Chapter 12

While Poppy set about trying to console Murray, Reginald rose from his seat as Miss Mabel hurried back to their table, handing him the cup she’d gone to fetch. After noticing Murray’s distress, she didn’t bother to wait for Reginald to pull out a chair for her, but took a seat directly next to Murray, giving his arm a good pat as Reginald resumed his seat.

“My dear Murray,” she began, “do not tell me you’ve had another row with that mother of yours.”

“I’m afraid I have, Miss Mabel,” Murray said, taking a gulp of his coffee, his eyes immediately watering since the coffee was still not cool enough to drink. “She’s probably even now tossing all of my worldly belongings into the street to prove how put out she is with me.”

Miss Mabel’s eyes twinkled. “You’ve always been so wonderfully dramatic, but I doubt if Hazel will go through the bother of tossing your belongings into the street. She’s never been one to enjoy overexerting herself.”

Murray immediately brightened. “She doesn’t enjoy exerting herself.”

Miss Mabel inclined her head right as the young woman who’d originally taken their orders returned, bearing a tray filled with cakes, scones, jams, and the clotted cream. As the woman went about setting the plates on the table, Miss Mabel beamed a smile all around.

“I took the liberty of adding a few extra helpings of everything after I noticed Murray’s arrival, and good thing I did. There’s nothing quite like a plate of cakes to cheer a person up.” She turned to Murray. “If that’s not enough to improve your spirits, do remember that you’re in possession of two substantial trusts, left to you from relatives who obviously wanted to make certain you’d have plenty of funds available if the day ever arrived where you’d want to strike out on your own. Thankfully, that day does appear to have arrived.”

“I completely forgot I’m not a pauper,” Murray said before he accepted a plate from their server and immediately dove into one of the cakes, shoveling forkfuls into his mouth so quickly Reginald couldn’t help but wonder if the man had also forgotten to eat that day.

“You’ve apparently forgotten you’re a gentleman as well since a gentleman usually waits until everyone has been served before tucking in,” Miss Mabel said, which had Murray immediately choking on the bite of cake he’d just taken.

After giving Murray a sound pounding on his back, Reginald turned his attention to his own plate, setting aside his knife when he noticed Poppy slathering clotted cream on a scone that she then topped with jam.

“The cream always goes on top,” he pointed out, earning a scowl in return.

“Why would that matter?”

“It’s just how it’s done.”

“It’s cream, somewhat like butter I have to imagine, and I never put butter over my jam, always under it.”

“Clotted cream is not like butter,” Murray said, pausing with another forkful of cake halfway to his mouth.

Poppy’s mouth made an O of surprise. “What does it taste like then?”

Murray frowned. “Since you didn’t like the comparison I made between snail and chicken, I’m not certain you should be seeking my counsel on the matter.”

“It’s not as horrid as snail though, is it?” Poppy asked as she, much to Reginald’s surprise, set aside the scone she’d improperly fixed, spread jam over a new scone, then added a hefty dollop of clotted cream before she looked to him. “Is it?” she repeated.

“I like snail,” he reminded her. “But no, clotted cream is not horrid at all, although it is heavier than the cream you’re probably used to.”

“Fine, I’ll try it, although I still don’t understand why the cream has to be on top.” Without waiting for him to reply to that bit of nonsense, she took a bite, her nose wrinkled, and then, after giving a linen napkin a longing look, Poppy began chewing at a furious rate. A moment later, she swallowed, shuddered, then turned a rather concerning shade of green.

“Oh dear. I think you might need a refreshing glass of lemonade to wash that down. I’ll be right back,” Miss Mabel said, jumping from her chair to all but sprint across the tearoom and through a door that evidently led to the kitchen.

“Whatever is the matter with you now, Miss Garrison?” a lady asked from behind Reginald, before Miss Adele Tooker stepped into view. She smiled brightly at Poppy, who was looking less than pleased at the appearance of a lady who seemed to show up at the most inconvenient times.

