by Merry Farmer
“I bet you’ll love that, eh, Nick?” Mrs. Harmon said as she swept into the room with a steaming pot of turnips and set it on the table.
Nick seemed suddenly anxious. He glanced to Poppy, something woeful in his eyes, then twisted to smile at Mrs. Harmon. “Sure. It’ll be grand.”
Mrs. Harmon nodded and marched back out of the room again.
“I suppose that would be grand,” Poppy said, her smile growing wider. Mavis was Nick’s sister, after all. Poppy didn’t know much about her, only that she’d been mentioned once or twice as the person who was closest to Nick. Only a few people who still worked at Starcross remembered her. She’d moved to the London house before Poppy was hired. Rumor had it she was pretty and lively. Poppy wondered if she had Nick’s dark, mysterious coloring or if she favored someone else in the family.
It wasn’t until a longer sort of silence reigned at the table that Poppy realized Nick was watching her. He wore a peculiar look as well.
“You will be happy about it, won’t you?” she asked.
Nick couldn’t have been more surprised by Poppy’s question if someone had kicked the bench out from under him and he’d crashed to the floor. He hadn’t realized Poppy had known about Mavis in the first place, and here she was, telling him it would be grand for him to have her back?
His mind couldn’t wrap itself around the concept. He was certain to the very core of his being that Poppy loved him, or at least carried a torch for him. How could she possibly be happy about his fiancée returning?
“Well…I…yes, I suppose I will be happy?” he said, completely unsure on every level.
Mavis was a youthful mistake. She was the irritating itch on his back that he couldn’t reach. In a way, she was his mother’s idea. His mum and Mavis’s had been friends since they were girls, and they’d plotted for the two of them to end up together from the time they were in their cradles. Mavis was beautiful, and after the heartbreak and misery his mum went through when his father died, Nick had had no problem cozying up to her. He’d enjoyed it on some levels, but his heart had never been involved. He’d made promises to Mavis for his mum’s sake, promises that he’d been ambivalent about until Poppy came along. The fact that Mavis had left to work in London instead of marrying him immediately hadn’t bothered him four years ago. He’d been in no hurry to stand up in the church with her.
And when Poppy came along, he’d started wishing and hoping she’d stay in London forever. But she was coming back. And Poppy was…glad?
The meal went on, with Clive telling the others about the footmen he knew in London and how he imagined they would fit into the way things worked at Starcross. He was in the middle of talking about the differences in managing style between Mr. Snyder and Mr. Egbert when Poppy asked Nick, “Do you think you’d like to be married?”
Nick nearly choked on his stew. The rest of the table was split between the conversation about London and a fast-paced, high-pitched discussion between Kitty and another new maid, Henrietta, about the upcoming harvest festival, so no one but Nick heard the question.
“Um…I suppose,” he said, bristling with discomfort. How could she ask something so sensitive, something that he was sure would ultimately make her miserable, with such a cheerful expression? Perhaps some of the unkind things he’d heard about Poppy over the years were true and she really was touched in the head.
But no, he knew she wasn’t. He knew she was the gentlest, sweetest soul imaginable.
“I think I’d like to be married,” she said in a rush, cheeks pink, unable to meet his eyes. “I think I’d make a wonderful wife and mother. After working with Mrs. Harmon for years, I’m a very good cook. And I’m sure I wouldn’t break things if they belonged to me.”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t,” he said, because it seemed like the right thing to say. His mind roiled, though. Poppy would make the perfect wife and mother, but to do so would mean she was someone else’s wife and the mother of someone else’s children. He wasn’t sure he could stomach the thought.
“What do you think the best part of marriage will be?” she asked, glancing to him again with stars in her eyes.
He stared at her, the piece of bread he’d picked up frozen in mid-air. The look she gave him said she was thinking of him and only him when thinking of married life. But she’d just said he would be happy to have Mavis back. When he thought about the things he’d like about being married to Mavis, nothing came to mind. Not a single thing. Not even her face, really. He only saw her a few times a year, when she’d come home for holidays and their families got together.
