Chapter 23

“I might have to have a bit of a chat with Nigel Flaherty, make certain he realizes that Poppy has no interest in pursuing more than a friendship with him,” Reginald said, leaning back against the seat of his rented carriage, as Murray turned from the window, smiling a somewhat curious smile.

“And why would you want to do that?”

Reginald frowned. “Do you not think I should have a chat with Nigel?”

“Of course you’re going to have to have a chat with him, but that’s not what I asked—I asked why you would want to have a chat with him.”

“To spare Poppy the awkwardness of discouraging a man she’s claimed not to have a romantic interest in.”

“And?” Murray pressed.

“And what? There’s nothing more to add.”

“Isn’t there?”

Reginald rubbed a hand over a beard that was growing in nicely—perhaps too nicely, since it completely covered a great deal of his face. “I’m afraid I have no idea where you expect me to go with the conversation from here.”

“This is going to be much more difficult than I imagined.”

“And no idea what to make of that statement either.”

Murray sat forward and rubbed a hand over his perfectly shaven face, something Reginald actually envied since he was quickly coming to the conclusion that beards were incredibly itchy. “What are your feelings for Poppy?”

“What?”

“Your feelings.”

Reginald blinked. “I’m not really a gentleman who is comfortable discussing feelings. If you’ve forgotten, I’m British. We don’t discuss our feelings.”

“Ah, so you haven’t really considered how you feel about Poppy, have you?”

Reginald blinked again. Frankly, he had been thinking about Poppy far too often of late, but he hadn’t actually delved into how he felt about her, because, well, there was little point in doing that, not when Poppy was so clearly unsuited to an aristocratic lifestyle. There was also the pesky notion that, when she did discover the truth about him, she’d be furious with him for withholding that truth so long, that fury possibly leaving her unwilling to ever speak to him again.

“I hate to have to bring this riveting discussion to an end,” Murray suddenly said, drawing Reginald from his thoughts. “But we’re pulling up to the Van Rensselaer house, and I told Maisie I’d ride over to her house to enjoy a nice piece of Christmas pie with her family after I was done at the House of Industry. I’m running late and don’t want her to conclude that I’ve forgotten about her.” Murray reached for the door the second the carriage came to a stop and caught Reginald’s eye. “We’ll continue our talk tomorrow, shall we? You still intending on helping me teach Poppy the Dresden?”

“I am, but as I said, I’m not comfortable talking about my feelings, although there’s not much to discuss since Poppy and I are strictly friends.”

“Which is exactly why we will continue our talk because you, my friend, are in need of some advice—and romantic advice, if that was in question.”

Before Reginald could do more than gape at Murray, he was out the door, bending his head against a fierce wind, heading not for the front door but for the carriage house, clearly anxious to get a horse saddled and be off to visit Maisie Leggett.

Stretching for the door that Murray, in his haste, had neglected to shut, Reginald stilled when George suddenly poked his head into the carriage and then, after nodding to Reginald, climbed inside, closing the door firmly behind him.

“It’s a wicked wind out there,” George began, settling himself on the seat Murray had just vacated. “I wanted to see if you’d like to join me and Harold in a game of billiards.” He blew out a breath. “It’s been slightly uncomfortable between Harold and me, what with Viola and Elizabeth being so annoyed with one another. I would appreciate having you act as a buffer—if you’d care to join us, that is.”

“I thought you told Lena Ridgeway and Nigel Flaherty that you wanted to spend the rest of Christmas with your family.”

“Of course I did. I’ve never been overly fond of Lena Ridgeway. And after spending all afternoon with Mr. Flaherty talking my ear off about matters of business—or, more specifically, opportunities he was certain I’d like to invest in—the last thing I wanted was to invite them back to the house.” George smiled. “You, on the other hand, I like, and I wouldn’t be opposed to talking matters of business with you . . . Lord Blackburn.”

Reginald refused to allow himself the luxury of wincing. “How long have you known?”

“That you’re the second son of the Duke of Sutherland?”

Reginald forced a nod.