“There’s nothing the matter with me,” Poppy returned coolly, summoning up a smile that must have taken a great deal of effort since she was still green. “I was merely savoring the taste of clotted cream for the first time.”

Miss Tooker, along with Miss Edith Iselin, whom Reginald only then noticed as he rose to his feet while Murray did the same, stepped closer to the table.

“Lord Lonsdale adores clotted cream,” Miss Tooker said, raising a hand to her chest. “I’m afraid he was somewhat taken aback to learn I’ve never tried it before, but I assured him I would rectify that at my earliest convenience.”

“But the two of you must join us now,” Poppy said, waving the two ladies forward. “Be a dear, Murray, and fetch two additional chairs. I say there’s no time like the present to introduce Miss Tooker and Miss Iselin to the pleasure of clotted cream.”

Even though Poppy’s invitation to Miss Tooker and Miss Iselin was what was expected of a society lady, Reginald had the distinct feeling that allowing those two ladies to join them was a certain recipe for disaster. Even so, since there was no way to politely rescind the invitation, Reginald assisted the ladies into the chairs Murray had pulled from an empty table, taking his own seat right as Miss Mabel rejoined them.

“Ah, more guests. How delightful,” Miss Mabel exclaimed, setting a tall glass of lemonade in front of Poppy before she nodded to Miss Tooker and Miss Iselin. “Shall I fetch you some tea, or would you two ladies prefer a pot of coffee?”

Miss Tooker turned eyes filled with clear longing to the coffeepot. “Everyone is drinking coffee?”

“Poppy apparently prefers it over tea,” Murray said, his cheeks turning red when Miss Tooker turned her attention his way.

“What would your mother say, Mr. Middleton, if she were to hear you address Miss Garrison so informally?”

“Since Mr. Middleton is not a boy, Miss Tooker,” Poppy said before Murray could get a word out of his mouth, “I’m sure she wouldn’t have much to say about it at all. However, because I’m of the belief that sharing clotted cream and coffee is far more pleasant when it’s done in an informal atmosphere, I suggest all of us abandon formality. You may address me as Poppy, Mr. Blackburn as Reginald, Mr. Middleton as Murray, and . . .” She raised an expectant brow.

“This is most improper,” Miss Tooker said, exchanging a look with Miss Iselin. “But in the spirit of informality, you may call me Adele.”

“I’m Edith,” Miss Iselin added before Adele could introduce her.

“How lovely,” Poppy exclaimed, setting aside her now-empty glass of lemonade. “Now, with that settled, what shall it be . . . tea or coffee for the two of you?”

Adele glanced to Reginald. “Do you believe Lord Lonsdale would find it distressing to learn Edith and I enjoy having an occasional coffee?”

“I don’t believe that would distress him overly much,” Reginald said, earning a smile from Adele, who then nodded to Miss Mabel. “Coffee sounds splendid, Miss Mabel.”

As Miss Mabel promised to return directly with additional cups and a fresh pot of coffee, Poppy sat forward. “I’m surprised to discover the two of you here. It’s not yet two o’clock, and both of you are known to maintain a diligent calling schedule.”

Adele nodded as she accepted a plate from Murray. “Edith and I were making our calls with our mothers earlier. However, after calling upon your grandmother and learning you weren’t at home because you’d agreed to accompany Mr. Blackburn, or rather, Reginald, to the tearoom, we decided we simply had to stop by Rutherford & Company to check on your welfare. Edith and I have been most concerned about you after your unfortunate swim yesterday.”

“How thoughtful,” Poppy murmured, picking up a plate of scones and holding it out to Adele and Edith. “Scone?”

After Adele and Edith each took one, they began spreading on clotted cream, and then placing jam on top of that cream, something that left Reginald wincing. However, since they weren’t students of his, he refrained from correcting them, even though that earned him a scowl from Poppy. Thankfully, Murray distracted her when he cleared his throat and looked to Edith.