When he thought about the best parts of marriage to Poppy, however, the entire world came to mind. Quiet evenings in winter, sitting by the fire with her, delicious meals served for him and for their friends in the garden house where he lived, and especially the way she would feel under him in bed, the passionate sounds he knew she would make and the salty-sweet taste of her skin.
“I don’t know,” he answered when he realized he was taking too long to say something. It was true. He didn’t have the slightest clue, both in terms of what marriage would be like or what was going on in Poppy’s head.
“I should like to keep house,” Poppy went on, her gaze taking on a distant, joyful look. “And raise children. Although I’m not sure if I could keep a house tidy and look after half a dozen babies.”
“Half a dozen?” Nick’s voice cracked. He could so easily fit himself into that glorious picture, see himself dandling little girls with Poppy’s smile on his knees or teaching his sons the secrets of the earth as they grew older, the way his father had taught him. But the thought that those children would belong to some other man killed the last of his appetite. He put the piece of bread down.
Poppy seemed to draw herself back from her thoughts and focus on him again, a sweet flush painting her cheeks. “If that’s not too many,” she said.
“It’s not too many,” he said. For her sake, he smiled. Whatever would make her happiest was the right thing to happen. It would be a crime for Poppy to remain unmarried forever, even if he couldn’t be her husband.
If only he could. If only his former self hadn’t been so rash, or his mum hadn’t needed the ray of happiness that him marrying Mavis according to her wishes would give her.
A new possibility tickled him. If Mavis returned and decided to break things off with him, everything would be different. He wouldn’t be the one breaking his mother’s already broken heart then. And his mum would love Poppy, once she met her.
“You never know what the future will hold,” he said, his smile genuine again.
“You never know,” Poppy repeated.
They shared a smile across the table. It was precious to him, meaningful. It filled his heart with hope, even though a whisper of doubt continued to plague him. He knew what he wanted, and if he played his cards right, there was a chance he could get it.
Chapter 3
The problem of Mavis stayed at the forefront of Nick’s thoughts for days. There had to be something he could do. He’d never been the sort to sit by and let life roll over him. He jammed his shovel into the heap of manure, compost, and dirt, feeling the heat and comfort of his muscles working, and frowned over the conundrum. The situation he was in reminded him of the stinking pile of muck in front of him. It was made up of the very worst things, but if he used it right, it would provide nourishment and make beautiful things grow. If he could work out how to turn his mistakes and his loyalty to his mother into a way to win Poppy for good, it would all be worthwhile.
“Cheer up,” Harry’s upbeat call shook Nick out of his thoughts. “It might never happen.”
“What?” Nick heaved a shovel of fertilizer into the wheelbarrow beside him, then planted his shovel and leaned on it, panting.
“It’s something Ginny likes to say.” Harry wheeled another barrow of fresh manure toward him. He dumped it into the pile, parked the wheelbarrow to the side, and strode over to Nick. As far as Nick was concerned, no
man had the right to look as blissfully self-satisfied as Harry did.
“You two enjoyed your honeymoon, I see.” Nick sent his friend a teasing smirk—one he didn’t really feel—and went back to shoveling shit.
“We most certainly did,” Harry answered.
“Brighton was nice?” Nick asked.
“I haven’t the foggiest idea.”
Nick sent him a flat look, only to find Harry grinning like a man who had spent a week being well and truly satisfied. It caused a strange pang of jealousy to burn in his gut. He and Harry had been equals in just about all things, up until recently. It was hard for him to see how he would get the happy ending Harry had at the rate things were going.
“Come on, man,” Harry went on with a chuckle. “I would have expected a lot more ribbing from you after a remark like mine.”
Nick shrugged and tossed another shovel of fertilizer into his wheelbarrow. “Guess I’m not in the mood for idle chit-chat.”
“Guess not,” Harry said, but his teasing grin was still in place. He crossed his arms, studying Nick intently as he tried to continue his work. “So rumor has it Mavis is coming back.”
