Chapter 15
“I see you’ve inherited your mother’s flower-arranging abilities.”
Wincing when a thorn pierced her finger, Poppy looked up from the disaster she was creating and smiled as her grandfather moseyed into what her grandmother referred to as the sunroom.
It was an appropriate name for the room, what with the floor-to-ceiling windows that encompassed two complete walls. And even though the day outside was gloomy and marked with fitful spurts of snow, the sunroom was cozy, the fire in the fireplace crackling merrily away, and any chill that seeped through the windows kept at bay because of the forced heat her grandparents’ house enjoyed.
“I remember watching Elizabeth in this very room, although she was usually not smiling when she attempted to create her floral arrangements.” George’s lips curved. “She deliberately paired the most unlikely of flowers together, often annoying your grandmother by choosing colors that did not complement each other.”
“If Mother deliberately went out of her way to annoy Grandmother with her flower arrangements, I’m surprised Grandmother didn’t discontinue asking my mother to arrange flowers in the first place.”
“One would have thought that to be a logical solution, but your grandmother is a stubborn woman and wasn’t one to pick her battles, preferring to fight daily with Elizabeth over the most absurd topics.”
“Which does explain why they’ve been mostly estranged for so many years.” Poppy picked up another rose and began stripping the thorns from the stem, regretting that she hadn’t chosen a less hostile flower to use for all the arrangements Viola wanted her to assemble for the next day’s tea.
Sticking the rose in the vase and grimacing when she realized she’d cut it at least five inches too short, Poppy reached for another flower, stilling when her grandfather stepped beside her.
“How about you go take a seat by the fire and let me do this,” he surprised her by saying.
“You know how to arrange flowers?”
“When your grandmother and I were first courting, we used to spend hours scouring the flower vendors in the city, looking for the perfect blooms. We’d then repair to her parents’ house, and under the watchful eye of Viola’s chaperone, we’d spend the afternoon arranging each flower exactly so.”
Poppy moved to a chair next to the fireplace and sat down. “It’s difficult to imagine you and Grandmother courting or picking out flowers because—”
“We don’t strike you as romantic types?” George finished for her as he expertly stripped the rose he was holding of its thorns, eyed the stem, then snipped the stem two inches before he placed it into a crystal vase.
Poppy’s lips curved. “I can’t say ‘romantic’ is what first springs to mind when I think of you or Grandmother, but were you truly possessed of a romantic nature back in the day?”
“I’m not ancient, Poppy. I’m certain I could still be a romantic type if I set my mind to it.”
“And how do you think Grandmother would respond if you set your mind to romance?”
George snipped the stem off another rose. “She could very well conclude I’ve taken leave of my senses. But speaking of your grandmother, where is she? Has she vacated the premises to avoid the numerous callers who’ve stopped by today, anxious to see if you’ve experienced any new adventures?”
Since Poppy had resolved to comport herself as a diamond in the making, she’d not had a single adventure over the five days that had passed since the incident on Broadway. It was a dreary way to spend her time, but since she had made a promise to her grandmother, she’d been trying to embrace the role of true lady, even though she found the activities she was limited to relatively dull.
Afternoon calls had been a must and then there’d been a few dinners and small balls where she’d found herself participating in conversations about the weather and the latest fashions. She’d been tempted to enter into a conversation about suffragists that Beatrix had started at a dinner held by Mrs. Stuyvesant Fish but refused to give in after the society matron she’d been standing beside had proclaimed the discussion inappropriate.
The only enjoyment she’d had of late was the time devoted to her lessons with Reginald. He’d suggested she share her lessons with the Leggett sisters since he did seem to be in much demand. And because Maisie and Helene’s mother was still a little leery about Reginald’s abilities, they’d decided to hold the lessons at the Leggett residence, something Reginald seemed relieved about, although she had no idea why that was.
He’d also made himself scarce before and after those lessons. And even though she understood he had limited time these days, what with how many young ladies were clamoring for his services, she found herself somewhat put out over his lack of attention, and . . . she missed his company.