“Did you enjoy your visit with Mrs. Van Rensselaer today, Edith?”

Edith smiled. “It was enjoyable, but then, I always find Mrs. Van Rensselaer to be a more-than-amiable hostess. She’s very charming and tells the most captivating stories.”

Poppy’s brows drew together. “Are you certain we’re talking about the same Mrs. Van Rensselaer? As in my grandmother, Viola?”

“But of course.” Edith set her knife on the very top of her small plate. “I’m often disappointed that calls are restricted to thirty minutes because that doesn’t seem like enough time to truly enjoy her company.”

“She’s a very gracious lady, Poppy,” Adele added. “You’re fortunate to have a leading society matron as your grandmother, although why you waited so long to have her bring you out into society is a mystery.” She smiled sweetly, even though something less than sweet flickered through her eyes. “I will admit, though, that today’s call at your grandmother’s house turned somewhat unusual after Miss Beatrix Waterbury arrived.”

“Beatrix paid a call to my grandmother?”

Adele shook her head. “I believe she was looking for you, Poppy, as well as you, Murray.”

Murray’s face turned pink. “Why was Beatrix looking for me?”

“She apparently still has possession of your horse.”

“I forgot all about my horse.”

“Which would explain why Beatrix was trying to run you down,” Adele said. “She apparently stopped by your house first, Murray, and from what little I overheard Beatrix say to Mrs. Van Rensselaer, your mother and Beatrix had words.”

The color began leaking from Murray’s face. “Why would my mother have words with Beatrix?”

“It had something to do with you naming your horse Hazel, which, in my humble opinion, was not well done of you, since your mother’s name is Hazel.”

“I didn’t name my horse Hazel. She was already named that when my mother purchased her, although, clearly, Mother wasn’t aware of that at the time of the purchase.” Murray frowned. “I wonder how Beatrix knew my horse was originally named Hazel.”

Edith sat forward. “From what I overheard, Beatrix had intended on purchasing Hazel for herself, but your mother evidently beat her to the sale.” She turned to Poppy. “I then overheard Beatrix say that Murray’s mother demanded she take the horse out of her sight, which is why I believe Beatrix was looking for you, hoping you’d know where to find Murray.”

Poppy’s brows drew together. “If she was looking for me, why didn’t she accompany the two of you here?”

Adele began smoothing a linen napkin over her lap. “Because then Mr. Nigel Flaherty stopped by your grandmother’s house.” She lifted her head. “He apparently wanted to check on your welfare, and he brought you flowers.”

Something peculiar took that moment to unfurl in Reginald’s stomach, something that rumbled around and felt very much like . . .

“He brought me flowers?” Poppy repeated.

“A lovely bouquet of hothouse roses. He apparently wanted to take you for a ride through Central Park, and when you pair that with the flowers, well, I must say it does appear that the gentleman is smitten with you.” Adele leaned toward Poppy. “Rumor has it Mr. Flaherty is well on his way to becoming one of the wealthiest gentlemen in the country, a circumstance that certainly makes him appealing to more than one young lady.”

Poppy shrugged. “Mr. Flaherty and I are merely friends, that friendship formed because we share a love of fine horses.”

“He helped rescue you when you were dangling from a balcony.”

“True, but that’s hardly a reason to set my cap for him.”

“Rescuing a lady from certain death most assuredly can be considered a romantic gesture,” Adele said firmly.

Poppy waved that aside. “I beg to differ.” She nodded to Reginald. “Reginald saved me as well, but I don’t believe he felt compelled to do so because he was thinking of romance as I tumbled over the railing.” She arched an expectant brow at him.

“Ah . . . quite right” was all he could think to respond.

She smiled and returned her attention to Adele. “See? Not a romantic gesture in the least. And before you come up with another reason why you believe Nigel and I would suit, you should remember that the man is at least twice my age.”

“Most ladies find older gentlemen very compelling.”

Poppy inclined her head. “Perhaps they do, but I’m not most ladies.”

