Daughters Of Eden: The Eden Series Book 1 (2 page)

For Poppy it was of course the very opposite of fun – it was agony. Every single moment of her Season was torture, from the fitting of the coats and skirts, the day frocks and the evening gowns, to the trying on of the hats. Hat after hat after hat she had to try, all of them making her look more and more ludicrous, on account of her round, plastic-framed spectacles. At least they were now a sombre black rather than the vivid pink of her childhood, but inevitably, of course, as was only to be expected, it was Poppy's beautiful mother rather than her plain daughter who attracted all the attention from both people and press.

The beautiful Oralia Beaumont again stunned the assembled company in a two-piece by Lablanc, all topped off by a chapeau de chapeaux – a hat of such elegance that no one could match it. If mothers of debutantes could win prizes for the Season, then Mrs Beaumont would surely win the Gold Cup
.

As her mother flourished, so Poppy wilted, as poppies so often do when plucked out of their natural environment. Seated on the side, dance
after dance after dance, she became inured to feeling isolated and ridiculous. Sometimes it seemed to her that the wretched Season – with its endless banal chatter covering up none too successfully her fellow debutantes' obsessive pursuit of a diamond engagement ring – would never end. It actually threatened to last for ever, just as sitting out dance after dance on some wobbly gilt Gunter's ball chair was also a perpetual hell, until with Ascot Week finally over – and only two or three balls to endure – she realised with ever increasing relief that the end was actually coming into sight.

One particular evening she was sitting in her usual state of abandonment on the sidelines of the ballroom, watching as her mother was whirled past her in the arms of an admiring young man, when a masculine voice interrupted her bored thoughts.

‘I wonder if you would do me the honour of having this dance?'

Poppy looked up in undisguised surprise at the speaker.

‘I am sorry,' she stammered in confusion. ‘But what did you say?'

The man looking down at her was extremely handsome, with fair hair, bright blue eyes, and a surprisingly serious expression.

‘I said I wonder if you would do me the honour of having this dance?'

Poppy stared up at him, still unable to quite believe her ears.

‘You do mean me?' she said, putting a hand on the bodice of her dowdy ball dress to indicate herself.

‘Since all the other chairs either side of you are empty, I really think I must.'

Poppy stood up.

‘Sorry,' she muttered, putting out a hand to introduce herself, only to find it being firmly taken in her unknown admirer's left hand and herself being led out on the dance floor.

‘I'm – I'm Poppy Beaumont,' she stammered, already being waltzed around the floor.

‘I know. And I'm Basil Tetherington.'

‘How do you do?'

‘Rather bored as it happens. Up until now. How about you?'

‘Yes. Yes, I was a bit – um – a bit, well, yes, bored as well, as it happens,' Poppy admitted.

After a few more turns of the ballroom, Poppy danced so close to her mother that she could not help noticing the look in her eyes, a mixture of shock and obvious irritation. Poppy smiled at her, realising that the first thing that must have crossed her mother's mind was the fact that someone had actually asked her to dance, and not just someone, but someone extremely handsome. As she waltzed on she saw the shock was so great that her mother had actually stopped dancing altogether, staring in some amazement at the sight of her plain daughter being danced around the ballroom by one of the catches of the Season. As Poppy passed by her yet again, she leaned forward as if to ask her something, but Poppy was gone before she could begin to say anything.

‘Why don't we go on the balcony,' Basil suggested. ‘And perhaps cause a scandal – if we can, that is.'

Poppy nodded, only too happy to leave the oppressive atmosphere of the ballroom where everything was noted and commented upon. It was as if she were a pet poodle and she had suddenly escaped her lead. She allowed herself to be led by the hand off to one of the many balconies that overlooked the Park outside.

‘God,' Basil sighed, leaning back against the stone parapet, casually lighting a cigarette. ‘I hope you hate these affairs as much as I do?'

‘Good heavens yes. And, you know, with pretty good reason too.'

‘The reason being?' Basil raised his elegant eyebrows and looked at her.

