Chapter 19
“I’m not sure what to make of your appearance,” Charles muttered, keeping a smile firmly on his face as he and Reginald paused in the entranceway of the drawing room.
“There’s nothing to make of it,” Reginald muttered back, realizing that it might have been prudent to explain to Charles exactly why he was trying to alter his looks before he’d met up with him at the Van Rensselaers’, instead of springing his new look on his cousin as they’d walked up the steps to the front door.
“You look like you work on the docks.”
“I doubt a dock worker would be wearing a custom-made suit.”
“True, but that beard you’re sporting would fit in nicely on the docks, and do not even get me started on your hair.” Charles glanced at his head. “How did you get it to look like that?”
“Rubbed it with a towel after I put a touch of Macassar oil in it.”
“But . . . why?”
“Because George Van Rensselaer was at a meeting I attended in London. I don’t want him to recognize me. That’s why I started growing a beard in the first place, and why I’ve rearranged my hair.”
“Perhaps it might be easier just to come clean and tell everyone the truth about your illustrious father.” Charles blew out a breath. “Frankly, I’ve been having a touch of difficulty remembering you’re merely supposed to be my traveling companion. I’m not sure you noticed this, but I’ve slipped up several times and told people Giles is your valet, not mine, although I do believe I’ve recovered nicely, telling everyone I’ve magnanimously offered you the use of my valet.”
Reginald grinned. “Kind of you to be so magnanimous, which is a word I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you utter.”
“Miss Edith Iselin, curiously enough, enjoys discovering new words every day from a dictionary she recently purchased at a book shop. She’s been sharing some of those words with me, magnanimous being one of them, although she already knew the definition.” Charles’s brows drew together. “I must say, I’ve been finding the dictionary to be far more interesting than I ever gave it credit for.”
“And I must say that I find it interesting you’d enjoy spending your time reading from a dictionary with a lady.”
“Yes, well, it’s been an interesting time here in New York. But weren’t we speaking about you and how you might want to consider telling society the full truth about yourself since withholding that information seems to be turning into a lot of work?”
Finding it interesting as well that Charles wasn’t keen to continue on with talk of Edith or dictionaries, Reginald inclined his head, taking a minute to consider Charles’s suggestion of revealing his truth to society.
He couldn’t dispute that keeping his true identity a secret was becoming more and more difficult, especially since George Van Rensselaer could, at some point, recognize him even with his attempt at disguising himself, but . . . he simply wasn’t ready to disclose the truth just yet.
The reason behind his reluctance centered squarely around Poppy. She was hardly likely to take his duplicity well and would see that duplicity as a direct insult, and then, well, she might very well decide to discontinue their association.
“So . . . are you going to take my suggestion?” Charles prodded, drawing Reginald out of his thoughts.
“Why not?”
Unwilling to admit the real reason, since that would undoubtedly lead to questions Reginald wasn’t prepared to answer, he smiled when the perfect response sprang to mind. “I don’t believe it’ll serve our agenda of finding you a countess if the truth gets out about me right now.”
Charles’s eyes widened. “Ah, brilliant thinking on your part. I didn’t even consider that, but you’ve evidently concluded, as I evidently did not, that society may very well become annoyed with both of us. Why, we might find ourselves ostracized from society events, and where would that leave us?”
Reginald blinked. “Did you just use the word ostracized?”
“Edith, or rather, Miss Iselin, brought the word to my attention yesterday.” Charles grinned. “Never thought I’d find an appropriate time to use it, but I believe it worked well just now.” He leaned closer to Reginald. “But returning to what we were discussing, perhaps it would be for the best if we simply carry on as we’ve been doing. And even though you’re not looking like the very proper and well-groomed Reginald I’ve always known, you still hold yourself the same, and it’s a distinctive stance. That means you might want to limit the time you spend with George Van Rensselaer, although because that man seemed delighted to welcome you into his home a few minutes ago, you might not be able to avoid him as much as you ought.”
“He didn’t seem overly delighted to greet me.”
Charles grimaced. “Well, he was, which was odd, unless he’s decided to cozy up to you in an attempt to get cozier with me.”
“George doesn’t really seem to be the type of man to cozy up to anyone.”
“Grandfathers are known to act in peculiar ways when it comes to seeing their granddaughters well settled.” Charles raised a hand and waved at someone. “And speaking of Poppy, she’s right over there, and”—Charles shot him a rather curious look—“she seems to be watching you.”
