Chapter 11

“It was absolutely brilliant on your part, Reginald, to get us well away from my grandmother’s house. And, because of that brilliance, I’ve decided to apply myself most diligently to our lesson today.”

Reginald turned on the seat of the hansom cab and arched a brow Poppy’s way. “Even if I decide to drone on and on about how to fold a proper napkin?”

Poppy wrinkled her nose. “Why in the world would anyone feel the need to drone on about napkin folding?”

“To see how diligent you’re really prepared to be.”

“Maybe I should have given this more thought,” Poppy muttered as the cab pulled to a stop in front of Rutherford & Company, one of the leading stores of the day and the place Reginald had decided would be perfect for a lesson.

Sending her what almost seemed to be a grin, Reginald opened the door and stepped to the sidewalk. Turning, he helped her down, paid the driver the fare, then took hold of her arm, scowling when she pressed a few coins into his gloved hand.

“What are these for?”

“To reimburse you for the fare.”

“Why would you think it necessary to reimburse me for the fare?”

“Because you’re on duty as my instructor, so it’s only fair that I, or rather my grandmother, pick up any expenses we incur. Besides, you’ll never be able to purchase yourself a grand ancestral estate if you spend your coins so frivolously.”

“Saving my coins will never be a viable plan, especially when ancestral estates are entailed, rendering them impossible to purchase.”

Poppy frowned. “You can’t purchase a grand estate over in England?”

“Not if they’re owned by the aristocracy and are entailed—which is how aristocrats have managed to hold on to their land over the years instead of being able to parcel it off to pay debts and keep up appearances.”

Something began niggling at the back of Poppy’s mind, but before it could fully develop, she was distracted by the Rutherford & Company doorman who was holding the door open for them. Hurrying as a blustery wind swept around her, Poppy stopped directly inside the door and looked around. “How lovely. I wonder where ladies’ fashions are located?”

“Those are on the third floor, miss,” the doorman said, nodding to the elevator that was a few feet away from them and to the elevator operator standing by the open grate. “James will be more than happy to take you there.”

“An elevator,” Poppy breathed. “I love riding in those.”

“We’re not going to ladies’ fashions. We’re here to visit the tearoom,” Reginald reminded her.

“That would be on the fourth floor, sir,” the man said.

“Then fourth floor it is,” Poppy said, taking Reginald’s arm as they walked to the elevator. She immediately returned the smile that James sent her. “We’d like to go to the tearoom, please,” she said, stepping into the elevator, Reginald joining her a second later.

James inclined his head, shut the grate, and moved to stand beside a gilded lever.

Poppy edged closer to him, peering over his shoulder. “How fast can this elevator go?”

“Don’t even think about it, Poppy,” Reginald muttered.

“I’m merely asking a question,” she returned, watching as James slid the lever to the right and the elevator glided upward. “How quickly can it stop?”

“Almost immediately, if one has the right touch,” James said.

“Which you won’t have, Poppy, so put that idea right out of your head.”

Poppy ignored him, but before she could figure out a way to convince James to let her have a try at the lever, he was bringing the elevator to a stop. Opening the grate, he gestured her forward with a smile. “Enjoy your tea.”

Blowing out a disappointed breath, she returned the smile. “Will you be manning the elevator all afternoon?”

Reginald had hold of her arm a second later as he all but towed Poppy out of the elevator. “It doesn’t matter if he’s manning it or not, Poppy. We’ll be taking the stairs.”

Annoyance was swift as Reginald exchanged a far-too-knowing look with James before that man closed the grate and the elevator whizzed away.

“I wasn’t going to badger him into letting me have a go at the elevator.”

“Weren’t you?” Reginald countered, steering her into a tearoom that was tastefully decorated and afforded a lovely view of Broadway. After being greeted by a young woman who quickly showed them to a round table draped in fine linen, Reginald helped Poppy into an upholstered chair before he sat down opposite her and took the menu the young woman handed him. Telling them she’d send a server right over to take their order, she walked away.

