Keane stood on the doorstep of Poppy’s cottage cradling a bottle of brandy in one arm. Yes, it was a blatant attempt to curry favor with her father, but Keane needed every advantage if he was to have any hope of securing the older man’s blessing.
His heart pounded as he knocked on the weathered wooden door. The last time he’d felt this nervous was when he’d had to confess to his own father that he’d taken the curricle without permission, flipped it on a winding road, and damaged it beyond repair.
Keane hoped to God that this encounter involved a good deal less cursing and threats of violence than the curricle confession.
The door swung open, and Dane’s hulking frame filled the doorway. “Hawking,” he said, lifting his chin in a subtle but distinct gesture of respect.
“Is your sister at home?”
Dane arched a brow. “She’s gone for a walk. She said you wanted to speak with our father.”
“I do.” Keane cleared his throat.
“Well then, let’s get on with it.” The gravelly voice came from inside the cottage, and Dane stepped aside, motioning for Keane to enter the main room where a white-haired man sat in a threadbare chair, a quilt draped across his knees.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Summers.” Keane quickly removed his hat. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Dane chuckled under his breath. “I’m going to check the nets. Good luck, old bloke,” he said, slapping Keane on the back. “You’ll need it.” Dane grabbed his gloves and cap, then headed outside, closing the door behind him.
“What have you got there?” Mr. Summers waved a gnarled finger at the brandy.
“Some spirits for you,” Keane said, raising the bottle. “Shall I set it on the table?”
“After you pour a splash in here.” He held out a mug of steaming tea while Keane filled it to the brim. “A little brandy might help this bathwater go down. Poppy insists I drink the stuff.”
“She’s only looking after you.”
“Aye,” he said with a scowl. “She insisted I shave and comb my hair this morning. Fussed over me like the king himself was paying a visit.”
Keane shot him a wry smile. “I apologize for the inconvenience. I only require a bit of your time.”
Poppy’s father scoffed and pointed at a wooden bench opposite him. “You may as well sit down and say your piece.”
“Right.” Bloody hell, but this meeting was not going according to plan. Keane sat on the wobbly bench, rested his elbows on his knees, and debated the best way to begin. As he looked at the older man’s wizened face, he decided to be blunt—and unapologetically honest.
“I love your daughter.”
Mr. Summers stared back, unfazed. “I don’t doubt that you do. Everyone loves Poppy. The question is: Can you make her happy?”
“That depends,” Keane said earnestly. “I can promise you that I will do everything I can. She’ll have my respect, my affection, and my heart. I’ll wake up every day with the sole purpose of making her smile.”
“Sounds like you have everything figured out,” the older man grumbled.
“I don’t, actually.” Keane met the man’s icy gaze. “Because nothing I do will be enough to make her happy—if she thinks that choosing me means losing you.”
The cottage turned unnaturally still and quiet. So quiet that Keane could hear his heart beating in his ears.
At last, Mr. Summers sighed. “And she’ll never be happy here if she thinks that choosing me means losing you.”
“Right.”
The older man scratched the back of his head, weary. “So, what are we going to do?”
“We work together. We try to never put her in the middle. And we become … friends.”
“Friends,” he repeated, as if the word tasted like fish oil.
“We both think the world of Poppy,” Keane said with a smile. “I suspect we’ll discover many more things we have in common.”
“You could be right. But I can guarantee you’ll never see me tied up in one of those neckcloths.” The man flicked his gaze to Keane’s starched cravat and barely suppressed a shudder.
“I don’t blame you. I’d set fire to all of mine if it wouldn’t give my valet apoplexy.” He inserted a finger between his neck and his cravat, then turned sober. “I want to marry your daughter, Mr. Summers—and I’d like your blessing.”
“Much as I hate to admit it, Poppy has been different lately. There’s a light in her eyes, a spring in her step. I didn’t realize how sad she’d been … or maybe I didn’t want to see it.”
“Poppy adores you and Dane. She loves this beach.”
“But it’s not enough,” Mr. Summers said wistfully. “She reminds me of how her mother used to be. Full of hope. Full of dreams. You’ve given those things back to her, and for that I’m grateful.” He leaned forward in his chair and extended a hand. “If Poppy wants to marry you, I’ll not stand in the way. You have my blessing, Hawking.”
“Thank you, sir.” Keane shook his hand, and relief coursed through him. “There are a couple of things you should know. First, I will love your daughter until I take my last breath, and probably after. Second, you and Dane will always be welcome in our home, wherever that may be.”
“Good to know,” Mr. Summers replied gruffly. “But this cottage is where I belong. Taking me out of it would be like trying to yank an old turtle out of its shell.”
Keane glanced around at the tiny, well-loved house and arched a brow. “Well, maybe we can find a way to make your shell a bit more comfortable.”
Poppy’s father pursed his lips, thoughtful. “I’m willing to listen. Why don’t you grab that bottle, fill my cup again, and tell me what you’re thinking.”
They talked for another hour or so, and after his second splash of brandy, Mr. Summers insisted that Keane call him Ollie.
“You’re not the sort of man I imagined Poppy would settle down with,” he mused, “but I suppose she could do worse.”
Keane chuckled. “That’s high praise, coming from you.”