Reginald looked across the room, finding Poppy standing on the other side of it, and . . . she was watching him. She was also looking enchanting, dressed in an afternoon gown of palest blue that hugged her figure and was cut in the first state of fashion. Her hair was drawn up in a knot on the top of her head, little wisps of curls descending out of that knot to tease cheeks that were a lovely shade of—
“Did I mention that Miss Cynthia Roche is incredibly put out with Giles?”
Reginald blinked. “What?”
Charles peered back at him. “I say, you’re suddenly looking rather odd, Reginald. Are you feeling all right?”
It was a question that was difficult to answer.
He’d somehow, and he didn’t quite know how, become slightly fascinated with Poppy Garrison, the most unusual lady he’d ever met, and one who certainly was not the type of lady with whom he’d ever thought to become fascinated.
“Shall I fetch you something cool to drink?” Charles asked, pulling Reginald abruptly from his thoughts again.
“Forgive me, Charles. I’m fine. What were you saying about Giles?”
Frowning, Charles considered Reginald for a brief moment, then shrugged. “You don’t look fine, and if I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were flustered. But returning to Giles—he apparently insulted Miss Roche yesterday, something to do with him not responding to one of her comments to her satisfaction.” Charles blew out a breath. “Mrs. Roche then sent a note around to me, complaining about Giles’s inattention to her daughter, although why she did that is beyond me.”
“She was probably hoping you’ll give her daughter more attention to make up for Giles’s inattention.”
Charles’s brows drew together. “This searching for an heiress business is growing rather tedious, Reginald, although I have been meaning to thank you for agreeing to take on those additional decorum lessons. I know those ladies aren’t interested in learning about etiquette, and I also know that your time with the ladies must be trying your patience. However, with that said, you’ve taken a great deal of pressure off me and afforded me precious time from being pursued, time I used for . . . well . . .”
“Used for what?” Reginald pressed when Charles simply stopped talking.
“This and that.”
“Hardly helpful.”
“And annoying as well, I imagine,” Charles returned. “And on that note, we should go say hello to Poppy.”
As Charles began walking across the drawing room, Reginald fell into step beside him. “I’ve just noticed that you’ve begun calling Poppy by her given name.”
“Finding that annoying too, are you?” Charles asked cheerfully, and before Reginald could question what he could possibly mean by that, Charles stopped directly in front of Poppy, took her hand, kissed it, then smiled. “And aren’t you looking simply delightful today, Poppy?”
Poppy dipped into a curtsy and then straightened. “Thank you, Lord Lonsdale, or should I address you as Charles, since you seem to have abandoned a sense of formality between us?” She leaned toward him and lowered her voice. “Reginald and I have yet to delve into the intricacies of the aristocracy, so if I’ve just stepped over the line, do take it up with him.”
Releasing a booming laugh, one that drew everyone’s attention, Charles released his hold on Poppy’s hand. “Besides looking delightful, you’re charming as well.” With that, Charles stepped back and all but shoved Reginald forward. “Isn’t she just one of the most charming ladies you’ve ever met?”
Deciding the stress of choosing an heiress had finally caught up with his cousin because Charles had apparently misplaced his wits, Reginald took Poppy’s hand and raised it to his lips. “You are, of course, charming, Poppy, although I must point out that I have covered the intricacies of the aristocracy with you—in depth at that—only two days ago.” He smiled. “If you’ll recall, Maisie and Helene were present during that lesson as well, and—”
“Was that the lesson where Helene almost fell out of her seat after she’d drifted off to sleep?” Poppy interrupted, her eyes twinkling.
Reginald fought to stifle a grin. “Quite right.”
Poppy didn’t bother to hide her grin. “Well, there you have it.” She stepped back. “And now, to prove that I do occasionally listen to your lessons, allow me to remark upon your appearance, since you were so kind to compliment me on mine.”
When she simply took to looking him up and down and didn’t bother to say anything else, he winced. “Well?”
“I’m trying to decide whether I should say that you’re looking rather—”
“Dashing?” he finished for her.
“I was going to say derelict, but I was then going to follow that by saying that it seems to suit you, oddly enough.”
“Charles believes I look as if I belong on the docks.”
She nodded. “I can’t argue with that, although I believe you look more like a pirate than a dock worker.”
Reginald’s lips curved. He’d never been compared to a pirate before, as most people found him to be rather stuffy, and he had to admit he enjoyed the comparison.
“I’ve been considering growing a beard as well,” Charles said, running a hand over his clean-shaven face. “Do you think it would give me the look of a pirate?”