“I had my suspicions the moment I met you, but given the state of your face at that meeting, what with it being so battered, I couldn’t immediately place you. However, when I visited the Knickerbocker Club the very next morning, I ran across Lord Kenyon, who attended a most insightful business meeting with me in London, one that you and your father, the duke, attended as well. That’s when I remembered exactly who you are and that you’re no mere Mr. Blackburn.”

“Why are you only now confronting me about what you must see as a bit of subterfuge on my part?”

A distinct twinkle settled in George’s eye. “After you began growing a beard, I was curious how far you’d take it to disguise yourself from me, while also wanting to try and discern on my own why you decided to withhold the truth about your title in the first place.”

“Should I assume you’ve been unsuccessful with figuring that out?”

George nodded. “I have many theories, mind you, but none that make much sense, which is why I decided that now is an appropriate time to request an explanation.”

Knowing there was nothing to do except disclose all, Reginald took a moment to gather his thoughts. “It’s not a sordid tale why I withheld my title from everyone. I thought that if I allowed it to become known that my father is a duke, I’d attract notice from young ladies interested in obtaining titles, and that would, unfortunately, take attention from Charles, who is my cousin by the way, and who . . . ah . . .”

“Needs to marry an heiress?” George finished for him.

“Indeed.”

George settled back against the seat. “Understandable, but you must know that my Poppy has shown no interest in your cousin, nor does Lord Lonsdale seem to have an interest in Poppy. That begs the question of why you’ve kept your true identity from her.”

Reginald blew out a breath. “Not that this shows me in a good light, sir, but when I first arrived in New York, I was somewhat, shall we say, prejudiced against American young ladies, and . . . I’m afraid I assumed Poppy was one of those young ladies intent on securing herself an aristocrat. Frankly, when she asked me if I owned any grand ancestral estates, I might have left her with the impression that I’m all but impoverished as a way to discourage any interest she might have had in me at that time.”

George released what sounded exactly like a snort. “No wonder you’ve yet to tell her the truth. It’s bad enough that you’ve allowed her to believe you’re a mister; you’ve also apparently convinced her you’re a pauper.”

“She’s certain to be furious with me.”

“Furious is putting it mildly, but your reluctance to have Poppy furious with you, oddly enough, explains much.”

“What could that possibly explain?”

“You’ve changed your mind about American ladies—or more specifically, about my Poppy.”

Reginald fought the distinct urge to jump right out of the carriage and run his way back to the Fifth Avenue Hotel. “You’re not about to begin questioning me endlessly about my feelings, are you? Murray just tried to do that and found little success.”

“Ah, so Murray figured this out before I did.” George smiled. “He’s a very intuitive young man and is showing great promise these days.”

Grateful for a change of topic, Reginald nodded. “He is showing promise, although—”

“So, how do you feel about Poppy?”

“I thought we put that to rest.”

“Barely scratched the surface of the matter, if you ask me.”

Turning to look out the window, Reginald struggled for a response that might satisfy George, a man who was quickly showing himself to be a rather persistent sort.

There was no arguing the point that he did care for Poppy—cared more than he should, if the truth were known—but she truly was not a lady suited for living an aristocratic life, and unfortunately, he was an aristocrat.

Poppy approached life with an exuberance that intrigued him, but that exuberance wasn’t something that would be accepted in his world. Societal ladies in London were far more proper than those in America, and they wouldn’t be keen to accept Poppy into their midst, nor would they be kind.

George suddenly chuckled, drawing Reginald’s attention.

“Since it is still Christmas, in the spirit of the day, I’ll stop badgering you—for now. What say we go have that game of billiards?”

“You’re not going to press me about when I’m going to reveal myself to Poppy or society?”

“That’s up to you, although I am going to encourage you to tell Poppy sooner rather than later. Secrets have a way of coming out, and she’ll not be forgiving if someone beats you to it.” George reached for the door, then waited for Reginald to join him on the snow-covered pavement.

After greeting Viola and Elizabeth, who met them right inside the door, and after learning that Poppy had repaired to her room to change into a dress that didn’t have potatoes smeared on it, Reginald followed George down a hallway.

