Dukes to the Left of Me, Princes to the Right

by Kieran Kramer

  “You know it,” said Harry, with a wink and a smile.

  “Right.” Lumley sat up. “Here’s what you should do, Drummond. Be attentive. Kind. Bring the princess flowers. Tell her you worship the ground she walks on. And then—”

  “I need something that works fast. That’s guaranteed.”

  “Oh, in that case”—Lumley nodded and pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket—“just show her this.” He handed the sheet to Nicholas and told him what to say.

  Nicholas felt a glimmer of hope. “Thanks.” He tucked the paper in his coat. “Leave it to the Impossible Bachelors to help get me out of this mess. I hope it works.”

  “It’ll work, old boy,” Lumley assured him.

  “After you rid yourself of Natasha, what will you do about Lady Poppy?” asked Arrow.

  Nicholas shrugged. “Nothing. She told me she never wants to see me again.”

  He couldn’t tell them about the portrait, about how his job required he choose duty over all else. And that Poppy would never forgive him for letting her mother’s portrait be destroyed.

  “You don’t love her?” Lumley asked. “She’s a gorgeous thing, and I’m tempted to pursue her if you won’t. She seems the type who’d appreciate a decent fellow like me.”

  “Yes, she would,” Nicholas said miserably, then cast Lumley a dark look. “But don’t even think about it.”

  Arrow chuckled. “Oh-ho, so you have feelings for her, after all? I assumed you were succumbing to the parson’s mousetrap for money. It’s the only good reason I can think of for any fellow with a brain to get married.” He angled a grin Harry’s way. “Pardon me, Harry. You’re the exception, of course. We know you’re whip-smart and married Molly for love.”

  Harry chuckled. “Someday you’ll smarten up, too, lads, never fear. I only hope it’s not too late for Nicholas. One has to fight for the right woman. Not sit about being soft and letting wily Russian princesses take over.”

  He directed a careless grin Nicholas’s way, but his gaze was serious.

  Nicholas felt the barb.

  “I don’t have a right woman,” he said testily. “And I certainly don’t plan to wed Natasha. I intend to stay a bachelor as long as I can.”

  How long would that be?

  Marriage was a requirement of his job at the Service. And Prinny might soon be breathing down his neck again to make him participate in another Impossible Bachelors wager.

  Soon he’d have to find a milk-and-water miss to marry. A boring girl with a bland expression and nothing but duty in her expression when they’d make love in their marital bed.

  Duty.

  When someone applied the concept to life with him, he certainly didn’t like it.

  He didn’t want duty in a marriage. He wanted fun. And spontaneity.

  He wanted Poppy.

  But it was too late.

  He took a large swallow of brandy. The burning sensation in his stomach masked the emptiness he felt inside.

  “So you’ll stay a bachelor as long as you can, eh?” Harry appraised him sharply. “Lucky you.”

  There was a pause, a brief awkwardness in the air, then Arrow laughed. So did Lumley.

  Nicholas decided to take Harry’s remark at face value. “Yes, lucky me,” he said, and everyone—even Harry, the only legshackled man among them—raised their snifters in a toast to his future.

  CHAPTER 40

  Poppy knew she’d fallen in love with Nicholas. She just didn’t know how much until she’d left London immediately the morning after their broken engagement, kissing her distressed father good-bye and journeying forth only with her maid and a manservant, for the countryside of Kent, where Aunt Charlotte already waited.

  There’d be nothing to do in Kent, Poppy mused as she passed by miles of pasture and small villages. Nothing to do but read and do needlepoint and have tea with the vicar’s wife.

  She hoped that would be a good thing. She longed to put the embarrassment of her broken engagement behind her, as well as the humiliating scene in front of Sergei and Natasha.

  But unfortunately, with only a quiet maid and somber manservant to keep her company, her thoughts went constantly back to her time in London, to all the wonderful moments she’d had with Nicholas. And she realized in an appalling moment of clarity—

  She realized it would be no small task getting over the wicked Duke of Drummond.

  Emphasis on wicked.