“I imagine you’d make a delightful pirate, Lord Lonsdale,” Edith Iselin said as she moved to join them. “Although I’m not certain you’d be able to adopt the attitude needed for a pirate, since you seem to be a most proper English gentleman all the time.”
“Miss Iselin!” Charles exclaimed, taking the lady’s hand and bringing it to his lips, although he didn’t let go of her fingers after he’d kissed them. “How splendid that the snow didn’t keep you from attending today.”
Edith smiled. “I’m fairly certain my mother would have hired sled dogs to get me here if she thought that necessary, but thankfully, my driver had no difficulty making it down Fifth Avenue.” She turned to Poppy. “Thank you again for the invitation, Poppy. May I dare hope you suffered no ill effects from being out in the storm yesterday as you went to search for that peddler? And may I also dare hope that you found her?”
Poppy smiled. “I’m healthy as a horse, Edith, thank you for asking. And as for the peddler, we did find her.” Her smile dimmed. “After providing her a ride home, though, I was dismayed by the mean surroundings she lives in, which is why I’ve decided something needs to be done about the conditions in Five Points. I’ve begun to develop an idea for how I could help down there, and I’m hoping a few guests here today will want to assist me with the project I’m going to broach later, after we’ve had tea and coffee.”
“What type of an idea?” Reginald forced himself to ask.
“You’ll find out after we’ve had some refreshments.”
Before Reginald could press her further, Poppy excused herself, saying she needed to greet the other guests.
“There’s Cynthia Roche and her mother,” Edith suddenly said, nodding to the doorway.
Charles squinted at the doorway and winced before he thrust out his arm to Edith. “I’ve heard there is a most wonderful painting in the parlor. Care to join me?”
Edith took Charles’s arm, nodded, and a second later they dashed away, leaving Reginald standing all alone.
“Was that Lord Lonsdale with Miss Iselin?”
Turning, Reginald found Miss Cynthia Roche already standing behind him, her gaze narrowed as she watched Charles disappear into the parlor that was located next to the drawing room.
“It was,” he admitted.
“Where’s he going?”
“I believe he wanted Miss Iselin to see a painting in the parlor.”
“It’s probably the Jean-Louis Ernest Meissonier I recall Viola has hanging in there,” Mrs. Roche said, stepping up to join her daughter. “The Chess Players, if memory serves me correctly. But how nice to see you again, Mr. Blackburn. I trust your decorum lessons with my Cynthia are going well?”
After assuring Mrs. Roche that her daughter was more than competent when it came to all matters of decorum, Reginald soon found himself held hostage by the two ladies, both of whom seemed determined to impress him with their knowledge of paintings. He spent the next five minutes listening to them tell him all about their favorite artists, and then, after they apparently ran out of things to say about that topic, Cynthia switched the conversation to quadrilles, or more specifically, the Dresden China Quadrille.
“. . . it’s a most exacting dance, but Mother’s convinced I’ll not have a bit of trouble with it, not since I’ve spent so many years taking dance instruction from one of the leading dance masters in New York.”
Dread began seeping through Reginald’s veins. “And is that dance master helping you with this particular quadrille?”
“But of course,” she returned with a smile.
Reginald was not disappointed when Beatrix suddenly appeared, begging the Roches’ pardon, then took hold of his arm and hurried away, tugging him across the room to introduce him to some of her friends.
“You were looking a bit glassy in the eyes,” Beatrix said as she drew to a stop. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy this group much better, and with that, allow me to introduce you to my Mr. Hamersley.”
It took all of three minutes to conclude that Mr. Thomas Hamersley was not Beatrix’s beau, although both Thomas and Beatrix, for some unknown reason, seemed to be going out of their way to convince everyone otherwise. Thomas, if Reginald wasn’t mistaken—and he was certain he wasn’t—was smitten with Miss Helene Leggett, given the manner in which he was watching that young lady, who’d only just arrived with her sister, Maisie.
“Why do you look as if you’re trying to puzzle something out?” Beatrix asked, stepping closer to Reginald as Mr. Hamersley casually wandered away, stopping beside Miss Helene Leggett a moment later.
“Why are you perpetuating a clear deceit on society?” Reginald countered.
Beatrix batted her lashes. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Reginald nodded to Mr. Hamersley, who was lifting Helene’s hand to his lips, clear adoration on his face as he did so. “I think that speaks for itself.”
Beatrix squinted at Mr. Hamersley, before she rolled her eyes. “Honestly, I told him to have a care with showing any unusual amount of affection for Helene when he’s in public, but apparently he’s somewhat confused about what constitutes an unusual amount of affection.”
