Chapter 2
“Who in their right mind would come up with a ruse that would see a person’s tiara stuck to a gentleman’s jacket?” Poppy asked.
Viola’s nostrils flared. “You’ve not made it a secret that you find New York society vexing. Frankly, I’ve been expecting you to devise a plan to get released from our agreement, no matter if the means to achieve that may have you resorting to unlikely scenarios.”
“You’re giving me far too much credit for creativity,” Poppy returned. “If you neglected to notice, I was having difficulty simply remembering all the steps to the quadrille. I certainly didn’t have time to compose some elaborate ruse, even though that might not have been a bad idea if I had any intention of trying to get released from our agreement, which I don’t.”
Viola glanced around, narrowed her eyes on a gathering of young ladies standing near them, all of whom immediately dashed away in a rustle of silk, then returned her attention to Poppy. “We’ll continue this discussion later when we have more privacy.” She turned her attention to Mr. Middleton, who immediately seemed to shrink in size. “How was it, Mr. Middleton, that you allowed my granddaughter to become such fodder for the gossips? Did it not occur to you to step in and accept full blame for the disaster everyone observed?”
“Ah . . . well . . .” Mr. Middleton began as he turned concerningly pale and simply stopped speaking.
Poppy released a breath and caught her grandmother’s eye. “It is not well done of you, Grandmother—”
“Viola,” her grandmother interrupted.
“It is not well done of you, Viola,” Poppy amended, “to take Mr. Middleton to task for a situation that was not of his making. Not that you could be aware of this, what with our limited contact over the years, but I’m occasionally prone to clumsiness, which was directly responsible for the mayhem Mr. Middleton and I recently experienced.”
Viola held up a pair of opera glasses she always kept at the ready. “I was watching your progress during the quadrille, and from what I observed, Mr. Middleton was at fault, but . . .” Her eyes flashed. “You didn’t admit to Mr. McAllister that you have a propensity for clumsiness, did you?”
“He seems to be a rather astute gentleman, so he probably came to that conclusion on his own.”
Viola settled a glare on Mr. Middleton. “And you didn’t feel the need to step in and disabuse Mr. McAllister of the notion my granddaughter is a clumsy sort?”
“Do you know that I once got knocked straight off a horse because a duck flew into me?” Poppy asked when Mr. Middleton seemed at a complete loss for words.
Viola pulled her glare from Mr. Middleton and settled it on Poppy. “Why would you take this particular moment to share such an outlandish tale?”
“Because that tale lends credence to the idea that I often find myself in the most ridiculous situations. I mean, it’s not a frequent occurrence for people to lose their seat on a horse because of a duck, even if the stallion I’d taken out that day was possessed of a questionable temperament.”
“You willingly chose to ride a stallion with a questionable temperament?”
“I grew up on a horse farm. I rode horses all the time with questionable temperaments, especially the ones that were unaccustomed to wearing a saddle.”
“You’ve taken part in breaking horses?” Mr. Middleton asked, his voice rising a good octave as his eyes turned wide as dinner plates.
“I have, although—”
“This is hardly the place to discuss such matters,” Viola interrupted. “We’re at Delmonico’s, for goodness’ sake. Talk of breaking horses is not proper fodder for polite conversation.”
“Too right you are, Mrs. Van Rensselaer,” Mr. Middleton hurried to agree. “And because it’s almost time to repair to the first floor for dinner, if you’ll excuse me, I need to retrieve the name of the lady I’m to escort in to dine.”
“I thought you’d be escorting me to dinner,” Poppy said.
“While that would be . . . delightful to be sure, Miss Garrison, I normally find myself relegated to escorting society matrons into dinner over the younger set.” He shook his head. “My mother has made it known that I’m a gentleman always available to step in when men are scarce, but I’m not warmly embraced by the fashionable set. That’s why it’s highly doubtful I’ll find your name on the card I’m off to retrieve from Mr. McAllister.”
“I find you to be most fashionable, Mr. Middleton,” Poppy argued. “And that right there is exactly why you won’t find my name on your card, not with how annoyed Mr. McAllister seems to be with me.”
Mr. Middleton’s cheeks turned pink. “No one has ever called me fashionable.”
“Then you’re not associating with the right people,” Poppy returned before she frowned. “I thought seating assignments for society dinners were given out at the beginning of an event.”
Mr. Middleton nodded. “They usually are, but because the Earl of Lonsdale is in attendance this evening, Mr. McAllister has decided to add a bit of suspense to tonight’s event, leaving everyone on tenterhooks as to whom they’ll be dining with this evening.” He leaned closer to her. “Perhaps you’ll be fortunate enough to find the earl as your dinner partner.”