“This is much nicer than remaining at home with Viola to receive callers,” Poppy said, glancing around. “I must admit I’m confused about why so many people seemed keen to pay my grandmother a call today. It seemed to me, given the number of carriages lining the street, that every lady from high society was descending on Viola, even though my grandmother let it be known through a few well-placed whispers that I was fine after my swim in the lake.”

Something that looked like resignation flashed through Reginald’s eyes. “I’m sorry to say that I think those ladies, besides being curious about your many adventures, were at your grandmother’s house because of me.”

“Why would you think that?”

“I might need to get some tea first. It’s a tricky matter to explain and tea always helps settle my thoughts.”

“You don’t seem unsettled to me. Out with it.”

“Have I mentioned that bossiness is not a trait a young lady should embrace?”

“Only about a hundred times, but since that lesson doesn’t seem to be sticking, you might as well get on with it.”

He released a sigh. “Your grandmother has so many callers because Lord Lonsdale told Miss Tooker and Miss Roche that I was giving you decorum lessons.”

She frowned. “Why would he have done that?”

Reginald took a moment to explain, ending with “but in Charles’s defense, he did originally think that Miss Tooker and Miss Roche were under the impression that I was, ah, courting you.”

Poppy’s lips curved. “Oh dear.”

“Yes, oh dear is right, and it’s not amusing. I’m afraid I’m soon going to find myself under siege from ladies intent on learning what’s expected of a proper countess—or better yet, intent on learning how to become that proper countess.” Reginald raked a hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end, a look that was at complete odds with his usual tidy appearance. “After I saw all those carriages at your grandmother’s, I decided you and I needed to get well away and with undue haste.”

Poppy allowed herself a moment to take that in before her amusement at the situation bubbled out in the form of a laugh, one that was quickly followed by another.

“I don’t find anything about this situation amusing,” Reginald muttered.

She snatched up her napkin, dabbed at eyes that were beginning to water, then gave a wave of her hand. “If you could see your face, well, disgruntled doesn’t do your expression justice.” She gave one last hiccup of amusement. “On the practical side, though, just think of all the funds you can earn by instructing so many additional ladies.”

“I’m not really keen to take on all of the young ladies who are now determined to get to Charles through me. You take up a great deal of my time, and now I have to carve out additional time to assist Maisie and Helene Leggett.”

“Two ladies I was hoping you’d invite to join us in tea today, which would have allowed us to share whatever lesson you’re about to embark on, saving you some of your precious time.”

Reginald looked more disgruntled that ever. “I did invite them, but their mother decided she needed to interview me first to see if I’m qualified for the task of instructing her daughters.” He raked a hand through his hair again. “I’m meeting Mrs. Leggett later this afternoon, where I’ll be expected to give her an accounting of my teaching abilities, which will then have her deciding whether or not I’m qualified to teach her daughters.”

She swallowed another bubble of amusement. “I imagine that got your stiff upper lip twitching.”

“Who would have ever thought I’d be expected to suffer through an interview with a lady about my abilities when it wasn’t even my idea to offer instruction in the first place?”

“I could go with you, explain to Mrs. Leggett that you’re more than qualified.”

“Of course I’m more than qualified, especially given that I’m—” He suddenly stopped talking, picked up his menu again, and disappeared behind it.

“You’re what?” she pressed.

He peered at her over the menu. “Friends with many aristocrats.”

Poppy tilted her head. “How many aristocrats do you know? And could you possibly know any dukes, or better yet, princes?”

He retreated behind the menu again. “I just admitted that I’m soon to be under siege. Do you honestly think that condition will improve if I admit I might be acquainted with a few dukes and a prince or two?”

“A fair point, and even though you might have to stretch yourself a bit thin, it’ll be good for your bank account, as I mentioned before.” She smiled. “Society mothers can be very generous if they think a specific service will improve their daughters’ chances on the marriage mart.”

“This notion you seem to have about me being in desperate need of money is very disconcerting.”

“Aren’t you?”

He looked at her over his menu again. “That’s beside the point, and I should mention, as your instructor, that it’s not remotely acceptable to speak about money to a gentleman at any time, and you certainly shouldn’t imply a gentleman is impoverished.”

“I never said you were impoverished.”

“I believe you did, just a moment ago, or at least suggested it.”