“Viola didn’t seem very pleased when you didn’t expand on what you and I were discussing in the carriage,” Reginald said.

“I’m sure she and Elizabeth are even now lamenting how frustrating it is when I don’t disclose every snippet of information they desire.” George grinned. “But that might have them turning the animosity they’ve been holding fast to all day on me, instead of on each other. However, while I’m perfectly willing to set myself up as their common enemy, I have no desire to linger and deal with that animosity in person. Ladies, if you’re unaware, can turn scary when they feel they’ve been thwarted.” He turned down another hallway, then into a room that had a billiard table placed directly in the center of the room, surrounded by heavy pieces of masculine furniture in shades of brown and black.

Harold Garrison, Poppy’s father, a large man with hair a shade darker than Poppy’s, was standing beside the billiard table. “I was wondering if you got lost.” He nodded to Reginald. “Decided to join us, did you?”

“Wasn’t really given a choice,” Reginald replied, earning a grin from Harold as he handed him a billiard cue.

“I wasn’t either, but I’ve discovered that George becomes sufficiently deaf when one tries to oppose him, so here I am.”

“You’ve been opposing me ever since you ran off with my daughter,” George said, picking up a cue of his own and moving to the table.

Harold inclined his head. “I suppose that is true, but in my defense, I fell in love with Elizabeth the first time I saw her. I really had no choice but to oppose you after Viola made it clear that my pursuit of her daughter was not going to be tolerated.”

“Perfectly understandable,” George surprised Reginald by saying. “And with that out of the way, shall we play?”

Reginald soon discovered both George and Harold were competitive sorts, which had him throwing himself wholeheartedly into the game, pleased when he held his own against such worthy opponents.

The conversation never lagged as they played, although it never returned to anything of a personal nature, revolving instead around matters of industry.

“I’ve heard that talk at the Union Club has been centered around John Rockefeller of late,” Reginald said, taking a step away from the table after he missed a tricky shot. “He’s apparently been colluding with the railroads to maintain his control over the oil industry.”

George nodded. “Rockefeller’s been known to embrace some questionable tactics. I’ve managed to best him a few times over the years, although he undercut my bid for a new railroading venture a few months back, which infuriated me and brought on that apoplectic fit I suffered.” He nodded to Harold. “I’ve been told I need to cut back on stress-inducing business matters, which is why I’m considering investing in the horse industry. I like horses, and from what I know of your business, it’s a lucrative one.”

Harold leaned over the table, took his shot, then straightened. “You’re not thinking about investing in horses as a way to pour money into my new venture down in Kentucky, are you?”

“You’re very suspicious, aren’t you?” George countered.

Harold smiled. “You’d be suspicious as well if you’d lived with a wife who was at distinct odds with both of her parents for the past twenty or so years—a wife, I might add, who did tell me a story or two about the crafty nature of her parents.”

“I’m sure Elizabeth did have quite a few stories to tell you about us. And since you’ve brought the topic of you and Elizabeth into the conversation again, I’m going to ask Reginald to forgive me, but I feel I need to address some family matters.”

Reginald set aside his cue. “I’ll leave the two of you alone.”

“I wasn’t asking you to leave,” George said before nodding to Harold. “I need to tell you how much I regret not reaching out to you and Elizabeth over the years. More specifically, I regret not reaching out to you and attempting to get to know you better.” George took a step closer to Harold, who was watching him warily. “You’ve clearly made my Elizabeth happy, as well as given me three fine grandchildren. Because of that, I owe you my most sincerest apology, and know I’ll be forever in your debt for providing my only child with a life in which she delights.”

Harold cleared his throat before he nodded. “Thank you for that, George. You’ve taken me completely aback, but I appreciate what you’ve said, and I’m only too willing to accept your apology. I suggest we now put the past behind us and concentrate on the future.”

George’s brows drew together. “Viola and I rejected you as our son-in-law for years. I find it difficult to believe you can forgive me so easily.”