  She’d known because of the way her body had reacted when they’d locked eyes at his thrilled comment and they’d had a flash of connection—despite everything that had gone wrong.

  Much had, of course. He’d had an intimate history with the princess, one that Poppy had known nothing about. He’d fathered her baby.

  But there was nothing Poppy could do but put the scoundrel behind her and move on, more a Spinster than ever before … because now she had a broken heart.

  She was only miles from the village in Kent when a large carriage passed her own. It was painted with an impressive shield that immediately told her Sergei must be inside it.

  Her own carriage rolled to a stop, and she braced herself.

  What could Sergei want?

  She sighed and wished him gone already.

  He came striding up and opened her carriage door. “Lady Poppy,” he said, “please alight.” He held out his hand. “I’ve something of great importance to ask you.”

  She shook her head. “Your Highness, I already told you—”

  He chuckled. “It’s not what you think. I insist. Please step down.”

  So with an importuning glance at her maid and manservant (hopefully, they would come to her aid if she needed them), she descended.

  Sergei escorted her to a nearby tree stump. “Please,” he said. “Sit.”

  Which she did with a great deal of trepidation.

  He placed a lingering kiss on her hand. “You are as beautiful as ever. Perhaps more beautiful than you were last time I saw you.”

  Goodness. He was certainly laying it on thick. And it had been less than one day since their awkward meeting at her house. She found it hard to believe she’d looked beautiful then. She imagined her eyes had been popping out of her head at all the wretched goings-on, and her face must have been beet red, as well.

  He got down on one knee. “Lady Poppy, I come to bestow upon you the magnificent honor of being my bride. I see it is the only way I can have you.”

  Good God.

  She had to restrain a giggle. He was the most conceited man she’d ever met. Once again, she wondered how she’d ever thought he was the only man who could ever tempt her to drop her membership in the Spinsters Club.

  This was the moment she’d hoped for, the one that she’d thought would make her life perfect.

  He was a Russian prince. Some might tell her she should instantly say yes. But the old pat excuse went running through her head …

  Thank you, but I must decline. I love the Duke of Drummond.

  Only this time, her explanation wasn’t some made-up story based on Cook’s outlandish tales. This time, her reason was genuine. Even in her misery, she recognized the irony of her situation, that the lie that had conveniently extricated her from so many unwanted betrothals now inflicted pain on her in its truth.

  Sergei sniffed, a long, drawn-out sniff. “I can promise we’ll see very little of my eccentric sister and her husband. They’ll stay in England. We’ll make our home in Russia. I will enjoy making many babies with you, but you will pretend to be a Spinster every Saturday evening, no? It will be our game.”

  And then his perfectly sculpted mouth stretched in a lecherous grin.

  She slid off the stump. “Your Highness, thank you, but no, thank you. I really must be on my way.”

  He grabbed her arm. “But Lady Poppy. I am a Russian prince!”

  “Yes.” She smiled at him. “But you are a pompous Russian prince. You hum in the most awful manner when you should be quiet. You asked me to be your mistress and parade
about naked with a parasol, and then you invited me to a terrifying party where all your guests got drunk and I was treated like a prisoner by your footman. Now you have the temerity to come after me on the road, as if I’ll fall at your feet and be grateful for your attentions. Spare me. I don’t want them.”

  He angled his head. “You don’t?”

  She exhaled a breath. “I’m in love with someone else.”

  “Who?” He wore a babyish pout.

  “The man marrying your sister. The Duke of Drummond, my former fiancé.”

  Sergei scoffed. “He is but a duke.”

  “I know,” she said, patting his arm. “But as you are selfish and vain, this should make you feel better—I can’t have him. So I shall continue being a Spinster. Probably forever.”

  The prince kissed her hand. “If I can’t have you, I like knowing you’ll be a Spinster forever.”

  “Ohhhh!” she cried, and stalked off.

  “But Poppy! I love you!” he called after her.

  “Not as much as you love yourself!” she cried over her shoulder, and clambered back into her carriage.

  “Please leave right away,” she told the driver, her heart beating hard with fury and satisfaction.