“So you are perpetuating a deceit on society, aren’t you?”
Beatrix blew out a huff. “Fine. Thomas and I are being less than forthcoming to society about our true relationship, but we’re not doing so to harm anyone. It merely suits both of us to allow society to believe we have an understanding.”
“Why?”
“Because Thomas’s mother has always wanted their family to form an alliance with mine via marriage with me. She can be a most unpleasant woman, not above resorting to plots and schemes to get her way. Our supposed relationship has provided Thomas with a way to avoid his mother’s drama.”
“Until she becomes aware that he’s fonder of Helene Leggett than you.”
“Thomas is fond of me, just in a different way.”
Reginald inclined his head. “I’m sure he is, but tell me this. I now understand his motivation for keeping up the pretense, but what of yours?”
Beatrix shrugged. “My motivation is relatively simple. I have no desire to be pursued for my fortune, nor do I really see a need to marry.”
“You don’t want to marry?”
“Not particularly.”
“But what if you fall in love?”
“Then I’ll need to revisit my decision, although I have no intention of falling in love until I’m at least forty and have experienced more of what life has to offer.”
Reginald frowned. “And you expect to continue with the charade you and Thomas are perpetuating until you’re forty?”
She glanced to where Thomas was still standing beside Helene, his head bent close to her as Helene whispered something to him. “I give it, at the most, a year, although I’m not sure how Thomas is going to go about breaking the news to his mother. She was recently seen inquiring about china patterns at Rutherford & Company.”
“Perhaps both of you should divulge your duplicity before Mrs. Hamersley buys that china or begins ordering monogrammed linens.”
Beatrix shook her head. “I have no intention of spending this Season dodging potential suitors, nor has Thomas gotten up enough nerve to disclose his affection for Helene to his mother just yet. He certainly doesn’t want to provide his mother with a reason to try and disrupt Helene’s entrance into high society.”
“Wouldn’t Helene’s entrance into society actually help Thomas’s case with his mother?”
“Not when Helene’s family is nouveau riche. Mrs. Hamersley finds that state to be unacceptable.”
“A complicated situation to be sure.”
“Indeed,” Beatrix agreed, frowning. “But speaking of a complicated situation, Poppy seems to have been cornered by Nigel and Lena. If you’ll excuse me, I believe I should go see about rescuing her.”
As Beatrix hurried away, Murray moseyed over to join Reginald, shaking his head as he nodded to where Poppy was now beaming a bright smile at Beatrix, clearly relieved to see her friend.
“We might have to intervene with that at some point,” Murray said.
“That?”
Murray frowned. “And here I agreed to accept your advice and expertise about women and romance, when you’re not nearly as savvy as you think you are.”
“I have no idea what you’re saying.”
“Poppy has no interest in Nigel Flaherty. But, he, if you haven’t realized, has an interest in her. And, if I’m not mistaken, Lena Ridgeway has that matchmaking gleam in her eye that so many older women seem to get when they’re around eligible ladies and gentlemen. I believe she’s interested in seeing her dear Nigel matched up with Poppy.”
Reginald’s jaw clenched. “You don’t say.”
“I do say. Nigel’s been having flowers delivered here daily, and he brought chocolates with him today, but not for Poppy—for Viola. That was a rather shrewd move on his part because Viola readily admits her greatest weakness is chocolate, something I heard Lena say she remembered. That means Lena is probably the one who encouraged Nigel to bring Viola the chocolates, and it was Lena who managed to secure them an invitation to the tea.” Murray shook his head. “Nigel doesn’t seem to me to be the type of gentleman to accept defeat—or rejection for that matter—so you, being Poppy’s most intimidating friend, at least in my humble opinion, will probably need to have a chat with him at some point.”
“I can’t simply stroll up to the man and tell him to leave Poppy alone.”
“Sure you can, although I’m not going to encourage you to do that right now. Poppy seems to be fine, and I doubt Viola would appreciate the argument that’s certain to erupt between you and Nigel.” Murray smiled. “Did I mention that Viola’s invited me to live in this house for as long as I want?”
Finding it beyond peculiar that Murray would switch the conversation so abruptly, Reginald frowned. “No, you didn’t, but since when have you taken to calling Viola by her given name?”
“Since she and I became friends.”
“Are you considering taking her up on her offer?”
