Standing at the front of the small chapel on the property at Thwackmore, Rhys wished it was grander. The simple wood and glass didn’t do justice to his beautiful bride walking toward him in a blue gown. The unadorned nave paled in comparison to Poppy. Her hair was curled and braided, and her color was high. A warm smile spread across her face, and she never took her gaze from his. His heart lodged in his throat; breathing was no longer possible.
She reached the altar, and elation reflected in her eyes. They faced the vicar, and still she stole glances at him.
Smiling, he turned toward her. The vicar harrumphed at the unorthodox turn toward the bride but continued to droll on about the seriousness of entering into a marriage.
Poppy kept her eyes focused on him, yet when the vicar came to the vows and asked if Poppy would obey and serve Rhys, she flinched and lowered her eyes.
Bending his knees to catch her gaze, he gave a tiny shake of his head and held one hand up to stop the babbling preacher. “No more than I will serve you, my love. That is my vow and I shall never break it.”
Faith wept openly in the first pew with the other Wallflowers and Garrett.
Poppy nodded, smiling, and the vicar blathered on to the ceremony’s end.
“With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.” Rhys finished the prayer and slid the simple gold band on her finger.
She glanced at the ring and then at him.
“I had high hopes,” he explained. “It was my grandmother’s. She and my grandfather were very happy together.”
Her smile was enough to steady him for a lifetime.
When the ceremony was over, the Wallflowers surrounded his wife like a gaggle of geese, and they all made their way back to the manor for an informal wedding breakfast.
“I wish it had been a prettier setting for you, Poppy,” Rhys lamented.
Her eyes wide as saucers, she gaped at him. “I am hardly a fancy type of woman, Rhys. I thought it perfect. If you want all of that pomp, we can make my parents happy and be married again at St. Paul’s.”
“No. We wanted this wedding just for us. I’ll not overshadow it with anything else. If it was enough for you, then I am satisfied.” His heart leaped in his chest. How had she bewitched him so thoroughly?
In a long silence, Poppy toyed with the cuff of his blouse where it poked out from his coat sleeve. “I suppose we must return to London at some point?”
“I think sooner rather than later.”
A long groan and sour face reminded him of how she often looked at him before they became friends and long before they became lovers.
“The longer we wait the harder the return will be.”
Mercy said, “I’m afraid Rhys is right, Poppy. You should go back and face your parents. They have no power over you now. You are the Countess of Marsden.”
It was true, but Rhys shuddered at the scene Lord and Lady Merkwood would make when they heard their daughter married in Scotland without all the social fuss they’d hoped for. “I will be with you every moment.”
His ferocious wife lifted her chin and nodded. “Tomorrow, then? We had better start back, for it is a long journey and at least we’ll have the time before the horrors of my birth beset us.”
Everyone laughed, but there was real concern in Poppy’s eyes, and Rhys longed to ease her mind. Unfortunately, until the event, she would worry about the unknown.
* * * *
The Earl of Merkwood’s face was purple with anger despite his relaxed stance against the wall of bookshelves lining his study. “I cannot believe you would do this, Marsden. We waited for your return. The church was scheduled. We had to write to our guests and inform them there would be no wedding because the bride had gone to the country for her nerves.” He said the last word with disgust.
Rhys was biting his tongue, but it couldn’t last long.
“I would have expected as much from that one, but you should be a better man.” He pointed at his daughter as if she were a pesky rodent in need of a good trap.
Temper flaring, Rhys stepped in front of Poppy. “My lord, in the future, I suggest you speak of my wife with a bit more respect and courtesy. If you ever refer to her so rudely or point at her again, I will snap that finger from your hand and you will be needing the appendage when I call you out for your insult.”
Merkwood’s eyes widened then narrowed. He pushed away from the books. “She is my daughter and I’ll speak to her and about her any way I damned well please.”
Turning around, Rhys checked on his wife. Always a surprise, Poppy did not look hurt or even angry. She met his gaze with a raised brow and amused smile. Of course, she was used to her father’s dismissive and harsh regard for her. She didn’t seem the least bit offended as she smoothed the lace on her soft green day dress.
Lady Merkwood sat in an overstuffed chair, looking confused but not as enraged as her husband. Like a statue, her stiff back and folded hands appeared practiced and normal for these instances.
It was not something Rhys was used to, nor did he have any intention of accustoming himself to Merkwood’s rants. Without returning his gaze toward Poppy’s father, Rhys said, “I think we should go now, my dear. It seems you were right and a courtesy call to your parents was a mistake. I had hoped they would see reason and wish us joy, but it seems it is not to be.”
“You’ll not see a penny of her dowry.” Arthur Arrington’s lips twisted in a smirk, and a vein in his forehead stood out.
Lady Merkwood gasped, and her hand went to her throat.
The notion this had always been about money and power rather than the happiness of their only child grated on Rhys. He turned.
A triumphant glare made Lord Merkwood even more distasteful. His gray hair and pale eyes gave him the look of a specter, and with his gaunt face red with rage, he might be death himself.
