Once she’d settled into their place, she’d sent her father a letter, informing him of three things:
First, she was alive. Second, she was not going to marry Richard. And third, she would not return home until he formally named her his successor.
The viceroy’s response came lightning quick, the letter firm and chastising, scolding Poppy for scaring him and her mother, scolding her for being unreasonable, scolding her for being petty. He threatened to have the police drag her from Theodore’s house immediately.
She didn’t respond to that letter.
Not a single police officer arrived, exposing her father’s threat for the bluff it was. He could not have her arrested for the same reason that he hadn’t been able to call off the wedding: If Poppy had to be dragged to the altar in chains, it would be incredibly humiliating for both the Sutherlands and the Montroses, even more so than a dissolved engagement.
The letter that came the next day had changed remarkably in tone. Her father apologized for being short, then repeated his request for Poppy to return home, this time avoiding the topic of succession altogether.
To this one, she penned a short response:
I understand that you care deeply about my well-being, which is why I do not understand why you refuse to acknowledge the fact of the matter: If I had been your natural-born male heir, you would not have been so quick to give my inheritance to another person. Until I know you are willing to regard me as equal?—truly equal?—I will not come home.
After that, no more letters arrived.
Though she had known that convincing her father wouldn’t be easy, it still broke her heart each time the mail arrived without a letter for her. She buried the shards somewhere deep, throwing herself into her work with Theodore. As promised, he’d scheduled meetings with several of the Second Families, giving her time to prepare beforehand.
Until this week, Poppy had knownofthe Second Families, but notaboutthem. She knew their names and their patriarchs, but not their industries, not their investments, not their histories. Surprisingly, it was Hasan’s advice that had spurred her to do her research:The people will decide who rules. To get their support, you have to speak their language. You have to know their struggles.Poppy had spent countless hours cramming everything she could learn about her potential allies into her head. She learned about their histories, both in Welkland and in Viryana, about their business ventures and alliances with the other families, about their successes and?—more importantly?—their failures.
Today, she’d meet the head of the Greenwoods. They had the second-most connections, with the Oakbury family being first. Two of the men in the immediate Greenwood clan held representative seats in the House and had built a network of alliances during their time there. Most compellingly, they were the most likely to side with Poppy, having hired Virian managers in their company, a rarity in Welkish companies, who typically relegated their Virian employees to manual labor.
But this didn’t guarantee anything. Just because they didn’t mind having a brown man work to increase their profit didn’t mean that they would be okay taking orders from a brown woman as their vicereine.
The Greenwood patriarch arrived on time. Theodore made the introductions. “Miss Sutherland, may I introduce Mr. Blair Greenwood, head of the Greenwood family.”
Blair stepped forward, lifting a brow at Poppy’s offered hand?—a masculine gesture?—but he shook it nonetheless. She used the moment to size him up. He was tall, of slim build, with meadow-green eyes and a dense mop of chestnut hair streaked with white in the front.
“Pleasure to meet you,” Blair said.
“The pleasure is mine.”
Theodore, true to his word, stepped out of the room once the introductions were complete. Her heart raced as he left. Though she wished fervently that he would have stayed, she forced herself to think practically. If she needed someone to intercede for her consistently, she would never survive as vicereine.
She turned her attention back to Blair Greenwood.
“So, this is Montrose’s fiancée.” He looked her up and down. Poppy stiffened, years of smiling through the Hawk’s slights the only thing keeping her from flinching. If she wanted to establish herself as a serious contender for the viceroy’s office, she needed to shed the Montrose name?—fast.
Ignoring his comment, she extended her hand to the seat across from Theodore’s desk. “Please, won’t you sit?”
As Greenwood sat, Poppy sank into Theodore’s chair. He opened his mouth, but she beat him to it, setting the tone of the conversation before he could bring up Richard again.
“I appreciate your coming today. I’ll keep things straightforward. I seek to be formally named in the line of succession to the viceroy’s office. However, given that having someone like me assume the role is... unprecedented, I am garnering support to prove that therearethose who would follow me. When this goes to a vote in the House?—because it will?—I need to know there are men who are willing to vote for me. These men will not go unrewarded, of course.”
Greenwood snapped his mouth shut. Then he chuckled dryly. The sound set Poppy on edge.Was that ano?
“I have to admit, whatever I thought you had called me here for, it wasn’tthat.” Blair smoothed the lapels of his coat. “I suppose it’s my support you’d like?”
“Yours, and that of the other Second Families,” she elaborated. She switched tack, easily slipping back into her role of assimilated Virian girl. “Since returning to the island, I’ve noticed that life here is different based on the name and skin you wear. It’s a perversion of what the Founder envisioned.”
Greenwood waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, don’t quote scripture at me. I’m afraid I’m not nearly so refined. My family members were shepherds in Welkland before we came on the first voyage, did you know?”
Poppyhadknown, thanks to her preparation, though she hadn’t considered how that would have affected the man’s attitude toward the Founder. She kept silent, allowing Greenwood to continue.
“When my forefathers landed, they soon learned that there was no place in the hot island climate for wool. They had to pivot to weaving cotton and other textiles, learning new methods of dying fabric.”
“The quality of your fabric is unmatched,” she said, gesturing at her attire, which Catherine had rush ordered from her seamstress for this very meeting. “In fact, this dress is made from Greenwood cotton.” Noting the flash of approval in his eyes with satisfaction, Poppy continued. “Yet your business is thesecond-biggest manufacturer of finished cotton on the island.”