“Then I owe you an apology.”

“Yes, you do, one that I’ll now magnanimously accept, which means we’ll put this discussion behind us and get down to the important business of ordering tea.” He glanced at his menu again. “I’m going to order the house tea. What would you have me order for you?”

“Why are you going to order it for me?”

“Because proper etiquette demands it.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh, and after I order our tea, we’ll then proceed with our daily lesson, one that centers on proper conversation to enjoy while having tea. And before you argue with that, allow me to remind you that you said you were going to be cooperative today since I did get you away from your grandmother’s house.”

“I’m not certain I should be held to that promise since I’ve now learned it was self-serving on your part.”

“But you already promised, so . . . what tea are you going to impress me with by ordering?”

Poppy glanced over her menu. “They do offer an impressive assortment of teas, but . . .” She looked up. “Will you find me quite beyond the pale if I admit I don’t actually care for tea, preferring coffee instead?”

“You don’t care for tea?”

“Shocking, I know.”

“Scandalous more like.”

“That’s because you’re British, although I’ll understand completely if my admission means you’ll never be able to turn me into a diamond of the first water because a fondness for tea is a requirement to become one of those. And, I’ll even take it upon myself to explain to my grandmother why you now have to back out of her challenge.”

The corners of Reginald’s lips twitched. “Nice try, but I’m more than up for the challenge, although your tea admission does suggest it may be more difficult than I imagined. I can only hope the Leggett sisters don’t disclose they have no liking for tea either. That might send me over the edge, swimming back to London where tea lovers will certainly be waiting for me on the shores with open arms.” His lips twitched again. “And while I know this may be setting myself up for horror, dare I hope that you’d care for a few scones with clotted cream?”

“Your sense of horror may immediately commence because I’ve never had clotted cream.”

“Remind me to tell your grandmother that I’m going to need an increase in that wage I finally agreed to let her pay me.”

“Perfectly understandable. But I wouldn’t be opposed to trying clotted cream.”

Reginald tilted his head. “I have to say that I find it fairly bewildering, what with how your grandmother told me you adore everything English, that you don’t care for tea, nor have you ever tried clotted cream, a British staple if there ever was one.”

“I’ve never claimed to adore everything English, only British accents, although I’m no longer quite as susceptible to those as I once was, not after listening to all your reprimands.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners. “I have to wonder how susceptible you truly were to British accents since you did take me to task for using the word quite, and you find words like prithee and zounds to be ridiculous.”

“Prithee is a ridiculous word, but I’m not completely opposed to zounds. It’s rather charming, if used in the proper context.” She smiled. “Frankly, I only made such a to-do with you because I was furious that you’d frightened Murray’s horse.”

“As your instructor, allow me to state that ladies are expected to weigh every word before they speak, even when they are infuriated. That will then alleviate the chance of insulting a gentleman who merely believed he was rushing to save a damsel in distress.”

“You would have been more insulted if I’d jumped off the horse and punched you instead of taking you to task, a temptation that I did contemplate after Murray’s horse charged into the water.”

“A temptation I’m pleased you resisted since ladies are never to resort to physical violence, no matter how provoked.”

“Duly noted,” she said cheerfully as a young woman stepped forward to take their order.

“We’ll have a pot of coffee,” Reginald began, “as well as an order of scones with clotted cream and a small plate of cakes and finger sandwiches.”

Poppy’s heart did a bit of a lurch as the young woman inclined her head and hurried away. “You ordered coffee.”

Reginald arched a brow. “You said you don’t care for tea.”

“But you could have ordered tea for yourself.”

He leaned forward. “Since you’ve agreed to try clotted cream, I don’t believe it will kill me to drink a cup of coffee, although in fairness, I must admit that I like coffee.” He smiled and lowered his voice. “Don’t let that get around, though. I do have a proper British reputation to uphold.”

Settling back into her seat, she returned the smile. “Your secret is safe with me, and now that our refreshments have been ordered, what’s next?”

“Proper conversations to engage in while sitting down to tea with your guests.”

“That hardly sounds amusing.”