Murray shook his head. “Probably not. Poppy’s been relatively vocal about me getting out on my own. Doesn’t think I should exchange living in one domineering woman’s house for another. Believes it’ll ruin my chances of discovering the man I’m meant to be, or something like that.” Murray smiled again. “That’s why Poppy and I are going out tomorrow or the next day to take a look at those Osborne Flats. Poppy doesn’t want to leave me with too much time to consider Viola’s offer.”
“I thought you found Viola to be a frightening sort?”
“Oh I do, but we share a common love of art, and even though I’m going to strike out on my own, Viola has offered me the use of the attic here to use as a studio. Since the lighting is wonderful, I’m going to take her up on that offer.”
“And I’m going to take Murray up on his offer of helping me become more proficient with watercolors,” Viola said, causing Reginald to jump as she suddenly appeared beside him.
Apprehension slid through him when she smiled and then reached out and actually patted his arm, nodding to where Poppy had somehow managed to escape from Nigel and Lena and was now chatting with some other guests. “I believe I have you to thank for the wonderful way Poppy is comporting herself today. Why, she’s taken it upon herself to greet every person here and has even gone so far as to spend extra time with the few friends of mine we invited.” Her smile widened. “Some of my friends, I’m sure you can imagine, are somewhat—how did you just describe me?—oh yes, frightening sorts, but Poppy doesn’t seem bothered by that at all.”
“You weren’t supposed to hear that bit,” Reginald said.
“And I also probably shouldn’t have admitted I heard you, but . . .” Viola’s eyes twinkled. “I do think Poppy might be having an influence on me.” She nodded to Murray. “We’ll be taking our seats in the dining room soon. You’ll be pleased to discover that Poppy and I put your name card directly beside Miss Maisie Leggett’s.” Leaving Murray looking completely delighted, Viola strolled away, joining Poppy on the other side of the room right as the butler, Mr. Parsons, announced that tea and coffee were ready to be served and encouraged everyone to follow him to the dining room.
After walking down the painting-lined hallway that led to the dining room, Reginald moved through the doorway, taking a second to appreciate the sight of the long table, expertly set for thirty with bone china and crystal. Numerous flower arrangements ran down the center of the table, while gilt-engraved place cards were waiting on gilded charger plates to direct guests to their proper seats.
Even though he’d known he wouldn’t be sitting beside Poppy because Charles had been given the seat of honor, he was a bit surprised to find Adele sitting next to him. She was looking rather smug, and given the look Poppy sent her when she noticed where Adele was sitting, Reginald got the distinct impression Adele had taken a few liberties with the place cards. Resignation settled in as Adele immediately began to launch into another discussion of her accomplishments, but it came to an abrupt end when Beatrix, who was sitting on the other side of Reginald, changed the subject to how everyone was intending on spending Christmas.
As everyone in their near vicinity began telling their plans while they sipped cups of steaming tea or strong coffee that was served by liveried members of the Van Rensselaer staff, Reginald found his gaze going back time and again to Poppy, who was sitting at the opposite end of the table, chatting away with Charles, as well as with Miss Edith Iselin, who was sitting on Charles’s other side.
Poppy suddenly looked up, caught his eye, sent him the barest hint of a wink, then returned her attention to Edith and Charles.
“Isn’t it curious?” Beatrix asked quietly, nodding toward Edith, but then going still when Adele leaned forward and rolled her eyes.
“There’s nothing curious about Edith sitting next to Lord Lonsdale,” Adele said shortly. “Edith is one of those ladies who gentlemen find nonthreatening. I’m sure Poppy decided to seat Edith beside Charles as a way to avoid unwelcomed animosity being raised between any of the ladies he’s set his eye on.”
Beatrix’s brows drew together. “How do you know he hasn’t set his eye on Edith?”
Adele waved that aside with a flick of a wrist. “Because Edith hasn’t spent any time with Reginald, or for that matter, with Giles. Everyone knows Lord Lonsdale is counting on Reginald and Giles to help him choose the perfect countess in the end.” She smiled and batted her lashes Reginald’s way.
“More tea?” Beatrix asked, and not waiting for one of the servers to refresh Reginald’s cup, she took it upon herself to do it for him, earning his undying appreciation for saving him from additional attempts on Adele’s part to impress him.
Beatrix then started a discussion about horses, a subject on which she was clearly passionate. And Adele, after trying unsuccessfully to broach the subject of her many accomplishments once again, finally joined in with her opinion about horses, proving that she could actually speak, and quite nicely at that, on subjects other than herself.
When all the tea and coffee was gone, along with the small sandwiches, fruit, and cheeses, Poppy rose to her feet, clinked a knife against a crystal glass, then waited until the guests grew silent before smiling all around.
