Chapter 7

Deliberately missing her scheduled appointment with Reginald that afternoon was certainly not one of her finer moments. Even so, it had been necessary because she needed to put some distance between herself and Reginald in order to sort through some uncomfortable conclusions she’d come to about the man.

Reginald was the most proper gentleman she’d ever met, stern at times and seemingly lacking when it came to emotions, but she’d gotten a glimpse of the person behind the proper air he adopted, and that gentleman, to her very great concern, appealed to her.

He was kind, grudgingly so at times, but he’d sat beside her during the second act of the opera and explained scenes she didn’t understand, taking the time to answer her whispered questions, of which there’d been many.

He’d also saved her from certain death and risked her grandmother’s ire when he’d cut her from laces that had seemed intent on killing her. He’d then treated her with care as he’d escorted them home, even with her being in what could only be described as a surly frame of mind.

There was something downright intriguing about a gentleman capable of rescuing a damsel in distress, although she’d never imagined she’d find herself intrigued by the likes of Mr. Reginald—

“I was delighted to find you outside Mrs. Roderick Cameron’s residence earlier,” Murray Middleton was saying, pulling Poppy directly from her thoughts. “But I must admit I was somewhat surprised at how unexpectedly you exited your grandmother’s carriage and joined me.”

“I’m sure you did find me all but leaping out of my grandmother’s carriage unexpected, but in my defense, encountering you was an opportunity I simply couldn’t ignore.” Poppy grinned. “It provided me with the perfect excuse to abandon another hour of tedious afternoon calls.”

Murray shot a nervous glance Poppy’s way before he returned his attention to the path they were on in Central Park. His hands tightened on the reins as his horse, a dapper mare that seemed rather spirited, veered to the left and straight into the path of an oncoming carriage. After tugging on the reins in what Poppy believed was a far too enthusiastic manner, and after his horse returned to her side of the path, he looked back to Poppy. “While you certainly managed to bring your calls to a speedy conclusion, I think you may have incurred your grandmother’s displeasure in the process.” He cleared his throat. “She was looking downright apoplectic after you jumped up on the seat beside me, and that look only intensified after you addressed me as Murray.” He cleared his throat again. “I should point out that using my given name suggests that you and I share a more than familiar relationship with each other.”

“How could we not share a more than familiar relationship with each other after what happened during the Gypsy Quadrille?” Poppy returned. “That experience set us on a path to friendship, and friends do not address each other formally when they’re enjoying a lovely afternoon drive.”

“You merely want to pursue a friendship with me?”

Poppy drew in a bit of chilly early December air and blew it out in a puff of mist. “Forgive me, Murray. I hope I haven’t lent you the impression I’m anxious to pursue anything but friendship with you.”

Murray, curiously enough, smiled. “Thank goodness for that. Friendship sounds lovely, but anything more would not be advisable between us.”

“Why not?”

“Because my mother has warned me to maintain my distance from you.”

“Why would she do that?”

Murray slumped down on the seat. “While I would love to say she did so because of the attention your mishap garnered last night at the Metropolitan, I’m afraid it might be because she sees you as a threat.”

“A threat?”

“Indeed. She heard all about what transpired at the ball a few nights ago even though she was not in attendance, since she’s currently suffering a cold. But after she learned that you did not throw me under the proverbial carriage wheels after our little fiasco, she’s apparently decided you’re no shrinking wallflower. That right there is why she feels threatened by you.” Murray caught Poppy’s eye. “She does not care for me to become involved with ladies she cannot manage to her satisfaction.”

“I have been told often of late that I’m difficult to manage,” Poppy admitted before she frowned. “Forgive me for pointing this out, though, but you aren’t maintaining your distance from me, since we’re sitting together in your two-seated buggy, tooling through Central Park.”

“If you’ll recall, Miss Garrison—or Poppy, rather,” he quickly amended after she arched a brow. “I wasn’t given much of an opportunity to discourage this outing, not after you jumped on the seat next to me, demanded I set my horse into motion, then helped yourself to the reins when I wasn’t fast enough for your liking.”

“I did give the reins back to you.” Poppy nodded to two gentlemen who were riding past them on their horses, both of whom were tipping their hats to her. “And I’m sure you would have leapt out of a carriage as well if you’d been experiencing the trying afternoon I have. My grandmother insisted we make the rounds in the hope of heading off unfounded rumors that were brought to her attention over morning tea. Those rumors, I’m afraid, center around the unpleasant speculation that I, in a fit of pique, threw myself from the balcony because, according to the gossip that reached my grandmother’s ear, I experienced some type of dramatic encounter during the opera, such as a direct slight.”