Viola leveled a cool look on Mr. Middleton. “The Earl of Lonsdale is the honored guest this evening, which means he’ll be escorting Mrs. Kruger into dinner because she is the sponsor of this event, a rule of etiquette I would have thought you’d remember, Mr. Middleton.”
Mr. Middleton gave a bob of his head. “Quite right, Mrs. Van Rensselaer. I seem to have lost my head there for a moment. And on that note, I believe I’ll take my leave and seek out my dinner partner.”
Poppy smiled. “I hope that partner will be someone possessed of a charming nature. That might go far in turning your evening from a horrifying experience to something more along the lines of pleasant.”
Mr. Middleton bowed over Poppy’s hand. “Taking the floor with you was not a horrifying experience—or at least not a completely horrifying experience.” He raised her hand to his lips, pressed a kiss on it, then smiled. “You’re a most unconventional lady, Miss Garrison, refreshingly so, and I hope you won’t be opposed to me paying you a call later this week. You might enjoy a brisk buggy ride in Central Park. I have access to a smashing set of bays I believe you’ll find most impressive.”
“That sounds lovely, Mr. Middleton. I’ll look forward to it.”
Mr. Middleton smiled and released her hand. He turned to Viola and began to bow but stopped mid-bow when Viola quirked a brow in return. Straightening, and without speaking another word, he bolted away.
Waiting until he disappeared into the crowd, Poppy turned to her grandmother. “You really shouldn’t glower so at poor Mr. Middleton. You just scared the stuffing out of him.”
“I’m not above using intimidation to dissuade a most unsuitable gentleman from pursuing you.”
“I don’t believe Mr. Middleton is intent on pursuing me, merely accompanying me around Central Park for an excursion. Still, if he did have an interest, why would you take issue with that? He comes from a reputable family, and he’s a lovely dancer.”
Viola took hold of Poppy’s arm. “He lacks ambition. But further talk of his other deficiencies will need to wait. You’re looking frightful, which means we need to make haste to the retiring room and get you and your hair set to rights before we go down to dinner.”
“You’re going to restyle my hair?” Poppy asked as they began moving through the crowd.
“Don’t be ridiculous. We’ll have the woman attending the retiring room fix your hair. Delmonico’s always keeps such women available to assist the guests, but there’s no telling how competent this woman will be. Don’t expect your hair to look as lovely as it did when you started out this evening.”
“I’ll be satisfied simply to have it out of my face so I won’t risk dipping it into whatever soups may be served this evening.”
“A charming thought to be sure,” Viola muttered as they reached the retiring room.
Stepping into the room behind her grandmother, Poppy discovered three young ladies standing before the mirror, two of whom were pinching their cheeks, while the other was accepting a hand towel from a woman dressed in a severe black outfit, with the only relief being the starched white apron she was wearing.
“Ladies, we need the room,” Viola said, and just like that, the ladies abandoned their cheek pinching and hand drying and all but raced out the door.
“Did you notice the looks of terror that immediately crossed their faces when they caught sight of you?” Poppy asked, walking over to a stool that was in front of the mirror and taking a seat. “It’s an unusual talent you possess, and I can’t help wondering if being able to terrify young ladies with a single glance is an accomplishment you intentionally perfected over the years.”
“I don’t purposely set out to terrify the young ladies of society.” Viola nodded to the woman left in the room with them, one who also seemed to have a trace of terror on her face. “Miss Garrison needs her hair restyled, but we don’t have much time, so do hurry.”
Eyeing the curling tong that was resting on the counter, Poppy frowned. “I’m not certain it’s wise to demand haste of a woman who is soon to apply a hot tong to my head.” She smiled at the woman. “Take whatever time you need, Miss . . . ?”
“I’m Alice, miss. Alice Burns,” the woman mumbled as Viola let out a huff.
“This is not the time to exchange pleasantries with the help, Poppy. We have pressing matters to discuss, and now that we’re alone, I’m free to broach topics that are somewhat delicate without anyone overhearing me.”
Knowing there was little benefit in pointing out that they weren’t alone since Alice was standing directly beside them, Poppy folded her hands in her lap while Alice began untangling the tiara from her hair.
“Returning to the problem of Mr. Middleton,” Viola said a moment later. “As I mentioned earlier, he lacks ambition, but worse than that, he’s completely under his mother’s thumb.”
“Mr. Middleton is very young, and from what I understand, he’s the baby of the Middleton family,” Poppy countered. “It’s little wonder his mother still has sway over him.”