“Don’t go getting a swollen head.” Poppy’s father settled back in his chair and sipped his brandy-laced tea. “All I’m saying is that you’re a fairly decent bloke … for a duke.”
“Your name is printed in the pages of The London Hearsay.” Kitty’s voice was filled with a mixture of excitement and awe as she gazed across the table at Poppy. She, Kitty, and Hazel were sitting at a corner table in the Tea Shoppe, nibbling on scones and enjoying an unofficial meeting of the Belles.
Kitty placed the newspaper on the table and pointed at the gossip page. “Right here. ‘In an entirely unforeseen turn of events, the elusive Duke of Hawking has announced his intention to marry. The future duchess, Miss Poppy Summers of Bellehaven Bay, is the daughter of a local fisherman, and it seems she has managed to catch the biggest prize of all. One wonders what she used for bait…’” Kitty’s voice trailed off, and she crinkled her nose. “I’ve changed my mind about the Hearsay,” she announced. “I once thought it a reliable source of information, but it’s clear they’ll print anything in order to sell a few newspapers.”
Hazel nodded in agreement. “It’s not worth the paper it’s printed on.”
Poppy shrugged and smiled, warmed by the loyalty of her friends. “It’s a gossip column, after all. The author must find some titillating angle to the story. And if I’m going to be a”—she swallowed and forced her mouth to form the word—“duchess, I must learn to have a thick skin.”
“You see,” Hazel said softly. “That is the sort of graciousness that will make you a fine duchess.”
Kitty sighed dreamily. “It’s all turned out so wonderfully, hasn’t it? You and the duke are going to be so happy. You’ll move into his elegant town house and host lavish dinner parties and extravagant balls. I shall pounce on any excuse to visit you.”
Poppy chuckled. “You will always be welcome. But we plan to set up house here in Bellehaven, too—so we can come back whenever I’m feeling homesick.” She met Hazel’s gaze briefly, then looked back at Kitty. “To that end, I was hoping to consult you on a couple of projects.”
Kitty sat up straight and blinked. “Which projects?”
“I showed Keane some of your drawings, and he was beyond impressed. He agreed we should hire you to sketch plans for a modest house overlooking the bay.”
“Truly?” She was practically bouncing in her seat.
“More importantly, however, we were hoping you could help design some improvements to my father’s cottage.”
“Of course, I would do that. It’s in such a lovely location.” Her bright blue eyes took on a faraway look, as if her mind was already knocking down walls and erecting new ones. “Your father should be able to see ocean sunsets from every room.”
“Nothing would make him happier.” Poppy had known Kitty would understand just what her father needed. “And since walking has become difficult for him, he needs a smooth floor.”
“Yes,” Kitty agreed. “We can replace the front step with a gradual incline and add a nice wide porch where he can sit in the evenings and watch the boats and birds.”
“Sounds like the perfect spot for a telescope,” Hazel added.
Poppy’s chest warmed. “He would love that. And though he’ll likely balk at the suggestion of adding onto the cottage, he needs more space.”
“A larger kitchen?” Kitty asked.
Poppy nodded. “And an additional bedchamber for a housekeeper or companion—someone who can cook him healthy meals and ensure he takes his medicine.”
Hazel pursed her lips and idly tapped the handle of her teacup. “You’ll need to find someone who’s as stubborn as he is.”
“You should consider Mrs. Wallaby,” Kitty said casually.
“The widow who lives down the road?”
“The night you were in Ascot and I checked in on your father, Mrs. Wallaby visited.” Kitty paused for dramatic effect. “She brought pie.”
“Did she?” Poppy mused, incredulous.
“Cupid certainly has been busy.” Hazel opened a notepad and picked up her pencil. “But we mustn’t forget the primary order of business of today’s meeting of the Belles—planning a proper engagement party for you and your duke.”
“What are you thinking?” Kitty asked. “Something festive at the Assembly Rooms, perhaps? Or, if you’d prefer a more formal affair, I’m certain that Lady Rufflebum would gladly host the celebration.”
“Honestly, I’d rather have a few close friends and family members gather at a bonfire on the beach,” Poppy admitted.
“How does Keane feel about that?” Hazel asked.
Heat rushed to Poppy’s cheeks. “He says he wants whatever type of party will make me happy.”
Kitty grinned. “Then we shall ensure you have the best beach bonfire ever.”
“No,” Poppy said firmly. “Much as I would love a Bellehaven bonfire, I feel the need to do something different. Keane has gone to great lengths to show me he can live in my world. Now it’s my turn to show him I can live in his. I think the party must be in London.”
Hazel gave an approving smile. “The best way to face the ton is directly. Allow them to see how bold—how fearless—you are, and they will respect that.”
“What if I said I wasn’t feeling particularly bold or fearless?”
Hazel shrugged. “All the more reason to make them think you are. Blade and I are going to London next week; you must come and stay with us. We would be honored to throw a ball in your honor. All you must do is say the word.”
“I know it is asking a great deal, but if you were to host the party, I’d be forever grateful.”
“I shall discuss it with Blade this evening, but I have no doubt he’ll agree.”
“Then it’s all sorted,” Kitty said with a toss of her golden curls. “The Belles are going to London at last.”