It took Rhys several deep breaths to control his anger. He would not give Merkwood the satisfaction of pushing him into a fit of temper. “My lord, I have no interest in Penelope’s dowry. However, if you withhold it after boasting about it all these years as the way of bettering your status and relinquishing your daughter, you will enhance the notion you disapprove of this marriage.”
“I do disapprove.” Merkwood crossed his arms over his chest.
Rhys advanced until he was only three feet from Poppy’s father. “If you make it known you disapprove of a marriage that you arranged, how will it make you look, my lord? Will the men in the House of Lords be keen to listen to a man so changeable in his opinions and wishes?”
“No one cares what happens to a misbegotten waif like her. She’s never been accepted in good society anyway.”
Unable to bear looking at the hurt he would see in his wife’s eyes, Rhys focused on the miserable form of her father. “I will care, sir, and so will all of my friends and acquaintances. She is a countess now. She will be accepted in all society and revered there. You will place those funds in trust for any children my wife and I might be blessed with, or I will see to it you are made a mockery of at court.”
Merkwood’s face got impossibly redder, the muscles in his neck strained as his jaw ticked, and he muttered something under his breath before he nodded.
“Good.” Rhys turned to Poppy, who still looked more amused than hurt by her father’s stupidity. “Shall we go, Lady Marsden?”
With a nod, she turned to Merkwood and curtsied. “Father.” Then her mother. “Mother.” Then she took his arm and walked out of the study.
They were gathering their things from the butler when Lady Merkwood rushed out of the room and gently closed the door. “Penelope, I would be pleased if you would allow me to throw you a wedding breakfast.”
“I don’t think Father would be pleased about it.” Poppy took her mother’s hand and smiled.
“Perhaps not, but I’d like to do it anyway and I do run this house. Will you allow it?” Apprehension lurked in her eyes.
Poppy leaned in and kissed her mother’s cheek. “Of course. That is very kind of you, Mother. I’m sure my husband and I will be delighted to accept such a thoughtful invitation.”
A bright smile transformed Lady Merkwood into a stunning older version of Poppy. “I shall contact you with specifics.”
“Come to tea on Monday, Mother. We can talk then.” Poppy tugged on her gloves.
Rhys bowed to his mother-in-law, offered his wife his arm, and led them from her parents’ home. Guilty of a grievous error, he didn’t know how he would make amends. “I’m sorry. You were right. I should not have put you through that. I should have dealt with your father on my own.”
“Nonsense. That was the singular most wonderful moment involving my father of my entire life.” Poppy preened as she stepped up into the carriage.
Rhys joined her inside. “How so?”
“You stood up for me. No one has ever done that, at least not with Father. Nor have I ever seen anyone threaten that beast of a man. It was glorious.” She clapped her hands in delight.
Leaning back against the cushion, Rhys admired her. With a few words she eased his mind and lifted his heart. “Will you never cease to amaze me, wife?”
“I hope not.” She giggled.
“Take us home, Patrick,” Rhys called to the driver.
“Wait, Patrick,” Poppy yelled after.
Patrick’s dark brown eyes shifted from one to the other, unsure what to do. Finally, he said, “My lord?”
It was always going to be an adventure with this woman. Rhys shrugged. “Well, where are we going, then?”
“To visit with the Duke of Breckenridge.”
* * * *
The Duke of Breckenridge’s London home was elegant, enormous, and a bit daunting. Steeling herself, Poppy strode up the steps with Rhys at her elbow.
Rhys gave her a warm smile and banged the knocker twice.
The door swung open, revealing a butler of middle years. His brown hair grayed on the sides, and his dark eyes simmered with mistrust. “May I help you?”
Handing over his calling card, Rhys said, “The Earl and Countess of Marsden to see His Grace.”
The use of titles seemed to perk up the butler as he eyed the card. “Please come in. I will see if His Grace is available. You may wait in the sitting room.”
The foyer was magnificent with black-and-white marble tiles, which reminded Poppy of a chessboard. Twenty feet above them a chandelier reflected light from the window above the door. The sun caught each of hundreds of crystals and set them aflame. Stark white walls made her worry she might mar something. It hardly reflected the personality of Nicholas Ellsworth and his easy demeanor.
With a definite limp to his step, the butler led them down a hall and into an ornate sitting room facing the gardens. “I am Dumford, should you need anything.”
He closed the door.
The room was broken up into three spaces: A table and four chairs in one corner covered in a lace cloth. A conversation area with couch, settee, and three chairs all in the French style with swirling woods and fine upholstery. A pianoforte in the far corner with a golden candelabra perched on it and several family miniatures placed around the top of the instrument. Poppy noted the image of Nicholas alongside an older man with a similar look.
“This is so formal compared to the man.” Rhys ran his hand along the back of the couch.
“Yes. I thought so too.”
“It is to my mother’s taste.” Nicholas stood in the open doorway.
Poppy started, having not heard a sound of footsteps or the door opening. She stumbled into a curtsy. “Your Grace.”
Rhys bowed as well. “Good afternoon, Breckenridge.”