“Missteps pertaining to conversation can get you expelled from society’s inner circle, so amusing or not, that’s what we’re going to cover this afternoon.” He settled his full attention on her, which left her feeling the distinct urge to fidget. “Pretend we’ve just sat down at your grandmother’s house. There are two other ladies sitting with us and it’s up to you to get the conversation going. How do you start?”

She folded her hands in her lap and considered his question before she smiled. “It’s such a pleasant afternoon, what with the way the sun is shining so brightly. I felt a touch of moisture in the air this morning, though, which might suggest we’re in for snow later.”

Reginald inclined his head. “Nicely done, and I suspect your guests will reply with their own observations regarding the weather, and then . . .”

“We’ll have exhausted that topic and I’ll need to move the conversation forward.”

“Weather can be used as the focus of conversation for at least fifteen minutes if you allow everyone an opportunity to state their opinion.”

Poppy smiled. “True, but it’s a less-than-riveting subject, and I don’t particularly care to see my guests nodding off from sheer boredom. That’ll hardly earn me a spot as a charming hostess or encourage any of my guests to long to be invited to a future tea I’m sure my grandmother will insist I hold.”

“An excellent point, and because you’re obviously keen to host a memorable tea, tell me how you’ll direct the conversation to achieve that goal.”

“I’ve always found discussions about books to be rather fascinating.”

“What type of books?”

She tapped a finger against the table. “I suppose that depends on whether or not my grandmother will allow me to switch up what was originally planned as a ladies’ tea and invite gentlemen as well.”

“Gentlemen don’t enjoy attending teas.”

“How many teas have you been invited to over the years?”

“Well, none, which goes to show it’s not really something gentlemen enjoy.”

Poppy leaned forward. “But you see, I don’t believe ladies actually enjoy these teas either. And given the ladies my grandmother took it upon herself to invite, I have to admit I’ve not been looking forward to the tea at all.”

“You seem to like Maisie and Helene.”

She nodded. “I do, and because they’re now attending, I thought it would make the experience more enjoyable for them if gentlemen were included, which also might have Miss Tooker and her friends behaving themselves. And then, well, there’s Murray.”

Reginald considered her for a moment. “So this is to be a matchmaking tea, is it?”

“You have to admit it’s a brilliant strategy, not to mention discreet. Murray won’t have an inkling as to what I’m about.”

“I don’t think Murray would have an inkling you’ve turned your sights on matchmaking even if you sent him an invitation that titled your tea the matchmaking event of the Season.”

“You could be right. Although do know that I’m going to expect you to prevail upon my grandmother to invite gentlemen—”

“Why would she listen to me?” he surprised her by interrupting.

“Because you’re going to tell her you’ll bring Lord Lonsdale, of course, which will make the tea one of the most anticipated events of the year.”

“I suppose I could convince Charles to attend.”

Poppy smiled. “All you have to do is tell him there will be a variety of heiresses gathered there, and that, no doubt, will have him agreeing without hesitation.”

“Aren’t you concerned that providing him with a variety of heiresses to chat with might diminish your chance of winning his affection?”

She waved that aside. “I’ve barely spent any time with Lord Lonsdale, which, if you think about it, is somewhat telling.”

“How so?”

“If he were determined to win my affection, I would think he’d go out of his way to spend time in my company, not rely on you to feed him little tidbits on whether or not I’d make an acceptable countess.”

“You think I’m feeding him tidbits?”

“Of course you are, although I do hope you’re not trying to encourage him to pursue me, since we both know without a doubt that I’d make an abysmal countess, even with the instructions you’ve been giving me.”

Reginald’s gaze sharpened. “Aren’t you interested in becoming a countess?”

“Not in the least, but don’t tell my grandmother. She’s enjoying the idea of my procuring a title for the family, and there’s no harm in allowing her to hope.”

“Until you shatter that hope by not ending the Season with a title.”

“I doubt Lord Lonsdale would choose me in the end, even if we do get to know one another better. That will leave my grandmother feeling sorry for me, which will take the place of any disappointment she’d feel.”

Reginald frowned. “Forgive me for asking, but if you’re not interested in procuring Charles’s attention, why have you agreed to continue with our decorum lessons?”