‘Because – well, I suppose because I'm not exactly a huge success at these things. In fact I'm a complete flop.'

Poppy pushed her glasses nervously back up on to the bridge of her nose as Basil continued to stare at her.

‘What was that?'

‘I said I was – you know – not exactly a huge success. Sorry – why?'

‘I'm sure no one as honest as you can be accounted to be a flop, Miss Beaumont.'

‘I don't mind being a flop, as it happens. It's not as if I set out to be a raging success. So you don't have to feel sorry on my account. I mean, that wasn't why I said it. Said what I did, I mean. If you see what I mean.'

‘I see perfectly what you mean.'

‘My mother – and my aunt, for instance,' Poppy continued, now taking off her glasses and holding them up, checking their cleanliness to cover her
shyness. ‘Both my aunt and my mother are much more successful with the young men than I am. But I really don't mind. I don't mind sitting it out. Sometimes I actually prefer it. Sometimes it can actually be quite interesting – sometimes. Although most times to be
absolutely
honest – most other times I'd much rather be home in bed with my dogs and a book.'

‘You are not enamoured of the social life, obviously.'

‘I think books are usually more interesting than most people I meet. Particularly at things like this. Except that was rather rude – I really didn't mean to be rude.'

‘You weren't being rude at all – particularly as I happen to agree with you. I far prefer a good book any time to having to endure the appalling boredom of events such as this, but I always come to London for the Season, as did my father, and my grandfather, and his father, and his father, and so on.'

Basil smiled at her. It was neither a very big smile nor a very warm one, but – as Poppy concluded – it was a smile none the less. Most men, on the rare occasions any had danced with her, returned her to the sidelines without so much as another look in her direction.

‘My family look on me as being too bookish,' Poppy admitted, with ruthless candour. ‘In fact my father's forever saying what with my looks and my reading I'm bound to end up living in someone's attic, a spinster with a parrot. It wouldn't actually be a parrot – it'd be a dog, actually, in my case. And as long as I had a dog I really don't think I'd mind.'

Poppy carefully replaced her glasses, hooking the wire ends securely behind her ears before staring up at the man staring down at her, running out of idle chat and now waiting for him to finish smoking his cigarette. She knew that the only reason he had taken a turn with her on the floor was so that he could quickly steer her on to a balcony in order to smoke a cigarette. It had happened to her several times during the Season, various young men taking her out on to the balcony just so they could have a smoke. She really didn't mind that much either. At least it made a change from sitting on a gold chair, like some sort of abandoned dolly.

‘Isn't that the last waltz?' she wondered, barely able to contain her sense of relief.

‘I think it is,' he replied, stubbing his cigarette out underfoot. ‘I do so hope we meet again, and soon. Are you going to be at the Jardines' masked ball tomorrow night by any chance?'

‘Afraid so,' Poppy nodded. ‘That's the trouble with the Season, isn't it? No sort of escaping it. Imagine what fun I'm going to have – in a mask and spectacles.'

To her surprise this made her escort laugh out loud and genuinely so. He stopped, turned and looked at her, and this time she saw the smile on his face was much broader although not a whole lot warmer.

‘Tell you what,' he said, still smiling at her. ‘Wear your spectacles outside your mask, eh? Put them on the outside – that'll really cause a stir – and keep the first five dances for me.'

Poppy nodded, the way she normally nodded
whenever someone was wishing her a half-hearted goodnight plus the usual litany of excuses, only to frown suddenly when she realised what it was that had just been said to her.

‘I don't know whether I dare,' she admitted, pulling a shy face.

‘Be a sport,' Basil pressed. ‘Liven things up considerably. And keep the first five dances for me.'

That was the bit Poppy really remembered as later she clambered wearily into her bed, patting the counterpane on one side in order to encourage her dachshund, George, to jump up – smuggled upstairs as always once she knew her parents were asleep: the fact that this tall, handsome and considerably older stranger had seemingly asked her to save a number of dances just for him. Whether or not he was serious she did not know, but at this moment in time neither did she care. What was enjoyable was the idea that a good-looking man should want to dance with her in the first place. It would be ridiculous not to admit such a thing. And now, of course, it appeared that he wanted to have several of the first dances at the Jardines' ball with her, and her alone. Fondling the silken ears of her beloved little dog, she sighed, and for once in her young life went happily to sleep, relishing the possibility, although not quite believing in it.

