Dukes to the Left of Me, Princes to the Right

at least twice before her father himself strode into her room and locked the window.

Now in Lord Derby’s drawing room, she sat with her two best friends, both of whom wouldn’t quite look her in the eye.

She was rather wincing at them herself. That cursed punch, after all.

“I can’t believe you two were grinning when he proposed,” Poppy said, treading lightly because of her poor head, but attempting to pace in front of the fireplace. “Aunt Charlotte, too. She explained it away by claiming stomach pains.”

“I couldn’t help it,” Eleanor replied, her head low. “You two looked adorable. It must have been the light. The candles put a certain glow on you that was, um, a bit magical.”

Beatrice shook her head. “I don’t know what came over me, either. In that moment, when he kissed you, it was as if all the fairy tales came true. And then I became sensible again. I realized he’d … he’d forced you into a metaphorical—and actual—corner.”

Beatrice was a stickler for details.

“As for the metaphorical corner, you had no idea it existed!” Eleanor huffed. “Who ever knew the Duke of Drummond wasn’t a legend?”

“Exactly.” Poppy threw up her hands. “He battles large sea monsters. He’s crazy, murderous, wicked, and —”

She’d kissed him. She’d kissed him to distraction.

She licked her lips and bit the inside of her cheek. She was in a nightmare. And she only wanted to wake up.

“Don’t worry,” Beatrice reassured her. “Despite the awful announcement in the newspaper, we members of the Spinsters Club will help you out of this somehow.”

“We know if you choose anyone to marry, it will be Sergei,” Eleanor added stoutly.

“But how?” Poppy said. “How can I possibly save myself?”

“Paris is out.” Aunt Charlotte popped into the room, and took the best seat by ordering Eleanor cheerfully out of it. “Your father caught on. He’s paid all the servants extra wages to report to him any havey-cavey packing of suitcases. In fact, we no longer have trunks of any kind. He’s donated them to charity. He’s confiscated our pin money, too, and even put all our jewels in his safe. We have to ask to use them when we go out, and we’ll be escorted by footmen at all times, unless we’re with Drummond, of course.”

“That’s not the worst of it.” Poppy sank onto a chair by her aunt. “Drummond says if I run and he catches me, we’ll marry that day—or live in sin until the special license comes through.”

“Did he now?” Aunt Charlotte drawled. And then gave a little laugh. A wicked little laugh.

“Aunt,” Poppy remonstrated with her.

The Spinsters’ mentor sat up. “Oh, yes, that would be dreadful.”

Poppy shook her head. “Something’s wrong. Something’s come over each one of you—”

“I assure you, niece,” Aunt Charlotte said in her haughtiest tones. “I’ve not forgotten Sergei’s the only man who comes even close to fulfilling the requirements for you to receive dispensation from the Spinsters Club rules.” She blinked. “It’s just that Drummond falls into the category that should make every Spinster wary: he’s dangerous. A dangerous man can make a Spinster forget like that”—she snapped her fingers —“every tenet of the Spinster way of life.”

God, she was right. Poppy simply had to think about the duke kissing her, and her Spinster knees almost buckled. Not that she would admit it out loud.

Eleanor raised her teacup. “Never fear, Lady Charlotte. We can recite those tenets backward and forward.”

“Our standards are so high, we’re bound to be Spinsters forever.” Beatrice clashed cups merrily with Eleanor.

Poppy felt guilty, terribly guilty. If they only knew the truth, she thought. Dangerous men were—

Well, they were dangerous.

Aunt Charlotte chuckled. “I’m proud to say I had the devil of a time drawing up the latest edition of the Spinster bylaws. Lord Bimmington was blowing in my ear the whole time. And Sam-the-footman was quite leering at me. No wonder—I was wearing my teeth, of course. And that recklessly red silk gown from Milan.”

Poppy knew the very one. It really was reckless.

She gave her aunt a hug. “You’re the best chaperone a girl could ever wish for,” she whispered in her ear.

And it was true, but part of Poppy felt rather wistful for a shrew of a chaperone, one who might tell her all the naughty things she’d done with the Duke of Drummond the night before would come back to haunt her—and put her plan to win Sergei in jeopardy.

She needed reminding, and an embittered battle-ax might restore her to the lofty daydreams she’d harbored for six years about Sergei.

“Do you think the duke really did have his uncle murdered?” Beatrice asked her in hopeful tones—and no wonder, she wrote shocking novels with an occasional dead body in them.

“Whether he did or not,” said Eleanor, “there’s absolutely no chance he’s ever fought an octopus as large as a Royal Mail coach.” She was the artist, so her sense of proportion was impeccable.

“Heavens, of course not, on both counts.” Although a perfectly silly part of Poppy still wondered.

But thankfully for her fanciful imagination, not for long.

There was a loud commotion outside and a forceful knock on the front door, followed by a demanding exotic voice and much yapping.

Kettle came into the drawing room. “Princess Natasha and her dogs to see you, Lady Poppy,” he announced.

She shared a surprised look with her aunt and Spinsters Club sisters. “Show them in, Kettle,” she said, not sure what to think.

Natasha strode in, strikingly elegant in a pale green morning dress with a sheer overlay and a high, frothy collar framing her long, slender neck. Her only accessories were the two panting corgis she carried, one of whom was missing an eye.

Poppy stood, her knees a bit wobbly. “This is indeed, um, an honor, Princess.”

“Yes, an honor,” Eleanor echoed.

Beatrice surreptitiously hit Eleanor’s thigh.

Poppy moved in front of the two of them while Natasha looked about the room as if no one else were in it, even though Aunt Charlotte was staring goggle-eyed at her.

“I had hoped for a private audience,” the princess said in a honey-thick Russian accent.

“Oh, we’ll oblige,” Aunt Charlotte said, picked up her teacup, and left.

Beatrice and Eleanor, too, picked up their cups and exited the room right behind her.

“Wait!” Poppy called to them.

But they shut the drawing room door, and she was alone with the princess and her two dogs.

Natasha sat on the settee with them. “So,” she said, “you’re doing it again.”

“What?”

“What you did last night with those chamomiles in your hair. Calling attention to yourself, when really, you are better served blending in.”

“I am?”

“Only a rare few of us are meant to shine, Lady Poppy, and you are not one of them. But don’t despair. Yes, you’re to marry the Duke of Drummond, but no doubt he shall remove you to his estate in the north, where you can be a docile, almost invisible wife, which is your duty.”

Poppy cringed inside. She did not want to be a docile, almost invisible wife to anyone. She must explain that she was not to marry the duke. But how could she?

She’d no idea.

“Yes,” she said vaguely. “We’re, um, betrothed, but you know how those things go. Can’t look too deeply into the future. Would you care for some tea?”

“It’s much too early,” Natasha returned abruptly, and eyed the painting of St. Petersburg over the pianoforte.