  The driver did just that, although it took some expert maneuvering to get around the prince’s coach-and-four. It was another hour to the cottage, long enough to muse on how much she’d changed since she’d met Nicholas. She was braver. More adventurous. And she certainly didn’t suffer fools lightly.

  And now she was lonelier than she’d ever been in her life.

  Aunt Charlotte was surprised to see her, of course, and then terribly concerned when Poppy relayed the entire story about Nicholas and Natasha. She also told her about Sergei’s rather indecent proposal of marriage.

  Her aunt listened, and at the tawdry tale’s conclusion, patted her hand. “You came to the right place. We’ll be secluded here. I’ll make you tea and cakes and—”

  “No Bath buns, please.” Poppy was adamant on that point.

  They’d remind her too much of Nicholas and that walk they’d taken trying to lure the gander back to his pond, as well as the impromptu “Bath bun” Nicholas had given her afterward.

  Too many things reminded her of him.

  Late that afternoon Aunt Charlotte quietly netted a bag while Poppy attempted to immerse herself in Clarissa. She was failing miserably, so when a knock sounded at their door, she was happy for the diversion.

  A moment later, a manservant came to the sitting room. “Lord Eversly to see you, ladies. Shall I allow him in?”

  “Certainly,” said Aunt Charlotte.

  Poppy was a bit stunned.

  Lord Eversly, carrying two large bouquets of flowers, strode into their small sitting room, exuding good cheer.

  Poppy laid her book aside on a low table and stood. “Lord Eversly. This is a surprise.”

  He smiled warmly, which was a balm to her sad heart. “I hope a good surprise.” He handed her a bouquet full of red roses.

  “Thank you,” she said, entirely flummoxed.

  “My pleasure,” he said, and handed the other bouquet, filled with daisies and other charming flowers, to Aunt Charlotte.

  Aunt Charlotte beamed. “We’re thrilled to see you, Eversly. Welcome to the countryside of Kent.”

  Thrilled.

  Of course, Poppy had to think of Nicholas at that moment.

  Lord Eversly bowed low over Aunt Charlotte’s hand. “Such a pleasure to see you, my good lady. Your brother sends his compliments.”

  Poppy froze. Lord Eversly had gone to see her father?

  There was an awkward silence.

  “Tea?” she asked him.

  “Later, perhaps,” he said politely, then turned to Aunt Charlotte. “Would you mind if your niece took me on a tour of the garden?”

  Aunt Charlotte shot Poppy a meaningful look, which Poppy ignored. There was absolutely no possibility the earl had romantic intentions toward her. She’d already declined him. Surely he wouldn’t try to win her again.

  “Lady Poppy?” Lord Eversly eyed her hopefully. “Would you care to go with me?”

  “Certainly,” she said, a trifle hesitant, although she wasn’t sure why.

  Outside they wandered through rows of rosebushes.

  Lord Eversly stopped near a charming fountain of an angel. “Lady Poppy, I shall get right to the heart of the matter. As I have expressed to your father in a visit to him this morning, I care for you very much. When I heard Drummond is to marry the Russian princess, my heart told me that perhaps it was not too late … for me.”

  He gave her a meaningful look.

  She inhaled a breath. She’d no idea what to say, so she thought hard for a moment.

  “Lord Eversly,” she said eventually, “I’m flattered by your offer. And I’ll be happy to give you my answer at the Lievens’ ball … if you can wait that long.”

  For a brief second, he appeared taken aback, but then he recovered. “Of course,” he said warmly. “I’ll be happy to wait until the first waltz. But until that time, I’d like to leave you with a memory I hope shall sway you.”

  He took her in his arms and kissed her. The kiss wasn’t particularly chaste, either. He kissed her thoroughly and well.

  When he pulled back, he searched her face.

  She forced herself to give him a little smile.

  “Think about it,” he said. “I’ll make you a good husband. We can be happy together.”

  “Yes,” Poppy whispered. “I’ll think about it.”

  She’d felt nothing when he’d kissed her, nothing but an awareness of his sweet nature. But having a kind husband was a good thing, was it not?