Viola caught Poppy’s eye in the reflection of the mirror. “While I understand that your upbringing has been unconventional to say the least, what you need to grasp more than anything is this: Your acceptance into high society all comes down to the connections you form. An association with Mr. Middleton will do nothing to elevate your status. And given what just transpired with Mr. McAllister, you’re in a tenuous position as it is.”
“Mr. Middleton is of the belief that your influence will spare me from whatever repercussions Mr. McAllister may wish to level against me.”
“My influence will guarantee invitations to future events, but it will not guarantee you acceptance into the fashionable set. That means you do not have the luxury of forming friendships with people I can only describe as misfits.”
“I’ve always felt that misfits are far more interesting than normal folks.”
“Folks is not a word I ever want to hear out of your mouth again, not if you don’t want to see your time in New York ending in failure and without securing the affections of a suitable gentleman.”
Waiting until Alice had secured her hair with a few strategically placed hairpins, Poppy turned to her grandmother. “I did not come to New York for the explicit purpose of finding a husband.”
“There’s absolutely no reason for you to not make the most of this Season and look for a prospective groom. You’ll need one eventually, especially if, heaven forbid, you decide to return to your father’s horse farm and take up with the work you evidently do there.”
“While it does appear that everyone assumes my lifelong ambition is to continue with the work I’ve always done at Garrison Farms, that’s not written in stone. If you’ve forgotten, I have two younger brothers, both of whom will be more than capable of taking over for my father in what I hope is the very distant future.”
Viola’s eyes began to gleam. “Does that mean you might entertain the thought of enjoying the summer Season with me in Newport?”
“I might, although it’s far too soon to say for certain, what with how daunting this New York Season is shaping up to be.” She smiled. “Newport does sound inviting, though, and before I left Pennsylvania, I had a lovely talk with Reverend Thomas Cameron, who lent me some invaluable advice about how I should view my time away from Garrison Farms.”
“Who, pray tell, is Reverend Thomas Cameron?”
“He’s been the minister at the church I’ve attended for years, and he’s a man whose counsel I respect.”
The gleam in Viola’s eyes turned to wariness. “What type of counsel could this small-town reverend lend you?”
“Well, as you must know, Mother was adamant that I refuse your offer of a Season, but Reverend Cameron thought I should accept, convincing me that time away from the farm would be a wonderful way for me to broaden my horizons and see more of what the world has to offer.”
Viola’s brows knit together. “Your mother told me that I was ruining your life by taking you away from your beloved farm, and also that I was certain to cause you irreparable harm by bringing you out in high society.” She caught Poppy’s eye. “Why would Elizabeth have told me that if you’d willingly decided, after seeking the counsel of this Reverend Cameron, to travel to New York?”
“Surely you haven’t forgotten how Mother seems to extract a great deal of enjoyment out of annoying you.”
Viola’s lips thinned. “There is that, but tell me this. Did your Reverend Cameron not mention anything about looking for a suitable husband while you’re in New York? I would think that even a rural man of the cloth would want to encourage a lady who is rapidly approaching spinsterhood to take advantage of such a wonderful opportunity to become acquainted with so many eligible gentlemen.”
“We never discussed that particular subject because, if you’ll recall, the main reason I agreed to this Season in New York was because that was your condition before you would agree to assist my parents out of their unexpected financial difficulties.”
Viola lifted her chin. “I don’t know how their financial difficulties could have been unexpected when they were foolish enough to take out a large loan to expand the Garrison enterprise.”
Poppy shifted on the seat, stilling when Alice suddenly came closer to her with the hot curling tong. “My parents had no way of knowing that the bank would suffer a financial setback and call in the loan a good two years before it was supposed to be due.”
“They shouldn’t have taken out a loan in the first place. Elizabeth could have simply contacted me and asked for the money needed for the expansion of the stables into Kentucky.”
“You and Mother have been mostly estranged from each other ever since she ran off with my father twenty-four years ago.”
“Elizabeth and I still have a small amount of contact.”
“You speak once a year when my mother travels to New York in December to bid you a Merry Christmas and do a bit of shopping.”
“Barely, and it’s not as if either of you enjoy an emotional reunion.”
“The Van Rensselaers are not known to be overly emotional.”
“Mother is a Van Rensselaer and she can be downright sentimental at times.”
“There’s always an odd duck in every family.”
“I’ve been known to become quite emotional, especially if I’m reading a novel that has a less-than-happy ending,” Poppy said as Alice abandoned the curling tong and began gathering the newly created curls onto the top of Poppy’s head. “I have fond memories of Mother stealing into my room to spirit away books she was convinced would cause me to become morose for days.”