“You don’t really seem the type to suffer a fit of pique.”

“Of course I’m not, but because I’ve only recently begun traveling in society, that’s not common knowledge.” She smiled. “However, even if I was suffering a fit of pique, I certainly wouldn’t throw myself off a balcony. I’m much more likely to confront the person who slighted me, even though I’ve been told numerous times by Reginald that a lady is never to take anyone to task, no matter the provocation.”

“Why would Reginald Blackburn take it upon himself to remark on something like that?”

“Have I mentioned that my grandmother has somehow procured Reginald’s cooperation in schooling me in all matters of proper decorum?”

“You have not.”

“Well, now I’ve told you, but I’m not happy about the situation in the least.”

Murray gave a bit of a shudder. “I wouldn’t be happy either, not with Reginald being such an intimidating sort.”

Poppy waved that aside. “I’m hardly intimidated by the man. But because I don’t want to earn the reputation of being a bore, and I’ve clearly spent more than enough of our time talking about me, let’s talk about you.”

“There’s not much to tell.”

“I’m sure that’s not true, but since you seem reluctant to be the topic of conversation, tell me this—why aren’t you driving those two bays you mentioned the other evening?”

Murray’s cheeks turned pink. “Mother decided they’re too strong-willed for me to handle. She sent the bays off to stay with Ethan, one of my older brothers, so I won’t be tempted to take them out when she’s unavailable to go driving with me.” He nodded to the mare pulling the buggy. “Mother purchased this mare for me only a few days ago, but I’m hesitant to tell her that Clara, the name I recently chose for my new horse, seems to be far more strong-willed than the bays.”

“Your mother seems to take an unusual interest in your life.”

“She does, although that’s because I was a very sickly sort as a child.” He shook his head. “There’s also my size. I’ve always been small—far smaller than my brothers—which lends me a fragile air. Because of that, and my ill health when I was younger, Mother tends to coddle me.”

“Which would be adorable if you were three.”

“True, but most of the time it’s simply easier to go along with Mother. She’s a difficult woman, and the few times I have defied her over the years, well, it was never a pleasant experience. That’s why I don’t put up a fuss over her coddling.”

Turning to watch a carriage that was trundling past them, Poppy settled her gaze on the two young ladies pressing their noses against the glass windows of that carriage, their attention fixed not on her, but on Murray, who seemed completely oblivious as he steered his horse somewhat haphazardly down the trail.

Poppy fought the urge to take control of the reins again. “You said your mother doesn’t care for ladies she can’t manage.”

“I did.”

“Should I assume she wants you to settle your affections on a lady possessed of a timid and retiring nature?”

“I don’t believe my mother wants me to turn my attention to any particular lady. She enjoys having me available to attend to her whims.” Murray smiled. “She even enjoys having me tag along when she pays her afternoon calls, which is why I can sympathize with you about the tediousness of that particular obligation.” His smile widened. “I must say, though, that since you’ve arrived in town, those calls have gotten much more interesting, what with all the adventures you seem to experience.”

“How delightful to learn that I’m providing society with a respite from their tedium, although I haven’t deliberately set out to become the most notorious lady of the Season.”

“I wouldn’t call you notorious, Poppy. I’d say . . . well, I don’t have a word available to describe you, so . . . before I get myself in trouble, allow me to return to the subject of paying calls.”

“Now you sound like Reginald when he’s droning on with his lessons.”

Murray’s lips twitched. “I’ll try to keep my droning in check, but you do need to understand the logic behind paying calls so that you don’t unintentionally offend someone.”

“I’m sure I unintentionally offend society members on a daily basis, so I’m not certain they’d be taken aback by anything I might say about the absurdity of spending my day calling on people.”

“Do you know your voice takes on a remarkably peevish tone at times?” Murray asked.

She arched a brow, which left him grinning. “Ah, well, a sensitive topic to be certain, so returning to calls. What are you waiting with bated breath to know about them?”

“Nothing, but since I’ve just realized that probably came out somewhat peevish, let me try to make amends.” She tapped a finger on her chin. “Why can’t ladies merely send off their calling cards by mail or send a footman around with them instead of spending hours traveling around the city to deliver them in person?”

“Because that would be considered common and being a member of high society is all about appearances.”

“Is that why ladies are expected to answer every correspondence they receive, something that takes up precious time every morning?”

“It is.”

Poppy’s brow furrowed. “Answer me this, then. Why do so many charitable organizations bother to send society ladies requests for funding when the majority of those requests are met with an engraved card declining to send funds?”