“No truer words have ever been said,” Adele said sweetly. “And with that settled, shall we turn the conversation to something less contentious, such as . . . Lord Lonsdale?”

Poppy frowned. “But you didn’t finish explaining why Beatrix didn’t accompany the two of you here.”

Adele lifted her chin. “Allow me to simply say this—Beatrix Waterbury and I aren’t close. And, with that said, I now feel compelled to offer you some sage advice: It will not benefit you to further your acquaintance with Miss Waterbury because she’s garnered a reputation of being eccentric.”

Reginald found it less than encouraging when temper flashed through Poppy’s eyes.

“I find Beatrix’s eccentricity to be refreshing,” Poppy said. “She’s a charming lady, and I have no intention of distancing myself from her, no matter that some in society believe differently.”

Adele’s eyes flashed with temper as well before she directed a smile Reginald’s way. “Forgive me. Here Poppy and I are going on and on about a trifling matter and neglecting you most assiduously. I believe we were, at one time, discussing scones and clotted cream.”

“A less volatile topic of conversation for certain,” Reginald said.

“Unless you decide you don’t care for clotted cream,” Poppy muttered, “and are concerned that it may leave you at distinct odds with British gentlemen who were raised on the—”

“This looks simply delicious,” Adele interrupted, picking up her scone, but pausing when Poppy shook her head.

“I’m going to suggest you wait for Miss Mabel to return with your coffee cup, Adele. You might need something at the ready if you decide clotted cream is not to your taste.”

Adele frowned. “You said you were savoring clotted cream when I first arrived.”

“Savoring, detesting,” Poppy said with a wave of her hand. “It’s all somewhat debatable, but I will say this—clotted cream, no matter how delectable it may sound, might very well be an acquired taste, so I’d advise you to proceed with caution.” She shot a look to the scone on her plate and grimaced. “Frankly, I found it to be incredibly heavy, and instead of tasting like butter, or the cream I enjoy with cake, it had a slightly nutty taste, and I’m not partial to nutty.”

A hint of defiance flickered over Adele’s face right before she took a large bite of her scone. Something curious settled in her eyes as she chewed, but then she swallowed, squared her shoulders, and smiled. “Delicious, although I can see where a person with less sophisticated tastes might not find it so.”

That was all it took for Poppy to snatch up her scone and begin eating with relish, Adele doing the same with her scone a second later.

It was a riveting battle if Reginald had ever seen one, although one where clotted cream, jam, and scones were the weapons, instead of the usual pistols, swords, or knives.

As Poppy and Adele polished off their first scones and reached for seconds, Miss Mabel returned with additional cups and a fresh pot of coffee. After depositing those on the table, she glanced to Poppy, then Adele, then turned straight on her heel and beat a hasty retreat, saying something about pressing business in the kitchen.

“Wish I had some pressing business in the kitchen,” Murray muttered before he turned to Edith, who’d taken a small bite of her scone before setting it aside, perfectly content, or so it seemed, to abandon the scone for the small cake she was nibbling in a most ladylike fashion—unlike Adele and Poppy, who were devouring their scones as if they’d not eaten in months.

“What news have you heard about the snow that some believe is soon to be coming to the city?” Edith asked as she and Murray began discussing the weather in earnest.

Sitting back in his chair, Reginald took a sip of his coffee and watched as Poppy and Adele reached for their third scones.

Edith sat forward and nodded to Reginald, drawing his attention away from the madness at hand. “And how do you find the weather here in New York, Reginald? Is it much different than what you’re used to over in England?”

Reginald smiled, realizing that he’d not paid much attention to Edith, while also realizing that she was a charming young lady, what with her quiet demeanor, impeccable manners, and an understated beauty that had been eclipsed by Adele’s classically beautiful face and Poppy’s, well, everything.

“I find that the weather has been most marvelous in New York.” He set aside his cup. “Have you lived in the city long, Edith, and do you reside here the entire year or only spend the Season here?”