Clear horror flashed through Viola’s eyes. “I’ve always been of the firm belief that novels were to blame for Elizabeth’s disgraceful abandonment of New York. I highly doubt she’d have thought about running away with your father if she hadn’t been privy to tales of forbidden love.”
“Perhaps if you hadn’t been so determined to see her married to a man of your choosing, you would have seen that my father was perfect for her.”
“Mr. William Daft, the man I’d selected for Elizabeth, was a charming young gentleman. He would have most assuredly provided your mother with a fine home and whatever else she may have desired.”
“Mother once told me Mr. Daft was like Mr. Collins from Pride and Prejudice.”
“Which proves my point about her being overly influenced through novels, although I’ve never read Pride and Prejudice so I’m not at liberty to comment on whether Mr. Daft shared characteristics with a certain Mr. Collins.”
“How is it possible you’ve never read Pride and Prejudice?”
“I don’t read novels, nor can I be persuaded to change my mind about that after I experienced Elizabeth running off with Harold.” Viola pursed her lips. “Your father, if you didn’t know, was only in New York all those years ago to deliver horses that your grandfather bought from Garrison Farms. The next thing I know, your mother was inviting him into our house for tea, and then, after I insisted she discontinue her budding friendship with Harold, she ran off with him. I’m convinced that Jane Austen’s insipid novels were directly responsible for leaving Elizabeth with an unrealistic view of the world, one where romance ruled the day and everyone got their own happily-ever-after.”
“But Mother did get her very own happily-ever-after. She’s still wildly in love with my father.”
“Wildly in love is most unseemly.” Viola’s eyes turned chilly. “I do not intend to go through such nonsense again with you, which is why I’m going to expect you to discontinue with your novel reading and pursue something more practical, such as painting. I’m also going to demand that you discontinue associations with questionable sorts, and—”
“I’m not particularly fond of demands.”
Viola ignored her, although she seemed to begin counting under her breath, quite like Mr. McAllister had done earlier. After a good twenty seconds passed, Viola cleared her throat. “As I was saying, I will not tolerate you surrounding yourself with misfits or questionable sorts. The dowry I’ve settled on you is quite sizable and might even have to be increased after tonight’s debacle. But because of the fortune I’m prepared to give away to the suitable gentleman I know is out there for you somewhere, I won’t stand back and watch you squander what should be a brilliant opportunity simply because you seem to possess the same willful and stubborn attitude as—”
“You’ve settled a dowry on me?” Poppy interrupted, leaning forward on the stool, even though doing so left her head stinging because Alice had been trying to press the tiara back into her curls.
Viola waved that aside with a flick of a diamond-encrusted wrist. “I’ve no idea why you would be surprised to learn that. Surely you didn’t think I would bring you out for a New York Season without taking proper steps to assure you’d enjoy some type of success, did you?”
“You never mentioned anything about a dowry.”
“Well, now you know, although I’m surprised you never considered the matter before since it’s a common practice for young ladies of good standing to have their families settle a dowry on them to guarantee a most splendid match.”
Poppy tilted her head. “Father has every intention of giving me a large portion of the land that surrounds Garrison Farms in Pennsylvania, now that he’s moving the bulk of our business to Kentucky. We own thousands of acres in Pennsylvania, and those acres can certainly be considered a dowry of sorts. That means I have no need of the dowry you’re evidently keen to settle on me—one that will assuredly have all the fortune hunters pursuing me in earnest.”
Viola brushed that aside. “An aging horse farm or the land that encompasses that farm is not a proper dowry, and I wouldn’t worry about fortune hunters, Poppy. The type of wealth I’m willing to give to a future husband of yours is enough to intimidate men incapable of earning their own fortunes, although . . .” Her gaze turned rather distant. “I do have high hopes that your dowry might entice a few gentlemen in possession of aristocratic titles. I’ve always longed to enjoy a Season in London, and if you were to capture the attention of an aristocrat, that would be quite the feather in both of our caps.”
Poppy resisted the urge to rub her suddenly aching forehead. “How is an aristocrat intent on procuring himself a fortune to shore up his estates any different than an American fortune hunter?”
“He’s in possession of a title, of course, and then, well, British aristocrats do have that most delicious manner of speaking.”
“You have a proclivity for British accents?”
“I must admit that I do.” Viola’s gaze sharpened on Poppy’s face. “You seem surprised by that, dear.”
