Dukes to the Left of Me, Princes to the Right (33 page)

Poppy had laughed, and she’d cried, examining the items her mother had valued.

She was seeing many of her mother’s things for the first time in years … her favorite brush. Her crystal atomizer with the cobalt-blue tassel. Her squashy red felt pin cushion Poppy had made as a young girl and which her mother brought out at every opportunity, especially when her friends were over.

And a miniature of Mama holding Poppy as a baby. She and her father both cried the longest over that one. But they were having a wonderful time, despite all the emotion.

“Despite your rough beginning, are you pleased with your choice of fiancé?” Papa asked her now. His voice had a whole new quality—not new, actually, but old. It sounded the way it had before Mama had died.

Poppy girded herself to pretend she wasn’t planning on leaving the Duke of Drummond behind. She couldn’t tell Papa of her plans, even with this new closeness. Not yet. It would ruin things between them.

“Of course,” she answered. “Although I worry about what will happen to you when I’m married and gone.”

And she was. If she ever met a man she wanted to marry, what
would
happen to Papa?

Lord Derby chuckled. “I’m flattered, but a lady’s first allegiance should be to her husband.
Not
to her father.”

“Oh, dear.” She felt a bit choked up again. “I don’t like to hear that.”

“But it’s the truth.” Papa’s tone was gentle. “When a woman finds the right man, she must cleave to him, putting the marriage first and all else second.”

“But—”

He hugged her close, and Poppy was happy, but she couldn’t help noticing what Papa had said.

Marry the
right
man
.

He’d qualified his statement.

Had she misjudged him? She’d lied to all her suitors the past three years, but perhaps if she’d only explained to Papa what sort of man was the right man for her, she never would have had to go to such lengths.

She took his hand. “Papa, did you
really
believe Lord Eversly was the right man for me?”

He made a wry face. “I’d no idea. But it’s a bit late for that, isn’t it? Perhaps I should have asked you.”

He searched her eyes, concerned.

“I should have told you,” she said simply.

“Will Drummond suit, do you think?”

She gave a small nod.

“Good.” Papa patted her hand. “I like him. I think you’ll suit very well.”

She felt a surge of emotion close her throat. She thought … nay, she
knew
she and Nicholas would suit very well, too. Pity that he didn’t seem to be aware of that. She tried to fend off the sense that a black cloud was forming around her, one that would bring her pain.

Papa scratched his ear, which he was wont to do when he was embarrassed. “I have a small box, too,” he said. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather go through it with you while I’m alive. I—I wish your mother had had that chance.”

“I’d love that.” Poppy grinned at him, and her heart felt lighter at his enthusiasm.

He had a pack of old playing cards that had belonged to her grandfather, and a fine cheroot he’d received the day Poppy had been born. “I received two,” he said, “and smoked one. I wanted to save it, you see. It’s not often a man is blessed with two beautiful women in his life. The first time I saw you, you looked at me with your mother’s eyes and gave a lusty cry with her same rosebud mouth.”

“Oh, Papa.” Poppy wiped away a tear again.

With slightly shaky hands, he unwrapped the final small tissue bundle.

Poppy inhaled a sharp breath. There they were, the cuff links from the portrait. They gleamed black and gold in the candlelight.

“These are my special cuff links,” he said. “I wore these the day I proposed to your mother and I wore them to our wedding. I wore them to your baptism. And I wore them to a wonderful ball we attended in St. Petersburg at the Winter Palace.” He hesitated. “Your mother had never looked so beautiful. And we had never been so much in love. We had less than a few months together after that.”

Poppy swallowed. “They’re wonderful, Papa.”

“Her death was so sudden,” he said quietly. “I believe I never got over the shock of it. I’m sorry, my dear. I should have reached out to you.”

“I did feel lonely,” she admitted. “But I’m sure for you it was even worse.”

Now that she knew what it felt like to love Nicholas, she could understand the depth of her father’s grief a little more.

He kissed her cheek. “When you gave that dinner party, you were so like your mother.”

“Was I?” That made her happy. “But—” She paused. “You didn’t like the meal. You were very quiet.”

He looked down at his hands and then up at her. “It wasn’t the meal. I was sulking. Afraid to move forward. Since your mother’s death, I haven’t been able to touch those Russian memories without flinching. And look at you, you’ve been working on that blasted needlepoint of the Winter Palace for years.” He chuckled.

She had to laugh at that, too. “I have, haven’t I?”

“You were also able to produce Russian dishes for the party,” Papa said, “and still have a smile on your face. That night I learned something. I learned my own daughter was braver than I am.”

“Oh, Papa!” She hugged him. “Don’t say that. You asked me to make English dishes and I ignored you. I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head. “Don’t be. You woke me up that night. Made me see I need to … to move on. Part of that is remembering the past, but not the sad times so much as focusing on the good.”

“And we had many good times,” Poppy reminded him.

“Indeed, we did.” Lord Derby smiled. “Let’s not waste any more time on blame or regret. Just remember this. I love you.”

“And I love you.”

She clasped his hand. But their happy moment was interrupted when an urgent knock came at their front door.

“Who could that be this late?” Lord Derby stood, listening.

“I’ve no idea.” Poppy stood as well, feeling vaguely fearful. It was awfully late for a knock at the front door.

They walked down the corridor together to the top of the stairs. Poppy was surprised to see the prince and princess below. Kettle was busy taking Prince Sergei’s hat and cape. Natasha stood by his side, dogless, and when she looked up and saw Poppy, her expression was, oddly enough—

Triumphant.

