
Poppy sat back, too surprised to respond?—she didn’t fear the people; she fearedforthem. Yet it was sweet of Richard to think of her well-being. He would make an attentive husband, at least.
After twenty minutes, he pulled over across from a run-down building around three stories tall, the windows boarded up with plywood, the cement walls gray with dirt and age.
“Come on.” He beckoned, blue eyes sparking like the ocean. “Let’s go.”
He took Poppy’s hand. She glowed at his familiarity, a sure sign of his attachment. She followed Richard across the road until the two stood in front of the decrepit building. A small crowd of journalists had gathered there, carrying their bulky, heavy cameras. While the couple had been photographed at society events before, Poppy’s palms began to sweat.
“Richard,” she whispered, “the papers are here.”
“I invited them,” he replied, giving her hand a light squeeze. “You’ll see. Don’t worry.”
She bit the inside of her lip, fighting to remain composed. One bad picture, and those men could shatter her image in the flash of a second.
Once they were in front of the building, Richard turned to look at her. “You mentioned at our first dinner that you would like to be more involved in the viceroy’s office than the ladies of the past.”
Poppy swallowed a smug grin. Holding her hand, remembering small details?—she had him eating out of her palm.
“I would.” She beamed. “I have a mind for it, if you don’t mind my saying so. I would be an asset.”
“I have no doubt.” He nodded. “I hope you’ll forgive me for moving ahead without asking you, but I wanted this to be a surprise.”
He turned and beckoned to the crowd of waiting men, and one of them?—his footman?—came forward with a cream-colored folder.
Richard flipped the folder open and angled his body so Poppy could see the first page inside it. “This is the deed to the building we stand in front of,” he announced.
Her eyes widened. On the deed was her full name?—Poppy Demetria Sutherland. She stared at it in disbelief. Women had gained the legal ability to own property relatively recently?—her mother had been only a few years younger than Poppy when it happened?—but it was still rare for a woman to own a property not in her husband’s name. This was a break in tradition, a sign that Richard was willing to be more unconventional than generations past.
“I love it,” Poppy gushed, and this time she didn’t have to feign it. Hope?—warm, genuine hope?—bubbled in her chest like a rush of champagne. “Thank you.”
Richard laughed. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, but you don’t even know what I’ve bought this for.”
He turned to the next page, handing Poppy the folder. This new page had a sketch of the building in front of them beside a second sketch, which appeared to be the same building after renovations. The windows had been restored, a fence surrounded the yard, and a porch had been added to the front of the building. The new building was beautiful, but the name printed above the doorway seized Poppy’s attention:The Poppy Sutherland-Montrose Home for Children.
Poppy Sutherland-Montrose. His name, attached to hers, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. It could only mean one thing?—but it couldn’t be. It hadn’t even been a month. Poppy’s head snapped up, searching for Richard, but he wasn’t standing beside her anymore. He had taken a step back, making room to sink onto one knee as he revealed a velvet box with a flourish.
“Poppy Demetria Sutherland,” he began, his regal tone echoing, “though our courtship has been brief, I have seen many admirable traits in you: modesty, grace, and, most importantly, reverence for the Founder and his works. I do not need to go another day courting you to know that you are the woman I want by my side for the rest of my life. Marry me.”
