Dukes to the Left of Me, Princes to the Right

Nicholas decided to share what Groop had told him. “I’ve heard rumors today there are people who don’t want us to marry and might try to prevent it.”

“Oh, my!” said Eleanor.

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Beatrice swung her arms in time with his. “Plots are my specialty. Tell me more— I’ll figure out who’s behind it.”

“I know nothing more,” he assured the two girls. “It could be mere rumor. But I’ve concerns about her safety, nonetheless.”

“We’ll be sure to keep an eye on her,” said Beatrice, “and thank you for telling us.”

“You’re her closest friends. I know you have her best interests at heart.”

Beatrice got closer to him. “The question is, Your Grace, do you?”

“I’d like to know, as well,” said Eleanor, her voice a little breathy. “This marriage proposal of yours doesn’t make much sense.”

“And do you think her using my name for three years to fob off her suitors made any more sense?” he asked them.

“Yes, it kept them at bay,” said Eleanor.

“So she could indulge in a fantasy about Sergei,” Nicholas replied dryly.

“So?” Beatrice said, arching a brow. “It’s better to be a Spinster with lovely daydreams than wife to a man you don’t love.”

“Point taken. Men have the same concerns, of course. I myself have no intention of marrying a nag, a spoiled brat, or a weak-kneed fainter.”

Eleanor giggled. “Poppy is none of those things.”

“I’m already aware,” Nicholas said, grinning back. “Rest assured, I’ve perfectly logical reasons for marrying her.”

“Logic isn’t good enough.” Beatrice threw him a stern look.

“We Spinsters want men who are willing to make fools of themselves for love,” said Eleanor.

Beatrice nodded. “Men who’ve seen us at our worst and are still devoted to us.”

Nicholas restrained himself from rolling his eyes.

Eleanor patted his arm. “Just know that we’ll do everything we can to help Poppy get out of the betrothal if we think you’re not the man for her.”

“Thank you. I now consider myself educated—and warned.” He took both their elbows and led them across the street.

Beatrice leaned into him. “I forgot to mention, if you prove yourself to be the right man for Poppy, we’re very easy to get along with.”

“And if she doesn’t know yet that you’re the right man for her, we’ll help you. Just say the word.” Eleanor winked.

“That’s good to know, ladies. Not that I need help from interfering females.”

Beatrice gasped and hit him on the shoulder.

He chuckled. “You two are almost as unmanageable as Poppy.”

“Yes, we are,” Eleanor said. “And there she is!”

Straight ahead, pointing a pistol at a large Russian thug Nicholas recognized as one of Sergei’s bodyguards, was Poppy.

The bodyguard held the stableboy by the scruff of the neck.

“Put him down now,” Poppy was saying in a threatening voice. “Before I shoot you in the knees.”

“See? I told you she could take care of herself,” whispered Beatrice to Nicholas.

He wouldn’t call being caught in a conflict with a large thug at night an appropriate situation for a young lady to be in, but yes, he granted that Poppy appeared to be taking care of herself.

“I’m holding on to him until you drop that pistol,” the bodyguard cried. “He’s already kicked me in the privates twice!”

The stableboy’s legs flailed and he punched the air. “Put me down, you big lout!”

“Poppy!” cried Eleanor.

She threw them a brief glance. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you,” Nicholas said mildly. “Hand me the gun.”

“No, not until he puts the boy down.” She thrust the gun barrel toward the thug.

He sighed and dropped the stableboy, who promptly turned around and kicked him in the knee.

Poppy kept the barrel trained on the bodyguard as she transferred the gun to Nicholas. “This man,” she said in furious tones, “followed us from Prince Sergei’s demanding that I return, even though I’m clearly ill”—Nicholas thought she looked healthy as a horse—“and said if I didn’t go back posthaste, he was going to carry me back. Whereupon he picked up my dear stableboy, who was only defending me with those kicks, and who thankfully had the wherewithal to toss me the pistol before the thug got it.”

Nicholas had an odd feeling. That bodyguard didn’t exude menace to him. He appeared confused. Even frightened.

Nicholas put the pistol in his breeches and looked sternly at him. “Go home and tell your master that he’d best send a note of apology to the lady for the extreme distress you’ve caused her and her servant. Kidnapping will get you both deported.”

“My master didn’t want me to kidnap Lady Poppy,” the thug said in a heavy Russian accent, “just give her a ride home in a proper carriage. The footman said she was terribly ill. Prince Sergei might be a vain oaf, but he’s not evil.”

“Then why did he have all those … those awful people at the dinner party?” Poppy asked. She looked at Nicholas and her two best friends. “They were talking about daggers and sow’s blood. And they were much too familiar with me and each other—why, one woman had hair hanging in her face, and a man said he’d be the Antony to my Cleopatra! The corridor was wickedly gloomy, hardly any candles at all, and Prince Sergei kept trodding on my toes and nudging me with his knee.”

The brute drew in his chin. “The prince is a large man and the table was small. He was worried about fitting you and the entire theater troupe around it.”

“Theater troupe?” Poppy’s brows arched high.

“Yes,” said the bodyguard, “he hired them to entertain you. They were going to do a skit for you from Macbeth. That was to be the surprise. He had the corridor darkened to create the appropriate atmosphere.”

“Oh, my God,” Poppy whispered. “I told Sergei Macbeth is my favorite Shakespearean play.”

Eleanor and Beatrice both giggled, but Nicholas restrained himself from laughing. Poppy deserved the scare, he thought, going off and frightening him like that.

“It was all a great misunderstanding,” he said to the bodyguard. “Say nothing to Sergei about Lady Poppy’s concerns, and please thank him for his hospitality. I’ll make sure she gets home.”

CHAPTER 28

Her mother was the Pink Lady.

Poppy had had only ten seconds to look at the painting, but she would have recognized her mother in one second, much less ten.

Lady Derby was front and center in Revnik’s last portrait, dancing with Poppy’s father. She recognized the back of his head. She thought she might even have recognized his cuff links.

Viewing her parents’ romantic history forever captured on canvas was astounding … and gratifying. Seeing her mother’s face again—well, that alone was quite a shock. And a lovely, lovely surprise. So sweet, in fact, that she’d felt as if she’d had another moment with her mother, a fact she would cherish forever.

But then on top of all that deep emotion, she realized the painting she already adored was somehow involved