Harold laid aside his billiard cue and stepped closer to George. “Forgiveness is not as difficult as you seem to believe. When I was younger, I was hurt by your rejection. However, Reverend Thomas Cameron, a minister who serves our small church in Pennsylvania, has preached more than a few sermons on the topic of forgiveness over the years, or more specifically, how God forgives us time after time for our sins. I then realized that if God can forgive us our sins, I could certainly find it in me to forgive the slights I felt I’d received from you and Viola. From the moment I made a concerted effort to stop holding fast to the animosity I’d felt for you and Viola for far too long, I felt a sense of peace, along with a sense of hope that someday we’d be able to put the past behind us—and that someday seems to be here, on Christmas, of all days.” He placed a hand on George’s shoulder. “I’m also hoping that you’ll someday be able to forgive me. I realize I caused you and Viola a great deal of anguish when I stole Elizabeth away. And while I don’t regret making her mine because we’ve always loved each other, I could have gone about the matter differently.”

George took a swipe at eyes that were suspiciously bright. “Thank you, Harold, but there’s really no need to ask for my forgiveness. You and Elizabeth were young and in love, and, well, there’s really no need to say more.”

“Then we’ll consider it settled,” Harold said before he smiled. “With that out of the way, what were we discussing before the conversation took such an emotional turn?”

Reginald returned the smile. “I believe you were asking George if his newfound interest in the horse industry was a sneaky way to invest in your new venture.”

“Yes, thank you for that, Reginald,” George said dryly.

Harold grinned before he shook his head. “Do know that even if that is your intention, George, I’m not taking your money.”

“Don’t know why not. You and Elizabeth, along with the children, will be getting all of it eventually anyway,” George said, looking somewhat grumpy before he brightened. “Besides, you, as an astute man of business, must realize that with my funding behind your new venture you’ll be able to become the largest horse farm in the country, and—” He suddenly stopped talking as Elizabeth sauntered into the room with Poppy by her side, Viola following a few steps behind.

That Viola and Elizabeth were both scowling was not an encouraging sign.

“Come to join us in a game of billiards, have you?” George asked cheerfully, as if his wife and daughter weren’t still put out with each other.

Elizabeth tossed her scowl Viola’s way before she returned her attention to her father. “I was actually attempting to get away from Mother’s incessant harping regarding my supposed audacity in deeding Garrison Farms over to Poppy, but . . . why not? I’d love a game of billiards.” She turned back to Viola. “Care to join me, Mother?”

Reginald was not reassured when Viola suddenly smiled, moved to take the billiard cue away from George, then nodded pleasantly at the table. “You go first, dear.”

It turned into a battle of epic proportions.

It quickly became clear that both ladies were more than adept at playing billiards, which was rather surprising, at least when it came to Viola.

“Who would have thought she’d be good at this?” Poppy whispered as Viola straightened and smiled after she’d made a surprisingly difficult shot.

“Who indeed?” George whispered back, earning an arch of a brow from Poppy.

“You didn’t know she played?”

“Afraid not.”

“I don’t spend all my time at society events and painting,” Viola said with a bit of frost in her tone, evidently listening far more closely than George or Poppy had realized.

“Of course you don’t, dear,” George muttered weakly.

She lifted her chin. “I’m capable of embracing a good sense of fun, and I’m not opposed to seeking out a few adventures now and again either.”

Elizabeth gave a twirl of her billiard cue. “Was that what you were doing when you dressed in disguise and managed to get yourself arrested?”

Viola leaned over the table, took a shot, missed, and straightened. “I didn’t set out to get arrested, Elizabeth, and I’ll thank you to discontinue bringing that up every other minute. I was mortified about the arrest, as well as mortified that an article ended up in the newspapers about my misadventure.”

Elizabeth frowned. “I don’t bring your arrest up every other minute, Mother. Perhaps every other hour, but not minute. And since the reporter of that article made a point out of writing about the grave injustice you suffered after being mistakenly arrested, you’ve garnered society’s sympathy instead of censure.”

“You’re still so very exhausting,” Viola murmured.