Her grandfather suddenly cleared his throat, recalling Poppy back to the question he’d asked her.
“Forgive me, Grandfather. I seem to have gotten lost in thought. As for Grandmother, she has not gone out. She’s in the attic with Murray.”
“Ah, Murray, now there’s an interesting gentleman. But what could Viola and Murray possibly be doing in the attic?”
“Grandmother converted the attic into an art studio some years ago and spends almost all of her spare time up there painting.”
“Viola created an art studio?”
“You do know that she enjoys painting, don’t you?”
George nodded as he stripped off a few more thorns. “She’s done that since I’ve known her, but I suppose I never considered that she might enjoy it. I merely thought she pursued painting because it’s what ladies do.” He placed the thorn-free rose into a vase and picked up another one. “She and your mother were always at odds over that. Elizabeth, as I’m sure you’re aware, is horrid with a paintbrush, although your grandmother was of the belief that Elizabeth was deliberately trying to sabotage any artistic endeavor as a way to annoy her.”
“Mother doesn’t need to deliberately sabotage her art. She simply possesses no talent for it.” Poppy smiled. “I seem to have inherited that lack of talent from my mother as well, which is why I was banished from the attic and sent to arrange flowers. Grandmother was becoming frustrated with my efforts with oil and canvas, but she certainly is enjoying her time with Murray as they paint.”
“Murray’s a talented painter?”
“Indeed. When I left them, he was showing Grandmother how to capture a ray of sun just so. I must say she seems to have changed her opinion about him.” Poppy lowered her voice. “She warned me a while ago to keep my distance from him because he’s not considered fashionable in the inner circles of society. Now, however, she’s invited him to stay here until he secures himself new premises and seems to be enjoying his company.”
George abandoned the flowers, settling himself into a chair across from Poppy a moment later. “I imagine you’ve been wondering why Viola offered Murray such unexpected hospitality.”
Poppy smiled. “I can’t deny that, although I’m almost convinced she did so to annoy Mrs. Middleton.”
George returned the smile. “While Viola is certainly capable of deliberately annoying a person, I’m relatively certain, in this case, that she offered Murray a place to stay to alleviate the anxiety Hazel was most assuredly experiencing after Murray refused to return home with her. You have to admit that Murray was looking beyond pathetic a few days ago, which certainly must have been of grave concern to his mother.”
George’s eyes began to twinkle. “I know you’ve probably not seen much in the way of compassion from your grandmother, dear, but deep down—very deep down—Viola is a good woman. She’s merely a victim of her own strict and unemotional upbringing, but before I continue on with that tale, allow me to take the liberty of ringing for coffee and a few treats.” George got up from his chair and moved to where an annunciator was attached to the wall. Pushing a knob that would alert the kitchen that service was required in the sunroom, George was just settling back to his seat when Mr. Parsons walked into the room.
“Ah, Mr. Parsons, my granddaughter and I would like a pot of coffee, along with some small cakes, if Mrs. Hardie has any of those available.”
Mr. Parsons inclined his head. “Very well, Mr. Van Rensselaer.” He turned to Poppy. “Would you like me to include a few of those pastries you baked this morning?” His lips curved. “I must say I enjoyed them immensely, although I do believe I may have insulted Mrs. Hardie by stating that I thought the pastries you made surpassed hers.”
Poppy fought a grin. “That was not well done of you, Mr. Parsons. Mrs. Hardie is a most excellent cook, but you must know that she’s a sensitive sort. I fear you may find yourself regretting making such a statement when you sit down to your dinner this evening.”
“You might be correct about that.” Mr. Parsons suddenly smiled. “Or Mrs. Hardie might find herself unable to resist rising to the challenge of besting your recipes, which could very well see the kitchen producing an abundance of sumptuous treats.” With that, Mr. Parsons executed a perfect bow, turned on his heel, and walked out of the room, leaving Poppy alone with George, who was regarding her closely.
“You bake?”