“On behalf of the Van Rensselaer family,” she began, “I’d like to take a moment to thank all of you for joining us today. I know the ride to get here was treacherous, and I’m hoping all of you found the effort worthwhile.”
Polite applause sounded about the two rooms, although Beatrix and Murray were clapping enthusiastically, and Murray might have released a bit of a whistle.
Poppy inclined her head. “We’ll be serving a delightful cake in a few minutes, one that was, well . . .” She shot a glance to her grandmother and grinned. “I’ll simply leave it at delightful, but before we get to the cake, I’d like to broach the topic of Five Points. I’ve only recently discovered that part of the city, and I must say I was disheartened to view the horrible conditions there. Because we are quickly getting into the Christmas season, a time when goodwill should be shared by all, I’m looking for some volunteers to go with me to Five Points and assess the situation down there.”
Adele raised her hand, quite as if she were in the classroom. “Forgive me, but that’s madness,” she said after Poppy nodded her way. “Everyone knows there are nasty criminals roaming freely down there.”
“A most excellent point, but I’m hoping some of the gentlemen in attendance will volunteer to help as well, which will lend us some much-needed protection.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier if you just asked for donations for this cause of yours?” Adele pressed.
Poppy narrowed her eyes. “Well, yes, but then we would never know for sure if our money was reaching the right people. If we go there, we’ll be better equipped to understand what needs to be done.”
Adele frowned. “It almost sounds as if you’d like us to dirty our hands, so to speak, in Five Points.”
“That’s exactly what I’d like to do.”
“That’s not how we do things in society,” Adele returned. “We give money; we don’t get in the trenches.”
Poppy’s smile dimmed, but just as Reginald was getting to his feet, Charles rose from his chair and smiled.
“I, for one, believe this to be a most exciting idea, Poppy,” he began. “And while I’ve never been to Five Points, I’d like to be the first to volunteer to come with you.”
Edith was suddenly standing as well. “I’d like to volunteer as well.”
Poppy smiled. “How lovely. Thank you, Lord Lonsdale, Miss Iselin.”
George rose to his feet. “And you know I’ll be there, as well as your grandmother, and we’ll make a sizable monetary donation to the cause.” He nodded to the guests. “Feel free to do the same.”
“I’ll donate,” Murray said as Beatrix stood as well and added, “As will I.”
“Anyone else?” Charles asked, and before Reginald knew it, Adele was rising from her chair, although she did so rather reluctantly, and was soon joined by every other guest in the room.
“I believe Charles has just cemented Poppy’s standing in society, along with coercing society members to actually volunteer to do some real good in the world,” Beatrix muttered.
“I believe you’re right,” Reginald returned as Poppy beamed all around.
“Your willingness to help is quite overwhelming,” Poppy said. “And to celebrate, I’ll now have the staff bring out that cake I mentioned.”
Feeling an odd sense of pride as Poppy nodded to one of the servers, Reginald allowed his gaze to linger on her, wondering how it had happened that he’d become so involved in her life and accomplishments.
In all honesty, he’d not been responsible for many of her successes, even with him instructing her on proper behavior. Those successes had come about when Poppy was simply being Poppy, an original as Miss Mabel had deemed her, and . . .
“If you’ll excuse me, Cynthia seems to be trying to get my attention,” Adele said, rising from her chair as Reginald did the same, retaking his seat after she walked over to where Cynthia was sitting a few feet away. She leaned closer to Cynthia, and a second later, the two ladies were whispering furiously.
“And here it is,” Poppy exclaimed, stepping away from the table as she moved toward the two servers who were bringing in the cake.
“Poppy baked it and Murray decorated it,” Beatrix whispered. “But don’t let that get out. Viola wants to keep it quiet about Poppy’s love for the kitchen and baking.”
Reginald nodded and glanced to the cake, one that was three tiers tall and iced in white, with exquisitely painted flowers splashed over the icing.
“If you’ll put the cake right over here”—Poppy nodded to a side table against the wall as she moved to direct the servers—“we’ll allow everyone to appreciate it for a second before we . . .”
The next moment seemed to happen in slow motion.
One minute Poppy was gliding along, passing where Adele and Cynthia were still whispering, and the next, she seemed to be rolling across the floor, her arms flailing about, right before she careened into the two servers who were carrying the cake.
A second after that, the cake was flying through the air.
And a second after that, shrieks rang out as it landed on the table, splattering cake and icing on numerous guests in the process.