“Because my grandmother, even though she annoys me at times, wants me to become a diamond of the first water. And even though I think that’s a feat I’ll never achieve, I don’t deliberately set out to disappoint her.” Poppy grinned. “I also haven’t neglected to notice how competent you are about getting me out of social obligations my grandmother wants me to attend.”

“So it’s to your benefit to continue on with our lessons?”

“Indeed.” Poppy smiled. “And now, with that settled, I’m going to artfully redirect the conversation. Since I’m now convinced there will be gentlemen in attendance at the tea, I need to stick with books that would appeal to both genders, such as Frankenstein or Wuthering Heights.”

“You enjoyed Frankenstein?”

“I found it to be a thrilling read. Wuthering Heights, on the other hand, was somewhat depressing, but it’s one of those reads that people seem to enjoy discussing in earnest.”

“Unless you get a guest who delves into a touch of pontification about the literary merits of that work, which will hardly lend the conversation that enthralling air you seem determined to provide.”

“I didn’t consider that. So . . . Frankenstein it is.”

Reginald shook his head. “Some ladies find Frankenstein too disturbing.”

“But that could lead to a rousing debate, which would be entertaining.”

“Unless some of the ladies take offense and depart your tea early because their tender sensibilities have been offended.”

“That would definitely offend my grandmother.”

“Indeed, so . . . ?”

She wrinkled her nose. “This may be a trickier topic than I first assumed, but since it’s getting close to Christmas, what about Charles Dickens’s A Christmas Carol?”

Reginald nodded, albeit rather slowly. “While I’ve never particularly cared for that story, it is a popular tale this time of year and would be a safe book to bring up for discussion.”

“How can you not care for A Christmas Carol?”

“My older brother staged an in-home reenactment of the tale when I was young and impressionable, which left me unable to sleep for a solid month because I kept expecting spirits to show up at the end of my bed and whisk me away.”

Poppy fought a grin. “Since we certainly don’t have time to stage a reenactment of the tale as Christmas is rapidly approaching, we won’t need to worry about you suffering nightmares again, so that will be the book I broach during the tea.” She shook her head. “It’s a shame, though, that we won’t have time to do a reenactment. You would make a wonderful Scrooge.”

“And here’s where I remind you that a lady is expected not to toss what might very well be construed as an insult at her guests.”

“I couldn’t resist.”

“Try.”

She fought another grin. “Now that we’ve discussed the weather and books, should I move the conversation to the latest fashions?”

“Riveting subject matter, to be sure. But since it’s just the two of us, and because you do seem perfectly capable of holding your own in a polite conversation, why don’t we abandon our lesson for just a bit. You can tell me something about yourself instead.”

Unexpected heat settled on her face, evidently brought about because Reginald was suddenly watching her far too closely. “What do you want to know?”

She couldn’t be certain, but it almost sounded like he muttered “Everything” before he cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair. “Tell me how it came to be that you’re having your first Season at the age of twenty-two.”

“I’m almost twenty-three, but don’t tell my grandmother I told you that,” Poppy said, her disclosure having Reginald blink somewhat owlishly back at her. She pretended not to notice as she launched into the whole story of how she’d come to the city, ending with “And then after my parents secured a large loan from our local bank, they purchased land in Kentucky, where the horse industry is settling. Unfortunately, before they could get the new facility up and running, the bank ran into some unexpected financial difficulties, which forced them to call in my parents’ loan two years before it was due.”

Reginald frowned. “Were your parents delinquent with their payments?”

“Not at all. Garrison Farms has always turned a nice profit, and we were still selling horses from our location in Pennsylvania. The only reason my father couldn’t immediately pay off the full amount of the loan was because of all the expenses he’d incurred with our new operation.”

Poppy traced a finger over the lace-embroidered tablecloth. “The owner of the bank offered to hold off foreclosing on the loan if Father wanted to take steps to sell our farm in Pennsylvania. My parents were hesitant to sell, though, because they’d always planned on dividing up the farm between my two brothers and me. Their hesitancy to sell is apparently why the bank began foreclosure proceedings.”

“And that’s when your grandmother entered the picture?”