Poppy nodded. “I do, and unlike my less-than-stellar painting and flower-arranging abilities, I’m rather proficient in the kitchen.”
“She does, but she doesn’t really approve, which is exactly why I was in the kitchen this morning at the unheard of hour of five.” She smiled. “Grandmother does not step foot out of her bedchamber until nine, so if I find myself with a hankering to stick my hands in some dough, I have to get up well before that.”
George frowned. “Does Elizabeth bake?”
“Indeed, but don’t start taking yourself to task for not knowing that. Mother didn’t discover a love for the kitchen until after she married my father.”
“It is regrettable, though, that I know so little about my own daughter.”
“It’s difficult to know a person when you only see them for a few days every year, and from what I remember, there were many times when you weren’t in New York when Mother came for her yearly visit.”
“Another regret of mine.” George looked up as Mr. Parsons walked through the door again, bearing a tray with a silver coffeepot and a plate stacked high with treats.
After Mr. Parsons poured the coffee and handed Poppy and her grandfather a small plate of pastries, he inclined his head and quit the room.
As her grandfather took his first bite of pastry, Poppy watched him closely, grinning when he released a groan and proclaimed it the best pastry he’d ever tasted.
“Which is exactly what I’d expect a grandfather to say to his granddaughter,” she returned before she picked up her cup.
“I’m afraid I’ve not been much of a grandfather to you, dear,” George said, picking up his own cup. “Your grandmother and I have failed your entire family by allowing hurts from the past to keep us apart for so long.”
“I’m beginning to think some of that may have been a direct result of that upbringing you mentioned Grandmother had.”
George nodded. “Viola’s mother, Martha Rhinelander, God rest her soul, was a staunch knickerbocker, believing it was a lady’s place to be a picture of decorum. She raised Viola in a household that put great emphasis on abiding by all the rules.” George took another sip of his coffee. “After Viola made her debut, her mother soon set her sights on me. I was an acceptable gentleman because my family was also of the knickerbocker set, although Viola’s mother was concerned that I showed an interest in industry.”
“Were members of the knickerbocker set not expected to work back in those days?”
“Most of the oldest knickerbocker families earned their fortunes through real estate, so no, it was somewhat scandalous that I wanted to become involved with railroads, shipping, and investments.” He smiled. “My family encouraged me to court Viola because they too were somewhat scandalized by my interest in industry. They knew that a proper lady like Viola would make it possible for me to pursue my interests while also maintaining a presence within society.”
“That sounds more like a business arrangement than a romantic courtship.”
George nodded. “To a certain extent it was, but there was something about Viola that I found fascinating. Even though she was always dressed to perfection, abided by all the social rules, and never had so much as a hair out of place, she had this glimmer in her eyes that suggested she wanted to break free of the societal bonds that kept her from seizing life with zest. I’m afraid, though, after we married, that glimmer disappeared, and I must take some of the blame for that.”
“What happened?”
“I was consumed with matters of business and increasing my fortune. That had me leaving Viola far too frequently, and while I was gone, she turned into a version of her mother, minding our home and attending society events. After Elizabeth came along, Viola threw herself into the task of making certain Elizabeth would grow up to become a . . . what is that term everyone uses for the crème of society?”
“A diamond of the first water?”
“That’s it, although between the two of us, I’ve always found that term to be rather confusing.”
Poppy grinned. “I feel the same way, but because Grandmother seems to have her heart set on me becoming one of those diamonds, I’ve decided to at least attempt to achieve that status.”
George frowned. “You should only attempt that if it’s something you really want.”
“It won’t kill me to try, Grandfather, and my abiding by the rules this week certainly seems to have lifted Grandmother’s spirits.”
“But if it begins to feel like that attempt is killing you, you’ll need to abandon it.” George blew out a breath. “Viola has always clung to unrealistic expectations, especially since she was raised to believe that it was her job as a mother to produce a daughter who’d be nothing less than sheer perfection. When Elizabeth balked, and then ran away with your father, Viola felt she’d failed in what she apparently believed was her life’s ambition, and has now, I’m afraid, decided that her redemption lies with you.”