Knowing better than to admit to a determined grandmother that she too enjoyed British accents, Poppy shrugged. “I suppose there is something charming about the manner in which Englishmen speak, although I have no desire to set my sights on an aristocrat.” She shuddered. “I hate to think about all the rules that I would be expected to obey if I married one of those. You must have realized by now that I’m not always keen to follow rules.”
Viola’s lips pursed. “That hasn’t slipped my notice. But returning to what we were discussing before—that being getting you firmly ensconced within the fashionable set.”
“Was that what we were discussing before?”
“You’ll need to form proper friendships with the right members of the New York Four Hundred,” Viola continued as if Poppy hadn’t spoken. “To assist you with that, I’ve already arranged a lovely tea for you. You’ll be joined with ladies I feel are above reproach: Miss Adele Tooker, Miss Edith Iselin, and Miss Cynthia Roche.”
“Miss Roche barely spoke to me the other day while we were practicing the Gypsy Quadrille, and Miss Tooker was rude to Mr. Middleton when he merely inquired if her family had any special plans for the holiday season.”
Viola opened her mouth but was interrupted from replying when a brisk knock sounded on the retiring room door. A second later, the door opened and Miss Beatrix Waterbury stepped into the room, looking lovely in an ivory gown, her vivid red hair arranged in a most charming fashion, although the tiara she was wearing was half the size of the one Viola had insisted Poppy wear.
Beatrix Waterbury was considered one of the great American heiresses of the day, but she was not a lady who put on airs. She was also fast friends with Miss Isadora Delafield, or rather Mrs. Ian MacKenzie since she’d recently married. That was a mark in her favor since Poppy was acquainted with Isadora as well. That acquaintance was what had led Beatrix to immediately seek out Poppy after she’d learned Poppy was residing in New York, and her warm air and genuine offer of friendship had been greatly appreciated.
“Do forgive me for interrupting,” Beatrix began, nodding in Viola’s direction. “Mrs. Kruger asked me to seek you out because the Earl of Lonsdale is eager to become introduced to Poppy.”
Viola’s eyes immediately began to sparkle. “How encouraging. He’s eager to meet my Poppy, is he?”
Beatrix smiled. “He didn’t state that to me when I was introduced to him, but I don’t imagine Mrs. Kruger would have told me that if it weren’t true.”
“You’ve already been introduced to Lord Lonsdale?” Viola asked, the sparkle in her eyes dimming ever so slightly.
“I have, although there’s no reason for you to look disgruntled about that, Mrs. Van Rensselaer.” Beatrix’s smile turned into a grin. “Once the earl discovered I’m somewhat spoken for, he wasn’t as keen to pursue a conversation with me, evidently determining that would be a clear waste of his time in New York.”
Viola frowned. “Did I miss a formal announcement regarding you being spoken for, Miss Waterbury?”
Beatrix gave an airy wave of her hand. “It’s no secret that Mr. Thomas Hamersley and I have been friends since he was in short pants and I was in short dresses. And while there’s not been a formal announcement, nor will there be for the foreseeable future, I find it prudent to allow gentlemen to know that I’m not actively seeking a husband. It tends to help negate any troublesome misunderstandings with gentlemen who are searching for brides.”
Poppy rose to her feet, thanked Alice for setting her hair to rights, then turned to Beatrix. “May I assume Lord Lonsdale has come to America in order to secure himself a wife?”
“Of course he has—or rather to secure himself an heiress,” Beatrix amended. “But don’t let that discourage you from becoming acquainted with him. He seems to be a charming man.”
“Then we mustn’t keep him waiting,” Viola said firmly, rising from her chair to take Poppy’s arm. “Remember to smile, dear, and for goodness’ sake, don’t tell him the story about the duck.”
In a blink of an eye, Poppy was steered rather forcefully out the door, Beatrix following behind. Viola paused for the briefest second after they entered the ballroom, but then she pulled Poppy forward, muttering instructions out of the side of her mouth that Poppy couldn’t understand.
Bringing her to a stop next to a gathering of young ladies, Viola gave Poppy’s arm a squeeze right as Mrs. Kruger stepped in front of them, a gentleman on either side of her.
To Poppy’s concern, one of the gentlemen turned out to be Mr. Blackburn. He was once again watching her closely, the intensity of his gaze leaving her flustered and causing her to miss half of the introduction Mrs. Kruger was already performing.
Not appreciating the subtle shove her grandmother suddenly gave her, Poppy took two steps forward but found herself stumbling over something that felt remarkably like a stick. With a bit of a shriek, she went plummeting toward the floor again, saved from yet another nasty tumble by none other than the rather brooding Mr. Blackburn.