“Thank you, but you wouldn’t currently have to experience that exhaustion if you hadn’t blackmailed my daughter into accepting a Season. If you’d refrained from doing that, I would have simply come for my usual two-day visit, exchanging a few presents and a few strained hours of conversation before I returned home. But since you did blackmail my daughter, you’ve now been forced to spend additional, and apparently exhausting, time in my company. You have no one but yourself to blame for that.” Elizabeth took her shot, made it, then began walking around the table, eyeing the remaining balls.

“You’re right about the blackmail, of course, but did you have to get back at me by giving Poppy the farm in Pennsylvania? Couldn’t you have simply allowed me to enjoy her for one short Season, holding fast to the unrealistic hope that she might choose to stay in New York instead of leaving me like you did all those years ago?”

Silence settled over the room as Elizabeth’s cue dropped to the ground, not that she seemed to notice since her gaze was firmly settled on her mother.

“Did you just admit that you blackmailed Poppy?”

A jerk of her head was Viola’s only response.

Elizabeth took a single step toward her mother. “Why didn’t you merely ask Poppy if she wanted a Season instead of going to such extremes?”

“Because that would have allowed her the opportunity to refuse me, and I just wanted to . . .”

“Wanted to what?” Elizabeth pressed when Viola faltered.

“I wanted to make amends with you, and I thought, foolishly so, that if I was able to get Poppy accepted into society, allow her to experience the delight of a Season, that you would finally understand that I’m not the monster you’ve always thought me to be, but simply a concerned parent who wanted what was best for her only child.”

Elizabeth took another step toward Viola. “You could have simply apologized, told me you were sorry for not giving me your blessing to marry Harold.”

“I didn’t know how to do that,” Viola whispered.

“You could try now,” Elizabeth shot back. “You could try and explain to me why you always seemed to loathe me so much and why you were always unwilling to allow me to simply be me, not some preconceived notion of who you thought and expected me to be.”

For a second, Reginald didn’t think Viola was going to say anything else, especially not when she gave the door a rather longing look. But then, she straightened her spine, drew in a breath, and inclined her head toward her daughter.

“I never loathed you, Elizabeth. I was jealous of you.”

Elizabeth drew in a sharp breath. “Jealous?”

“But of course. You always stayed true to who you wanted to be, never abiding by any of the rules I tried to force upon you or letting your strict upbringing stifle your spirit.” Viola dashed a hand over eyes that were bright with unshed tears. “How I envied that, longing to join you when I’d see you fleeing down the road in the early morning hours, dressed in trousers and riding your horse at full gallop, the wind tangling your hair as you rode.”

“You could have joined me, Mother.”

Viola shook her head. “No, I couldn’t, nor would I have known how to ask.” She smiled rather sadly. “I never had the courage to balk against the many rules my mother expected me to follow, nor did I have any idea what to do with a daughter who was rebellious from the moment she learned how to walk. And even though I tried to rein you in, there was a part of me that envied your rebellious nature. That right there is why I never fought to repair our relationship after you married Harold. I was relieved you were no longer around so I could quit comparing my life with the more fulfilling one I knew you were making for yourself.”

For a long moment, Elizabeth didn’t say a word, but then she moved to stand in front of her mother, swiping away tears that were trickling down her cheeks. “I never imagined you were jealous of me.”

“I was.”

Elizabeth drew in a shaky breath. “That certainly explains much, and . . . because it’s still Christmas, a time for new beginnings, I say you and I agree to begin again, put the past firmly behind us this time and see if we can’t find a way to enjoy the future together.”

Viola’s lips began trembling right before she pulled her daughter into her arms and held on as if she never wanted to let go.

“And that,” Poppy began, accepting the handkerchief Reginald fished out of his pocket and dabbing her eyes, “has got to be one of the best Christmas presents my mother and grandmother have ever received.”

Reginald certainly couldn’t disagree with that. And when Poppy unexpectedly slipped her hand into his, leaving him decidedly unbalanced, he couldn’t deny that he did have feelings for Poppy—feelings that were unquestionably not of the strictly friendly sort.

What he was going to do about those feelings, though, now that he’d admitted to himself he had them, was quite beyond him at the moment.