Poppy took a sip of her coffee. “Did my mother spend all her time balking at the rules?”
George’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Elizabeth was a terror before she could even walk. And then, after she learned to walk, she decided running was far better, no matter that Viola tried her very best to convince Elizabeth that a lady never moves faster than a glide.” He suddenly sobered. “They used to argue all the time when Elizabeth didn’t adhere to the rules, and I, being a typical father, found it much easier to make myself scarce than step between them.” He gave a shake of his head. “Failure at its finest. Elizabeth needed someone to speak up on her behalf, but I couldn’t be bothered.”
“There are many fathers who have no idea what to do with daughters.”
“True, but because Viola and I were never blessed with any additional children, I should have made a greater attempt to have an impact in my only child’s life.” He caught her eye over the rim of the cup. “I’ve decided to remedy that.”
“How?”
“No idea, but I figured a good first step was to return to New York. I’m going to make certain your grandmother doesn’t decide to try and coerce you into one of those nonsensical aristocratic marriages that seem to be all the fashion these days.”
“You know that’s what she has in mind for me?”
“She sent me a letter after you agreed to a Season, and from that letter, I concluded she had some lofty goals for you.” He tapped a finger against the arm of the chair. “I’m not keen to sell you off for a title, unless, of course, you’ve decided you’re keen on that Lord Lonsdale, a gentleman your grandmother keeps talking about.”
“Grandmother may have her sights on Lord Lonsdale, but considering that the gentleman has not bothered to seek me out nor do more than exchange the expected pleasantries with me when I encounter him at numerous society events, I’m afraid she’s doomed for disappointment.”
George frowned. “Unless spending limited time with you is his peculiar version of courtship.”
“It’s not impressing me if that’s the case.”
“Why would Reginald Blackburn continue on with your lessons if Lord Lonsdale doesn’t have an interest in you?”
“I would imagine he’s doing so because he sees it as a challenge laid down by Grandmother.” Poppy smiled. “Not that I know him all that well, but Reginald doesn’t seem to be the type of gentleman who is accustomed to failing, and he seems most determined to win this challenge by turning me from a diamond in the rough into a diamond of the first water.”
“I’ve heard Reginald has come to your rescue more than a few times. That speaks highly of the man, and I must admit that I’m somewhat disappointed he’s not come around since that first time I met him. Wouldn’t mind getting to know him better since every grandfather appreciates a man who doesn’t balk at rescuing a granddaughter from one disaster after another.”
“I don’t experience that many disasters.”
“So far this season you’ve gotten your grandmother’s tiara stuck on poor Murray’s sleeve, tumbled over a balcony, ended up in a lake . . . and, well, I could go on. With that said, do you find Reginald to be an intriguing gentleman?”
Uncomfortable with the direction the conversation seemed to be heading, Poppy got up from her chair and moved back to the flowers, picking up a rose and immediately pricking her finger on a thorn. Setting it aside, she frowned. “You’re not trying your hand at matchmaking at the moment, are you?”
“Of course I am. You’re my granddaughter, and you’re obviously in need of some help in the romance department.” He ignored the arch of a brow she sent him. “I have to admit I’ve been wondering if you’re somewhat fond of Reginald, given how much you’ve mentioned him in conversation over the past few days.”
She picked up another rose, needing a distraction because the truth of the matter was . . . she was rather fond of Reginald.
There was something undeniably appealing about a gentleman who always seemed to be available whenever she found herself in a spot of trouble.
“Even if that were true,” she finally settled on saying, “Grandmother would never speak to me again if I set my sights on a man who doesn’t seem to have much of an established place in the world. If you’ll recall, she cut Mother off without a dime after Mother ran off with my father, and Father was in the process of creating a very well-respected and lucrative horse business.”
George frowned. “Did Reginald tell you he doesn’t have an established place in the world?”