CHAPTER 36

Nicholas was miserable. And all because of a woman.

Not Natasha. She was merely a pest—a very bad pest who had wrangled her way too far into his life. Somehow he’d escape her.

But he saw no way to evade the inevitably wretched depression he would soon be floundering in … all because a certain bossy, emerald-eyed miss would no doubt despise him when she heard the news.

He could see the headline in the papers now: “Duke Fathers Russian Princess’s Baby Out of Wedlock.”

It was absurd. But that was exactly the situation he found himself in.

If Poppy had any regard for him, surely she would lose it after word got out. Somewhere deep inside him, he couldn’t bear that thought. But he knew what to do—what he’d always done when unwanted feelings attempted to surface: bury them under layers of busy-ness. Accomplishments.

Attention to duty.

After the debacle at the Howells’, he went straight to Groop, who practically lived at his office. Nicholas must admit he was glad the old fellow was still there, candles burning at his desk. He could use a bit of paternal advice.

Groop wore a closed half-smile. “So you’re looking for a way out. Even though you might be the father.”

“I’m
not
the father.” He was almost certain of it. “She could be making the whole thing up, as far as I know.”

“You’ll simply have to go along with it.”

“You mean
marry
her?”

“You could be of use to us in St. Petersburg. It could mean a promotion.”

Nicholas scoffed. “Not possible.”

“It’s either marry her, or devise a means to get out of it
after
you retrieve the painting. We can’t afford to upset the twins so much that they pack their bags and leave England with the portrait before the ball.”

“Are you sure we can’t go in any earlier than the ball to get it?”

“No. That night affords us the least risk. Large crowds and many distractions suit this sort of operation. Which reminds me, we’ll have to call a high-level meeting to ensure Lord Derby stays away that evening. He could raise a public stink and interfere with our plans. You’ve abandoned his daughter, after all.”

Nicholas raked a hand through his hair. “Can we not tell Lord Derby and Lady Poppy the new betrothal is a sham? That it won’t stand much longer because I won’t allow it?”

“They have no need to know. We can’t afford to let any word get back to the princess.”

“But … but Lady Poppy will think I’m a scoundrel!”

“Well, aren’t you?” It was the closest Groop had ever come to looking amused.

Nicholas flinched. He
had
been a dissolute fool. “It’s too late, isn’t it? To shed my wastrel reputation.”

Groop almost scoffed. “You know what that would require.”

“Yes, either dying or keeping my breeches on. A year ago I wouldn’t have been able to tell you which one was worse. But now—”

“Now you’ve matured. It happens to the best of us, Your Grace. And since you’re in quite a quandary, I’d say yes. It
is
too late.”

So it was settled. Nicholas’s engagement with Natasha was
on
. No more trying to get out of it, at least until after the painting was safely in his hands.

And by then, Poppy—at least her tender feelings for him—would be long gone.

“Don’t go yet, Your Grace.”

Nicholas paused at the door, sensing bad news by the way Groop hesitated before he spoke.

“It seems rather a shame,” the spymaster said, “but the higher-ups have recently decided to destroy the painting after they get their look at it. They claim we can’t very well have a portrait stay in circulation with a picture of a mole on it. Our modus operandi must be protected.”

Nicholas’s heart sank. “No,” he whispered.

She’d never forgive him.

Ever.

It was the final nail in the coffin of his plan to make her his wife. Even he wasn’t willing to marry someone who hated him. Up until now, he’d had hope. He’d made progress with her—true progress, from total unacceptance of him to the point that they’d become friends—but now … now all those efforts might as well never have occurred.

“It can’t be helped.” Groop was implacable. “You have to seize the portrait on behalf of the Service and resign yourself to never seeing it again. Duty above all, Your Grace. And Lady Poppy has no need to know. You’re the one charged with destroying the painting after our analysis is complete. The MR is contingent upon this action. Dispose of it completely in a timely, untraceable manner which calls—”

“No suspicion upon me or the Service.” Nicholas hardened his heart. “I know the drill.”

Duty first.

Duty
first.

He swallowed back the myriad emotions clamoring within him. Sometimes it paid in unexpected ways to work for the Service.

And sometimes it was a living hell.

CHAPTER 37

Poppy felt the oddest butterflies in her stomach. Neither the prince nor princess gave Papa a cordial social greeting in response to his own gracious welcome. Sergei’s apology for bothering them at the late hour was terse at best, and he made no effort to kiss her hand.

Instead, he inclined his head. “I’ve a matter of grave import to discuss with you, Lord Derby and Lady Poppy.”

“Please come in.” Lord Derby gestured toward the drawing room.

Once their guests were seated, she offered brandy for Sergei and ratafia for Natasha.

“Nothing for me,” Natasha said shortly, her rudeness coming as no surprise.

“Thank you, no,” Sergei responded, his eyes giving nothing away. But he was more formal than she’d ever seen him.

Poppy tried to remain calm. But something was terribly wrong, and it had to be about the portrait. Did they know the painting was of her mother? Was that a complication that somehow interfered with their plans for it?

She looked at her father, whose expression was rather concerned, as well.

Sergei drew in a deep breath. “I must involve you in a conversation that you might find distasteful.”

Natasha’s eyes glinted. “
I
will tell her.”

“No.” Sergei was curt. “
I’ll
tell her.”

“May I remind you there are two of us here,” Lord Derby said. “You shall have to tell us both.”

While the twins glared at each other, there came another urgent knock on the front door.