Entering the room, Nicholas’s eyes held wariness. “To what do I owe this unexpected honor?”
Perched against the corner of the fireplace, Rhys raised his eyebrows in Poppy’s direction.
Taking careful steps to bring them closer together, Poppy swallowed down any fear. “I feel you deserve an apology and an explanation, Your Grace.”
He let his expression soften as if he’d given up a pretense. “Sit please, Poppy, and my name is still Nicholas. Tea will take a few moments.”
Relieved the warm man she’d met so many weeks ago at the Sottonfield ball was not altogether gone, Poppy sat. “Thank you, Nicholas. Would you let me explain my actions?”
He sighed. “I can’t see how it will make a difference, but if it will make you feel better.” He inclined his head.
Drawing in a long breath, Poppy started from the beginning. “My friends and I have formed a pact to never let another man harm one of us. When Faith was sold off to a man none of us had ever met, our worry bloomed into panic. Please understand, we did not know you, and you are a man with many secrets.”
“She was not sold to me.” He bit out the words angrily.
“No. I know. I have had many issues with the institution of marriage that I am now recovering from since Rhys and I have recently been married.”
Nicholas’s eyes widened. “Yes. Dumford mentioned your title. I offer my felicitations.”
“Thank you. I thought if we could get to know your character, we would know if Faith would be safe with you. It would also help if you and she might have developed some regard for each other.” Poppy huffed in frustration.
“I agree, that might have been nice,” Nicholas said.
“Can you perhaps see, considering our fear of a disastrous fate, your secrets and odd behavior might have set our teeth on edge?”
He leaned forward. “Perhaps, but going to my friend and spending two nights for information-gathering purposes was beyond my tolerance, Poppy.”
“We only meant to ask a few questions and be on our way. The weather forced us to stay longer, and I’ll not apologize for the extra time. I wouldn’t trade meeting Mr. Arafa for the world. He is a most interesting man and not like anyone I have ever met.” She lifted her chin.
Rhys laughed. “That is true. I agree with my wife. Mr. Arafa is a fine friend to have.”
“Indeed,” Nicholas conceded.
Poppy swallowed the lump in her throat. “I am sorry we invaded your privacy, and I hope you will take more time to get to know Faith and let her get to know you. If you decide otherwise, I understand but believe you will be missing out on a lifetime with an exceptional person.”
“Oh, and do I have the approval of this group of ladies or am I still on trial?” Derision oozed from Nicholas’s words.
Poppy ignored his sarcasm. “If Geb Arafa approves of you, then I do as well. Faith is still not sure, but I shall let her speak to you of her concerns as it is not my tale to tell.”
“So, I am just to forgive you and her for spying on me? I have no say in what I wish to tell my perspective bride and what I want to keep from her?” Nicholas stood and crossed the room, planting his hands on the top of the pianoforte and staring down at its shiny surface.
Rising, Poppy went to Rhys and took his hand. “As I am only recently married and can only speak from my own experience, I am not fully qualified to answer that question, Your Grace. However, until I was honest with my husband and he with me, our chances for a life filled with joy and love were nonexistent. So, I suppose it depends on what you wish to gain from a marriage. If you want a broodmare to give you sons and be ignored for all other purposes, then your silence might work. Then again, if it is a companion who loves you and makes your life worth living you seek, you shall have to tell her everything and let her decide if she can live with it.”
Rhys lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. Pride and love shone in his eyes.
“It is a very big risk you ask of me.” Nicholas turned to face them. His eyes were filled with conflict, and his knuckles were white where they gripped the instrument.
“I am not asking anything of you, Your Grace. It is only my opinion there is always risk for the greatest reward. Rarely do we get what we want without giving something of ourselves in the process.”
Sensing the interview was at an end, Poppy looked at Rhys. He took her elbow, and they walked to the door. “Thank you for seeing us, Your Grace.” Rhys too returned to a formal address, taking his cue from Poppy.
Nicholas watched them leave but said nothing.
Outside Poppy’s hopes fell. “We failed.”
Rhys handed her up into the carriage. “Did we?”
“Faith is perhaps further away from a good match than when we started on this ill-fated journey.” A heavy burden settled in Poppy’s chest. She had not helped her friend the way she said she would. She had not fulfilled her oath. “Now that we are fully discovered by Breckenridge, we have no means to gather information.”
Rhys gave Patrick instructions to take them home. Once the carriage was rolling and they were settled, he pulled her into his lap. “My love, we set out to discern his character and did as well as anyone could have. I know we didn’t find a flawless prince under his disguise, but those are very rare. He is liked and respected by his friends. He has a sense of humor. Even when angered, he has not shown signs of violence. I think we did what were charged with. The rest is up to Faith and Nicholas.”
The burden lightened, allowing Poppy to breathe. “You are wrong about one thing, sweet husband.”
He snuggled into the spot where her neck and shoulder met and kissed her sensitive flesh. “Which part, my love?”
“Sometimes one does discover a prince in disguise.” Poppy cupped his cheek and pressed her lips to her own prince.
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