Nick straightened, unsure whether to roll his eyes at Harry or sigh and admit defeat. “That’s what I hear.”
“Did she write to you to say she’s coming?”
Nick paused with his shovel in mid-air. “No, she didn’t. I heard it through downstairs gossip, and then from Mum when I was home on Sunday.” A sliver of hope hit him, and he emptied his shovel into his wheelbarrow, then leaned on it. “You’d think she’d write if she was coming back and wanted to pick up where she left off.”
Harry’s teasing smirk shifted to a more serious look of camaraderie. “Has she been writing much at all these last few years?”
Nick shrugged, staring at the corner of the castle without really seeing it. “Not much. Well, not to me. She writes to her mum, who talks to my mum all the time. But me?” He searched through his memory for the last time he got a letter from Mavis and what it had said. The only face that came to mind when he thought about the woman he loved was Poppy’s. “It’s been months, really.”
“Which, I’m sure, is fine by you.”
Nick shifted to stare at Harry. “And by that you mean….”
Harry chuckled, letting his arms drop and thumping Nick’s arm. “Leave playing coy to the women. I know how you feel about Poppy Miller.”
Nick started to frown, but there didn’t seem much point in hiding his feelings from his closest friend. He stabbed his shovel into the pile of fertilizer. “There’s no point in falling in love if I’m not free to do anything about it.”
Harry shook his head. “You’re not some high-born nob whose social reputation rests on honorably marrying a woman you haven’t seen for four years.”
“I saw her when she was home for Easter,” Nick contradicted him in a sullen voice, knowing that wasn’t Harry’s point. “Our families spent the holiday together. They spend every holiday together, now that Mum and the girls have moved out to Porthleven.”
“How did the two of you end up engaged anyhow?” Harry asked.
Nick sighed and stepped away from his work to the jug of water he’d set on a nearby bench earlier. He sank into the bench with a grunt and took a long drink of water. Harry ambled over and put his foot up on the edge of the bench.
“It happened how anything happens when you’re young, randy, and impatient.” Nick shrugged. “And, of course, our families are close. Mum and Mavis’s mum grew up together and stayed in touch, even after Mama married Papa. They used to joke about Mavis and I getting married someday when Mavis was a baby and I was in short pants. I still think Papa helped Mavis get a job here so we could be around each other all the time. After he died, with Mum in the state she was, how could I not ask Mavis to marry me?”
“Never underestimate the power of mothers who want their children to get married,” Harry chuckled.
Nick shrugged. “Mavis was pretty and biddable, so I didn’t fight it so much. I was used to having girls give me whatever I asked for.” He arched a brow when Harry snorted. “So were you,” he said, pointing at him. “But you know as well as I do that the girls who we kept company with back then were notoriously free with their favors. Mavis wasn’t, and since I was used to getting what I wanted, I figured proposing marriage was the way under her skirts.”
“And how far under her skirts did it get you?” Harry asked, his lips twitching with mirth as Nick writhed in discomfort.
“All the way,” Nick muttered. “Of course, she was moved to the London house about a month after that.”
“Did you know she was being sent there when you proposed?”
“No.”
“Did she?”
Nick narrowed his eyes. “What are you getting at?”
Harry shrugged and rocked back to stand on two feet. “Men aren’t the only ones who like a little poke now and then. Maybe Mavis wanted a tumble, but didn’t want to seem too eager. Maybe she wanted to please her mother by getting engaged to you as much as you wanted to make your mum happy.”
Nick let out a breath. “Could be. She certainly wasn’t a shy violet about things.” In fact, he’d been surprised by how bold she was. She could have taught the girls down by the docks in Penzance a thing or two.
“Did Mavis request to be sent to London back then or was she sent without knowing about it?” Harry asked on.
“I have no idea.” Nick took one last swig of water, then pushed himself to stand.