Before Edith could answer, Adele pushed away the plate in front of her that only had crumbs remaining upon it, and blotted her lips. She sent what seemed to be a look of warning to Edith before she turned her full attention on Reginald. “Edith’s family has numerous homes scattered around the country, quite like my family.” She blotted her lips again. “But enough about Edith. I’m much more interested in hearing about Lord Lonsdale’s homes, as I’m certain Edith is too.” She half-heartedly tossed a smile Edith’s way but apparently missed the frown Edith sent her in return.

Before Reginald could say a single word about Charles’s many properties, Murray sat forward, his eyes narrowed on Adele before he smiled pleasantly and nodded to the empty clotted cream bowl. “Shall I take the liberty of ordering more clotted cream?”

A look of absolute horror crossed Adele’s face, whereas Poppy, on the other hand, returned Murray’s smile, a distinct twinkle in her eyes.

“How thoughtful of you to notice, Murray. And yes, I would love nothing more than to share another tub of it with my dear friend Adele.”

The moment the word tub slipped out of Poppy’s mouth, Adele blanched, but she rallied quickly, taking a second to fiddle with the small watch attached to her sleeve.

“My goodness, would you look at the time.” She lifted her head. “I’m afraid the afternoon has gotten away from me, so I’ll need to excuse myself.” She looked expectantly at Reginald, who immediately rose to his feet and helped her out of her chair. She turned to Edith. “Coming, dear?”

Even though Edith looked less than thrilled to have what could only be considered a most riveting afternoon outing come to such a rapid end, she smiled pleasantly at Murray, who was already on his feet, and allowed him to help her from her chair.

After telling Poppy they were looking forward to the upcoming tea at her grandmother’s house, the two ladies quit the tearoom, Adele all but running away, as if she was convinced if she lingered even a second longer she’d be obligated to have more clotted cream.

“May I still claim a victory, even though I’m fully aware I completely failed in regard to proper decorum?” Poppy asked, looking less than contrite about her failure as Reginald and Murray resumed their seats. She turned to Murray and grinned. “What a brilliant strategist you are, Murray. It was sheer genius on your part to offer to fetch more clotted cream, although I must admit I was worried there for a moment that Adele might actually accept your offer, which would have seen the both of us sick for certain.”

“You could have graciously declined Murray’s offer,” Reginald pointed out.

“Which would have been no fun at all and would have left us to suffer Adele’s company longer.” Poppy picked up her coffee cup and took a dainty sip. “I do believe I like Edith, though.” She caught Reginald’s eye. “You should tell Lord Lonsdale that she might make him a worthy countess.”

“You’d make a worthy countess,” Murray said, taking a sip of his coffee.

“And while that’s kind of you, I don’t believe I would.” Poppy settled back in her chair. “I’m never going to have clotted cream again if I can help it. It’s far too rich for me, and that right there is reason enough for Reginald to take me off Lord Lonsdale’s list of potential heiresses.”

“Edith didn’t appear to like clotted cream either,” Reginald pointed out.

“True, but she didn’t make a fuss about it, which is exactly how I would expect a real countess to behave.”

“Good point.” Reginald considered her over the rim of his coffee cup. “Should I assume you don’t believe Adele would make a credible countess?”

Poppy shrugged. “She’s probably more than up for that challenge. However, I don’t believe Lord Lonsdale would find her easy to live with, so unless you secretly don’t care for him, I’d take her off the list as well.”

Because he couldn’t argue with that, since he’d already come to the conclusion that Adele wasn’t a likeable sort, he settled for finishing his coffee as Murray and Poppy discussed where Murray might begin searching for a new residence. They were joined a moment later by Miss Mabel, after Reginald had seen her making certain Adele and Edith had taken their leave.

“Not that everyone is in agreement that French flats are appropriate for a bachelor gentleman to let, but may I suggest considering the Osborne flats on Fifty-Seventh Street?” Miss Mabel said. “Those flats offer very luxurious spaces, complete with steam heat, four Otis elevators, and secret passageways for the help.” She smiled at Murray. “The basement level hosts a florist, but more importantly, a physician and pharmacy.”