“It was. I reached out to her, let her know about the dire situation, and she was perfectly willing to step in and save Garrison Farms if I would agree to allow her to bring me out for a New York Season.”

“Sounds like blackmail on your grandmother’s part.”

“Oh it was, but I wasn’t completely opposed to coming to New York.” She smiled. “I’m not widely traveled and thought the city would be quite an adventure.” Her smile dimmed. “Little did I know, though, that I would be expected to change so much about myself in the process.”

“I think you’ll eventually discover that you’re delightful just the way God made you, my dear.”

Turning, Poppy found an older lady standing behind her, holding a silver pot of coffee, which she immediately set down on the table.

“I do beg your pardon for interrupting your conversation,” the lady began, “as well as eavesdropping, although it wasn’t exactly eavesdropping since I was coming to deliver your coffee.” She smiled. “I’m Miss Mabel Huxley, but you must call me Miss Mabel, and you’re Miss Poppy Garrison.”

“You know who I am?”

“But of course.” Miss Mabel turned her smile on Reginald, who’d already risen from his chair. “And you’re Mr. Blackburn.”

“You’ve heard about me as well?” Reginald asked, taking the hand Miss Mabel offered him and placing a kiss on her knuckles.

Miss Mabel laughed. “Do you honestly believe that rumors wouldn’t swirl around the city regarding the tall, dark, and brooding traveling companion of Lord Lonsdale?”

“Why does everyone seem to have come to the conclusion I’m a brooding sort?” Reginald asked to no one in particular as Miss Mabel actually reached out and patted his cheek.

“If you don’t care to be considered brooding, my dear man, perhaps you should try harder not to brood” was all Miss Mabel said before she waved Reginald back into his seat and returned her attention to Poppy. “I hear your first Season has been rather interesting.”

“How did you hear that?” Poppy asked weakly.

“Rumors run through this tearoom faster than the tea is poured, but do know that you’re not the first young lady to have an adventure at a society event. Why, I know of one lady who was responsible for almost burning Delmonico’s to the ground, another who caused mayhem by misunderstanding the rules to the Go-As-You-Please Quadrille, and yet another young lady who got herself firmly attached to a fainting couch because of an unusually crafted bustle.”

Poppy’s spirits immediately lifted. “How reassuring to learn that other ladies seem to have difficulties with bustles.”

“Bustles are horrid contraptions made by men who’ll never have to wear them.” Miss Mabel released a sniff. “I’ve elected to not embrace the new rage of wearing such large atrocities on my behind, but only because with age comes certain privileges, although . . .” She caught Poppy’s eye. “You seem to be an original, my dear, so perhaps you won’t feel the need to wait so long before you abandon what’s expected of you, embracing who you truly are and who God meant you to be, instead of trying to embrace a sense of who others want you to be.”

Before Poppy could come up with a response to that, Miss Mabel was suddenly squinting across the room. “Speaking of originals,” she began, “Mr. Murray Middleton is heading this way, and . . . he looks like he could use a cup of coffee. I’ll fetch an extra cup.” Excusing herself, Miss Mabel hurried away right before Murray appeared beside the table and all but flung himself into an empty chair.

“I’ve done it now,” Murray said by way of greeting.

“That doesn’t sound encouraging,” Poppy said as Reginald picked up the silver pot and poured coffee into the cup that had been meant for him, then placed that cup directly in front of Murray, who nodded his thanks and picked it up.

Murray took a sip, winced because the coffee was apparently still hot, then set aside the cup and shuddered. “I’ve had an enormous row with Mother. She was most distraught about my adventure in Central Park yesterday and was convinced I’d most certainly caught any number of illnesses from being in that cold water. Her distress quickly changed to outrage, though, when I refused to take her suggestion of retiring to my bedchamber for an entire week to build up my strength.” He shuddered again. “Our conversation only went downhill from there, ending with me threatening to move out.”

Poppy blinked. “You told your mother you’re considering moving out of her house?”

“There’s no considering left about the matter,” Murray said, his voice quivering. “Mother was furious with me for even broaching the topic, which is exactly why she took it upon herself to throw me out of her house, rendering me, I’m sorry to say, homeless.”