Harry followed him back to the pile of fertilizer. “For all we know, this whole mess about being engaged with honor and pleasing your family when you want to be free to marry someone else could just be a tempest in a teapot.”
“You think?” Nick glanced over his shoulder at Harry as he grabbed the shovel and took it back to the corner of the greenhouse nearby.
“I don’t see why not,” Harry said. “For all you know, Mavis might drop you like a hot potato the second she sets foot on Cornish soil. What could your families do then? You could be closer than you think to dropping down on one knee to propose to sweet Poppy. You, uh, haven’t already plucked that flower, have you?”
Harry was back to teasing, but his words cheered Nick all the same. “Of course not. Poppy isn’t that kind of girl.” He paused, sending Harry a guilty grin. “Not that I haven’t thought about it, mind you. Far more than I should,” he added in a mutter, walking to his wheelbarrow.
“There you go.” Harry nodded, moving to fetch his own wheelbarrow. “You could be closer to happiness than you think. All you have to do is wait for Mavis to get here and set you free.”
Nick nodded, calling, “Cheers,” to Harry as they both headed off to get more work done. Harry had given him new hope, but he wasn’t fool enough to think he was out of the woods yet.
Poppy’s plan was set. Not that she considered herself particularly good at planning. But she knew what she wanted, now more than ever. Lady Mariah and Miss Victoria had been encouraging. Ginny was excited for her. Mrs. Harmon approved. And with Nick’s sister returning to Starcross Castle, there would never be a better time for her to reach for her dream of finding where she truly belonged in life.
“I belong at Nick’s side, as his wife,” she reminded herself, checking her reflection in the small mirror beside the bureau in her room in the servant’s quarters. She’d washed her hair the night before and set it in rag curls. They’d been caught up under her mobcap all day as they finished drying, and now they rested around her shoulders in springy, brown loops. Granted, she would never win the blue ribbon for hairstyles at the town faire. One strand of curls in particular wouldn’t stay behind her ear. But she was convinced Nick would like what he saw.
She pinched her cheeks to make them pinker than they already were, then took a step back to smooth her skirts. It was the middle of the day, so she still wore her faded maid’s uniform, but her apron was starched and white. She was ready to do this. She was ready
to pursue Nick Parsons and to convince him she was the woman who should be his wife.
“All right,” she told her reflection, then blew out a breath. “Let’s go find a husband.”
She turned, making it three steps toward the door before snagging her foot on the worn carpet and stumbling forward. She yelped, but managed to catch hold of the door instead of spilling to the floor. Her heart raced, and she took a few more steadying breaths before turning the handle.
“Slow and steady, Poppy,” she told herself. “And don’t trip over your own feet.”
At last, she pulled the door open and walked out into the hall. With careful, even steps, as if stalking prey in the woods, she walked to the end of the hall, down the stairs, and through the servant’s quarters.
She made it almost all the way past the kitchen before Mrs. Harmon called out, “What’s wrong with you, girl? You’re walking as though you’re trying not to break wind as you go.”
Poppy’s face turned beet red, and she whipped to face Mrs. Harmon, her floppy curls bouncing. “I am not. I’m being slow and careful.”
Mrs. Harmon’s brow shot up to her hairline. “Where are you going looking like you have a head full of snakes?”
“They’re curls, not snakes. And I’m….” She darted a glance to the two kitchen maids, who were tittering behind their hands and pretending not to see her. Poppy sighed. “Do I look that bad? I was trying to look pretty.”
Mrs. Harmon let out a breath and shook her head. “Dear girl.” She marched across the room and started running her fingers through Poppy’s hair like a mother hen. “You’re pretty enough without fuss and nonsense. I’m sure any one of the footmen or lads down in town would fall all over themselves to have you.”
She grabbed Poppy’s shoulders and turned her to the side, then set to work gathering half her hair at the back of her head. She pulled a piece of twine out of her apron and tied the hair back. The style was simple, but it kept the hair out of Poppy’s face while letting the curls she’d worked so hard for settle around her shoulders.