“Because they’re hoping to find new sponsors, perhaps someone like you who has only arrived in the city and hasn’t settled on a noble cause.”

Poppy released a breath. “Choosing a noble cause is on the very long list of things I’m supposed to accomplish in the next few weeks, although I have no idea what cause needs my help because I’ve not traveled into the neediest parts of the city as of yet.”

“Nor should you.” Murray shook his head. “Ladies do not travel to Five Points or the like. You merely need to ask around at Grace Church on any given Sunday; you’ll be provided with numerous causes that will be deemed acceptable in the eyes of the New York Four Hundred.”

“That hardly seems like a noble way to go about selecting a noble cause, but since we’ve once again turned the conversation to me, and I’m growing bored with the subject of me, we should return to the subject of your mother.”

“I don’t have much more to say on that matter,” Murray argued, “nor would any advice you may lend me do much good since, again, Mother is a difficult woman and I don’t care to cross swords with her.”

“Is that because she controls the purse strings and you’ll be left without an allowance if you cross her?”

“You’re very tenacious, aren’t you?”

“That seems to be the general consensus of late, but I believe tenacity is one of my greatest strengths.”

“I would have said it’s more along the lines of annoying. But to answer your question, Mother does not have control over my finances. My great-aunt left me a tidy trust fund that I was able to access the day I turned twenty-one, which was a few months back. I was also then able to access the trust my paternal grandfather set up for me as well, a trust I’m all but convinced he set up to spite my mother.”

“Your grandfather didn’t care for your mother?”

“They learned how to rub along together, but he was of the firm belief that my mother stifles me. Grandfather also didn’t like that my father, God rest his soul, left the running of the family business, which revolves around the railroad and steel industry, to my three older brothers, believing I’d never be strong enough to take on the responsibilities required of keeping our business interests on solid financial ground.”

“Do you resent your father for excluding you from the family business?”

“I’m not really a business-minded person, Poppy. I’ve always been drawn to—” Murray suddenly pressed his lips together and began taking an interest in Clara as she clip-clopped her way down the street.

“To what?” Poppy pressed.

“I’d rather not say.”

“You do recall that you only recently remarked on how tenacious I am, which means I’ll simply keep badgering you until you tell me what you’re drawn to.”

Murray tipped his hat to a gentleman passing on his horse. “Ladies, in case you’re unaware, are never supposed to badger a gentleman, especially when he’s voiced a reluctance to divulge certain information.”

“I must have skipped that part in the etiquette books my grandmother provided me with, and Reginald has yet to address that particular topic, so . . . if you were to decide to strike out on your own, what would you do?”

“I’d create an art studio and pursue my love of painting,” Murray said in a rush. “But you can’t tell anyone what I just divulged.”

“Who would I tell?”

“Your grandmother, who would then tell my mother, who would then . . . well, it’s best not to even consider her reaction to learning her youngest son fancies himself an artist.”

“Are you any good?”

“Would I come across as a braggart if I admit I am?”

“I don’t think it would be possible for you to come across as a braggart. Furthermore, if art is your passion, I see no reason for you to keep that hidden. There are many respected artists and—” Poppy stopped speaking when Clara suddenly broke into a trot on her own accord, something Murray evidently hadn’t been expecting since he let out a bit of a shriek and immediately began tugging on the reins.

Unfortunately, Clara didn’t seem to appreciate shrieking because her trot turned into a gallop, which had Murray dropping the reins, leaving Clara free to gallop directly toward one of the small lakes that dotted Central Park.

“Whoa, Clara, whoa!” Poppy yelled, but the mare didn’t slow in the least.

Shrugging out of her cloak as fast as she could because it was limiting her ability to move, Poppy leaned forward and tried to snatch up reins that were flapping wildly about, stretching as far as she could. She froze on the spot, though, when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a beast of a stallion race into view. Squinting, she discovered Reginald sitting on top of that beast, his form nothing less than perfect as he turned his horse directly toward Clara.

To Poppy’s dismay, it soon became clear that Clara didn’t care for stallions either because she released a loud whinny and reared up on her hind legs before plunging forward again.

“Stay back!” Poppy yelled, her yell muffled as her hat fell over her face, making it all but impossible to see. Tearing the hat from her head, she threw it aside and returned her attention to a horse that was now completely out of control.

As Clara pounded down the gravel path, Poppy swallowed the fear that was rising in her throat and stretched forward again, finally snagging a piece of the reins. She began pulling it toward her, but then, the buggy flew over a bump, and she suddenly found herself launched through the air at a most troubling rate of speed.