Yet the odd thing was that no sooner had the band struck up for the first dance at the Jardines' masked ball the following evening than Poppy did indeed find the tall, elegant figure of Basil Tetherington at her side, requesting the pleasure. He was wearing a Venetian mask, and dressed in
the dress coat of the Blues and Royals, a superbly tailored frock coat that made him look as dashing as was perfectly possible. Poppy had waited until she had arrived at the Jardines' grand house before slipping away as promised to put her spectacles on over her own Columbine mask, and now she popped up, peering up at him behind her double disguise. Basil burst into genuine laughter, and whisked her on to the dance floor and into an immaculately led quickstep.

His dancing actually took Poppy's breath away. Oddly enough, given her deep dislike of the social round, Poppy herself was a very good dancer. She had been taught at home in a sketchy fashion by a horse-mad woman who used the money paid to her to subsidise her hunting. But after she had finally given up, Poppy had devoted many long and otherwise dreary winter afternoons to chalking out the steps from a Victor Sylvester dancing manual on the attic floor and learning all the moves from dance records played on her old nanny's gramophone. She discovered that, having a seemingly natural sense of rhythm, ballroom dancing came naturally to her, and in no time at all she was waltzing, tangoing, two-stepping and foxtrotting happily round the huge attic room with her enormous teddy bear as her partner.

No one had ever danced with her the way that Basil Tetherington danced with her, not even her teddy bear whom she had once considered to be the absolutely perfect partner. Basil seemed more than happy to dance with Poppy in return, for not only did he have the first five dances with her as promised, he asked for the next five as well, before
Poppy's mother interrupted, and dragged him off to dance with her. In spite of this, Basil promptly returned after only one dance and led Poppy back to the dance floor as if he had not been away for a minute.

‘I rather think I'm going to have to marry you, Miss Beaumont,' he said to her a week later as they were walking in the sunshine in Green Park with their dogs. The day was fine and warm, and for once Poppy felt as light-hearted as the scene in front of them, as well she might, since the Season was at long last over and now she could look forward to returning to the country full time, and forgetting all about the trivia that had been obsessing the rest of London for the past three months.

But now the man strolling beside her had well and truly thrown a spanner in the works. She glanced round at him quickly and shyly to see if he was smiling that slow, teasing smile he often delighted in tormenting her with, as once again he waited to see if she would rise to his bait. To her supreme consternation she found he was looking at her with perfect seriousness, having now walked in front of her, stopped, and turned as if to bar her way until she answered him.

‘You've gone very silent, Miss Beaumont,' he observed. ‘Did you not hear what I said?'

‘No – I mean yes!' Poppy corrected herself hurriedly. ‘I mean yes – yes of course I heard what you said. At least I think I heard what you said. You did say – didn't you—'

‘Either you heard me, Poppy, or you didn't hear me. Make up your dear little mind. If you heard
me, as you say you heard me, then you heard what I said, so there's no need to remind yourself. Or for me to remind you.'

‘Well,' Poppy returned, taking a deep breath. ‘If you meant it – then I don't think so, Basil – not really. I don't think that's an on idea at all. Do you? Really?'

Basil just laughed and shook his head, before turning once more and walking on beside her.

‘I wonder why it's not on?' he remarked. ‘I wonder why you think my idea's not an on idea at all?'

‘Well.' Poppy began again. ‘Because I don't, I suppose. We might like dancing, and that sort of thing – and walking our dogs in the Park. But I don't think that necessarily makes all that good a reason for us to get married. Or even to think about getting married.'

‘Most of the married couples I know don't even have that much in common,' Basil assured her. ‘And actually, if you ask me, any two people who enjoy dancing as much as we do, and enjoy walking our dogs, have a duty to get married, particularly since there is a war coming.'