  The rest of his visit passed pleasantly enough. He stayed for dinner and told them he had plans to spend the night at the village inn. He would leave early the next morning for a meeting in London.

  Throughout dinner and their short conversation afterward, Poppy was anxious to tell Aunt Charlotte what had transpired in the garden, and she sensed her aunt was anxious, as well. So when they finally shut the front door behind the earl, Aunt Charlotte didn’t even wait to walk back to the sitting room.

  “Do tell,” she said in the cozy entryway.

  “He asked me to marry him. Again.”

  “My heavens.” Aunt Charlotte bit her lip. “Well, we both already know you don’t love him. If you don’t love him, you won’t marry him, correct?”

  “Yes, I know.” Poppy sighed. “According to the Spinsters Club. But I’m not sure about those rules anymore.”

  She wandered listlessly back to the sitting room and sank onto a settee.

  Aunt Charlotte sat next to her. “Why, dear?”

  “Because look where love has gotten me.”

  “You love Drummond, don’t you?” Aunt Charlotte’s tone was sober.

  Poppy nodded slowly. It hurt to acknowledge the fact.

  Aunt Charlotte sighed.

  “Drummond is to marry Natasha.” Poppy forced herself to say the words. “And according to the Spinsters Club, I should remain a Spinster because I can’t have the man I love. But all those rules are based upon the idea that true love is the only reason to marry. You yourself told me to stay open to the possibilities.”

  And so had Nicholas, Poppy recalled bitterly.

  “I did, didn’t I?” Aunt Charlotte said, her bright blue eyes troubled.

  Poppy hesitated. “Quite frankly, I don’t know if I can live alone the rest of my life thinking about Drummond. I’d rather stay busy—with a good husband, many children, and a new life. I’d like to start over. Who’s to say I can’t fall in love with Lord Eversly? And even if I can’t, we can become good friends.”

  “You’re being very practical,” Aunt Charlotte said. “And I must admit, I’ve found solace in other things, too.” She grasped Poppy’s hand. “But you misread my intentions, dear, about staying open to romantic possibilities. You must believe true happiness is possible with Eversly. You can�
�t marry him simply to run away. Or to cover your hurt.”

  “I’m not sure yet what I’ll do,” said Poppy, squeezing her hand back. “So please be patient with me while I think about it this week.”

  “Of course. We’ll have a peaceful few days.”

  But the next morning, several village women came to visit.

  “The Russian prince was seen on the road to our village,” said the squire’s wife, her cheeks pink with excitement. “Someone said he intercepted your carriage, brought you out of it, and got down on a knee and proposed. And then another man, an earl, came here with a massive bouquet of roses yesterday. You’re a popular young lady.”

  “When is the wedding?” said another woman.

  “And whom shall you choose?” asked a third. “We heard the awful news about your other fiancé. Drummond. He’s to marry the Russian princess.”

  “Yes, he is.” Poppy smiled awkwardly. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but as of now, there is to be no wedding for me.”

  The faces of the ladies all registered disappointment.

  “Poppy’s still thinking,” said Aunt Charlotte.

  “So the earl, too, proposed yesterday?” the squire’s wife asked hopefully.

  Poppy sighed. “It’s a private matter, ladies. That’s all I can say.”

  “We understand.” The ladies departed with many friendly wishes for a good day. But the rest of the afternoon, other villagers gathered nearby in little clusters and were staring at the house.

  At dinner that evening, the squire himself knocked on the door.

  “I’m going to stop this right now,” Poppy said, and opened the door, Aunt Charlotte at her side.

  “It’s my understanding,” the squire intoned, “that Lady Poppy is to be married to the Russian prince.”

  Aunt Charlotte opened her mouth to say something, but Poppy cut her off. “I’m sorry, sir, but your information is incorrect. Lady Charlotte and I are departing in the morning for London.”

  And she tried to shut the door.

  But the squire stopped it with his hand. “Of course, you’ll have many parties to attend in London before the big event. But do let us know when the nuptial feast will occur. If it’s to be in Town, my wife and I would be honored to represent the village.”