“Not in so many words, but he came to New York as Lord Lonsdale’s traveling companion, which does seem to suggest he’s not a man of business. And I know he’s not a man of property because he told me he doesn’t own his own estate.”
“Hmm . . .” was all George said to that.
“What does that mean?”
He shrugged. “Nothing at all, my dear. But returning to the matter of your mother and her estrangement from me and your grandmother, do know that Elizabeth was never cut off from her funds. Rather, she refused to accept the trust I created for her. That right there is why I was stunned to discover she and Harold took out a loan to expand Garrison Farms when there was absolutely no need for her to do so.”
“Mother wouldn’t have wanted to feel indebted to either you or Grandmother.”
“Which is unfortunate because she’ll end up with most of my money eventually. I didn’t spend so many years working to build up my fortune only to turn all of it over to charities.”
“Charities are noble causes.”
“True, and I will leave some of my fortune to charities, but the rest will go to Elizabeth as well as you and your brothers.” George smiled. “Have I mentioned that, along with my return to New York, I’ve decided to cut back on the amount of time I spend on business matters?”
Poppy blinked. “I thought you got a great deal of enjoyment out of matters of business.”
“Oh, I do—or rather, I thought I did. But I’ve recently realized pursuing one business deal after another has not provided me anything of true worth over the years.”
George looked out the window where snow was falling in earnest, drew in a deep breath, then returned his attention to Poppy. “I had a bit of a revelation about four months back when I was out west, checking on a new railroad venture.” George shifted in the chair. “You see, the terms of the deal I’d thought I’d arranged to my satisfaction suddenly changed, and I allowed my temper to get the best of me. While in that temper, I suffered what the doctors called an apoplectic fit. Everyone, even the doctors, felt I didn’t have much longer to live, so a traveling pastor named Reverend Wilbur Goodall was summoned, rarely leaving my side as I lingered on.”
“You almost died?”
“I did, but to everyone’s surprise, I began to recover, but I didn’t have the strength to get out of bed, which is how it came to be that I was able to have long, in-depth conversations with Reverend Goodall.” George shook his head. “Now I’ve never been what one would call a religious man, although I have always attended church when the opportunity presented itself. Truth be told, I’ve never faced any trials that had me turning to God as so many seem to do when they’re experiencing difficulties. I was content to believe that God was pleased with the way I was living my life since I’ve been able to do so well financially. I’ve now come to believe, after speaking so much with Reverend Goodall, that what I thought was a fulfilling life was really nothing of the sort.
“Reverend Goodall, you see, was a man with no materialistic wealth, but he was completely content with the life he believed God carved out for him, and that right there was a bit of an eye-opener for me.” George’s gaze locked with Poppy’s. “When you’re facing death, my dear, you really do contemplate how you’ve lived your life, and I’m afraid to say that my life has been consumed with matters that are unimportant. How much money I’ve amassed or how many deals I’ve struck will not matter in the end. Family matters. Friends matter. Embracing a relationship with God matters. And it’s past time I rectify that.”
“What do you mean . . . when you were facing death?”
In the blink of an eye, Viola was standing directly in front of George, looking furious while Murray lurked in the doorway.
“Well?” Viola demanded when George simply gazed back at her, as if he had no idea where to begin to explain the whole facing death situation, something he clearly had yet to discuss with his wife.
Poppy rose to her feet. “I think this is where I excuse myself and take Murray for a bit of fresh air. I’ve been meaning to see how he handles Wilbur, his new horse.”
Ignoring the look of panic now on Murray’s face, she walked to Viola’s side and gave her grandmother a quick kiss on the cheek. Stepping back as Viola began looking flustered, Poppy smiled. “While I would be furious as well for being left in the dark, Grandmother, I don’t believe it’ll do Grandfather any good to become engaged in a loud argument with you, given his recent ill health.” She turned and headed for the door, only realizing after she and Murray quit the room that Viola had, surprisingly, not corrected her when she’d been addressed as Grandmother.