Dukes to the Left of Me, Princes to the Right

of her head at all the wretched goings-on, and her face must have been beet red, as well.

He got down on one knee. “Lady Poppy, I come to bestow upon you the magnificent honor of being my bride. I see it is the only way I can have you.”

Good God.

She had to restrain a giggle. He was the most conceited man she’d ever met. Once again, she wondered how she’d ever thought he was the only man who could ever tempt her to drop her membership in the Spinsters Club.

This was the moment she’d hoped for, the one that she’d thought would make her life perfect.

He was a Russian prince. Some might tell her she should instantly say yes. But the old pat excuse went running through her head …

Thank you, but I must decline. I love the Duke of Drummond.

Only this time, her explanation wasn’t some made-up story based on Cook’s outlandish tales. This time, her reason was genuine. Even in her misery, she recognized the irony of her situation, that the lie that had conveniently extricated her from so many unwanted betrothals now inflicted pain on her in its truth.

Sergei sniffed, a long, drawn-out sniff. “I can promise we’ll see very little of my eccentric sister and her husband. They’ll stay in England. We’ll make our home in Russia. I will enjoy making many babies with you, but you will pretend to be a Spinster every Saturday evening, no? It will be our game.”

And then his perfectly sculpted mouth stretched in a lecherous grin.

She slid off the stump. “Your Highness, thank you, but no, thank you. I really must be on my way.”

He grabbed her arm. “But Lady Poppy. I am a Russian prince!”

“Yes.” She smiled at him. “But you are a pompous Russian prince. You hum in the most awful manner when you should be quiet. You asked me to be your mistress and parade about naked with a parasol, and then you invited me to a terrifying party where all your guests got drunk and I was treated like a prisoner by your footman. Now you have the temerity to come after me on the road, as if I’ll fall at your feet and be grateful for your attentions. Spare me. I don’t want them.”

He angled his head. “You don’t?”

She exhaled a breath. “I’m in love with someone else.”

“Who?” He wore a babyish pout.

“The man marrying your sister. The Duke of Drummond, my former fiancé.”

Sergei scoffed. “He is but a duke.”

“I know,” she said, patting his arm. “But as you are selfish and vain, this should make you feel better—I can’t have him. So I shall continue being a Spinster. Probably forever.”

The prince kissed her hand. “If I can’t have you, I like knowing you’ll be a Spinster forever.”

“Ohhhh!” she cried, and stalked off.

“But Poppy! I love you!” he called after her.

“Not as much as you love yourself!” she cried over her shoulder, and clambered back into her carriage.

“Please leave right away,” she told the driver, her heart beating hard with fury and satisfaction.

The driver did just that, although it took some expert maneuvering to get around the prince’s coach-and-four. It was another hour to the cottage, long enough to muse on how much she’d changed since she’d met Nicholas. She was braver. More adventurous. And she certainly didn’t suffer fools lightly.

And now she was lonelier than she’d ever been in her life.

Aunt Charlotte was surprised to see her, of course, and then terribly concerned when Poppy relayed the entire story about Nicholas and Natasha. She also told her about Sergei’s rather indecent proposal of marriage.

Her aunt listened, and at the tawdry tale’s conclusion, patted her hand. “You came to the right place. We’ll be secluded here. I’ll make you tea and cakes and—”

“No Bath buns, please.” Poppy was adamant on that point.

They’d remind her too much of Nicholas and that walk they’d taken trying to lure the gander back to his pond, as well as the impromptu “Bath bun” Nicholas had given her afterward.

Too many things reminded her of him.

Late that afternoon Aunt Charlotte quietly netted a bag while Poppy attempted to immerse herself in Clarissa. She was failing miserably, so when a knock sounded at their door, she was happy for the diversion.

A moment later, a manservant came to the sitting room. “Lord Eversly to see you, ladies. Shall I allow him in?”

“Certainly,” said Aunt Charlotte.

Poppy was a bit stunned.

Lord Eversly, carrying two large bouquets of flowers, strode into their small sitting room, exuding good cheer.

Poppy laid her book aside on a low table and stood. “Lord Eversly. This is a surprise.”

He smiled warmly, which was a balm to her sad heart. “I hope a good surprise.” He handed her a bouquet full of red roses.

“Thank you,” she said, entirely flummoxed.

“My pleasure,” he said, and handed the other bouquet, filled with daisies and other charming flowers, to Aunt Charlotte.

Aunt Charlotte beamed. “We’re thrilled to see you, Eversly. Welcome to the countryside of Kent.”

Thrilled.

Of course, Poppy had to think of Nicholas at that moment.

Lord Eversly bowed low over Aunt Charlotte’s hand. “Such a pleasure to see you, my good lady. Your brother sends his compliments.”

Poppy froze. Lord Eversly had gone to see her father?

There was an awkward silence.

“Tea?” she asked him.

“Later, perhaps,” he said politely, then turned to Aunt Charlotte. “Would you mind if your niece took me on a tour of the garden?”

Aunt Charlotte shot Poppy a meaningful look, which Poppy ignored. There was absolutely no possibility the earl had romantic intentions toward her. She’d already declined him. Surely he wouldn’t try to win her again.

“Lady Poppy?” Lord Eversly eyed her hopefully. “Would you care to go with me?”

“Certainly,” she said, a trifle hesitant, although she wasn’t sure why.

Outside they wandered through rows of rosebushes.

Lord Eversly stopped near a charming fountain of an angel. “Lady Poppy, I shall get right to the heart of the matter. As I have expressed to your father in a visit to him this morning, I care for you very much. When I heard Drummond is to marry the Russian princess, my heart told me that perhaps it was not too late … for me.”

He gave her a meaningful look.

She inhaled a breath. She’d no idea what to say, so she thought hard for a moment.

“Lord Eversly,” she said eventually, “I’m flattered by your offer. And I’ll be happy to give you my answer at the Lievens’ ball … if you can wait that long.”

For a brief second, he appeared taken aback, but then he recovered. “Of course,” he said warmly. “I’ll be happy to wait until the first waltz. But until that time, I’d like to leave you with a memory I hope shall sway you.”

He took her in his arms and kissed her. The kiss wasn’t particularly chaste, either. He kissed her thoroughly and well.

When he pulled back, he searched her face.

She forced herself to give him a little smile.

“Think about it,” he said. “I’ll make you a good husband. We can be happy together.”

“Yes,” Poppy whispered. “I’ll think about it.”

She’d felt nothing when he’d kissed her, nothing but an awareness of his sweet nature. But having a kind husband was a good thing, was it not?

The rest of his visit passed pleasantly enough. He stayed for dinner and told them he had plans to spend the