Murray returned the smile. “That might prove handy, since I do seem to suffer from a variety of ailments.” His smile dimmed. “Even so, I’m certain my mother would hardly approve of me letting space in a flat. She finds them most disagreeable.”

Miss Mabel’s lips thinned. “Hazel would find any residence you set your sights on disagreeable, dear. But since you’re the one who will live in that residence, you’re the one to make the final decision. Did I mention most flats at the Osborne come complete with fourteen-foot ceilings, windows designed by Tiffany, and modern plumbing? And the Osborne is situated not far from Central Park, which would make it convenient for you to walk over and do a bit of that sketching I know you’re so fond of doing.”

“It’s very disconcerting how you know so much about everyone,” Murray muttered.

“I’m sure it is.” Miss Mabel nodded at Poppy. “Just as I’m sure that if anyone can convince him to give the Osborne a look, it’s you.”

Poppy smiled. “And because I have nothing else on my schedule this afternoon, there’s no need for us to delay. Thank you for being so attentive to us today, Miss Mabel. I thoroughly enjoyed myself and will certainly return soon to this lovely tearoom.”

“See that you do,” Miss Mabel said. “I’ll go fetch your bill.”

“You can simply put it on my grandmother’s account,” Poppy said before Reginald could tell Miss Mabel he was settling the bill.

Inclining her head, Miss Mabel strode away, stopping to chat with guests seated at another table.

Reginald narrowed his eyes on Poppy. “That was not well done of you.”

“Probably not, but since I’m the one who ate most of the food, as well as consumed most of the beverages, it’s only fair.” She rose from the chair. “And with that settled, shall we go look at that French flat?”

Without waiting for Reginald or Murray to offer her their arm, Poppy took off like a shot through the tearoom, the reason for her haste becoming crystal clear the second she stopped in front of the elevator.

“I think not” was all Reginald said as he took a firm grip of her arm, and with Murray falling into step behind him, they moved to the stairs, ignoring Poppy’s complaints about having to travel down four flights when there was a perfectly good elevator at hand.

“You just consumed a large quantity of clotted cream,” he reminded her when they reached the second floor. “You should appreciate the opportunity for some exercise.”

“Why didn’t we make use of the elevator?” Murray huffed, taking a swipe at his perspiring brow.

“Because I suspect that Poppy had intentions of cajoling the elevator operator into letting her try her hand at bringing us down to the first floor.”

Murray’s eyes widened. “No need to say anything else.”

Poppy muttered something that sounded like “traitor” under her breath right as they reached the first floor, and soon they were standing outside, heads bent against a brisk wind that was howling up and down Broadway.

“May I offer the two of you a ride?” Murray asked right as the wind tore his hat from his head, which Poppy immediately darted after, even though the hat was already in the street.

“Watch out for the—”

The rest of Reginald’s warning got lost as Poppy dodged around a closed carriage that had almost run her over and raced after the hat, making it to the other side of Broadway without incident.

Thankful that she’d not been flattened before their eyes, Reginald, with Murray by his side, strode after her, their progress delayed when a large delivery wagon trundled in front of them, blocking their path. Craning his neck, he frowned when he realized Poppy was now almost an entire block away from them, rushing after Murray’s hat in what could only be considered a run.

“She’s unusually fast for a lady who just ate that much clotted cream,” Murray said as they hurried around the delivery wagon.

“Indeed, but . . .” Reginald stopped talking as he noticed three large men darting out from an alley Poppy had just raced past. Trepidation slid through him when he noticed that their attention, or so it seemed, was directed at the reticule dangling from her wrist.

Breaking into a run, Reginald could only pray he was mistaken about the three men’s intentions. But since this did involve Poppy, and she seemed to get herself entangled in the most unlikely of situations, he was afraid he wasn’t mistaken at all.