While the Duke Was Sleeping (The Rogue Files #1)(20)

“I will eventually. Once you let me out of this room and away from that watchdog Mrs. Gibbons.”

Poppy shuddered and resisted telling her that would never happen.

“I suppose you’re never going to tell me about this mysterious Struan Mackenzie, then?”

“I am not. Because there is nothing to tell.”

Bryony sighed. “So you say.”

Poppy stifled a smile. Apparently Bryony was not as unclever as she claimed. She knew there was more to tell, and she sensed that Poppy wasn’t telling it.

After a few moments, she rose to her feet. “I’m going downstairs to get something to eat.”

“I suppose I’ll join you. I haven’t anything better to do.” She rolled her eyes dramatically. “As usual.” Bryony flounced ahead of her out of their room.

As far as Poppy was concerned, her sister wouldn’t have anything better to do for a good many years. Especially as her sister’s idea of something better involved all manner of activity unfit for a young lady of fifteen.

It was a healthy reminder. She needed to keep her priorities straight. She needed to stop engaging in silly fantasies. As soon as this matter with the Duke of Autenberry was straightened out, she would forget about him. Her mind flashed to another face. Moss green eyes. Lips tantalizing even when hard and unsmiling. A deep Scottish brogue.

Yes. She would forget about him, too.





Chapter 8




The next morning Poppy arrived early at Barclay’s to make up for missing yesterday afternoon. Not that she feared reprisal for her absence. Mrs. Barclay had, after all, insisted she accompany the duke home and the woman, above all, was always exceedingly fair with Poppy. The one time Bryony had been sick for two days with a terrible ague she hadn’t blinked an eye over Poppy’s absence, insisting she nurse her sister and not become ill herself.

Even so, Mrs. Barclay was already there, bustling around the shop and setting everything to order for the day. Jenny did not always leave things the most tidy when it was her turn to close up for the day.

“How is the duke? Is he well?” Mrs. Barclay asked anxiously, stepping forward as Poppy entered the shop.

Poppy reached for one of the fresh pinafores hanging from a hook in the back room. “I haven’t seen him since early last evening. I stayed as you suggested—”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Mrs. Barclay waved her hand anxiously, encouraging her to keep talking, clearly not concerned over Poppy’s absence. “He is awake, then?”

“When I left him, no, he was not awake.” She exhaled a shaky breath. “The physician said the longer he slept, the less likely it is that he shall ever wake.”

Mrs. Barclay shook her head sadly. “How dreadful. Well, take these.” She reached for a bouquet of fresh tulips sitting near the counter. “Deliver these personally this morning and see how the duke fares. Offer our sympathies and see if there is anything else that we can do.”

Poppy hesitated. While she appreciated the sentiment, she hated to intrude on the family. And what precisely did Mrs. Barclay think they could do? He was surrounded by loved ones and receiving the best of care.

She had nursed her father in the last couple weeks of his life and it was terribly awkward whenever someone called upon them. She knew they meant well, but being forced to attend them in the parlor whilst she could be looking after her father or the household or shepherding her sister (who was in chronic need of shepherding) was the height of discomfort.

“You want me to leave? Right now?” She glanced around. “What about the shop—”

“It will be fine. Jenny will be here in a little while. Lord Autenberry is our most loyal patron. I won’t be remiss in our respects. You must go and represent Barclay’s so that when—” she paused and winced slightly “—if he recovers, he shall hold our shop only in greater esteem.”

“Of course, Mrs. Barclay.” Poppy inclined her head and avoided pointing out the self-serving nature of her employer’s motivation. She knew Mrs. Barclay was not an unfeeling woman. However, she was also a businesswoman with an infirm husband to look after. Poppy could not fault her.

She deposited a coin in Poppy’s hand for fare and shooed at her with her hands. “Go now. Off with you.”

In a matter of minutes, Poppy was in a hack and on her way to the Duke of Autenberry’s home. Again.

She clasped the fragrant bouquet between her fingers and inhaled its delicate scent. She tried not to let where she was going fill her with panic. A difficult feat knowing everyone in that house believed her to be someone she was not. She was perpetuating a lie. Living a lie. She wasn’t certain how severe the offense ranked in the grand scheme of offenses. Surely she couldn’t go to Newgate for such a thing? Sudden fear pumped hard in her veins. What, then, would become of Bryony?

She reined in her racing thoughts. She needed to compose herself before she succumbed to a fit of apoplexy. She’d never succumbed to such fits before but there was a first time for everything. She gazed out the window.

It was still early and the streets weren’t too crowded. An icy gray draped the air. The hack made excellent time to the duke’s residence, and she was soon standing before the grand double doors of his town house, gripping the bouquet in suddenly sweating palms, her breath fogging in front of her. Yesterday seemed almost a dream, when the Autenberry clan had welcomed her so warmly. Surely today they would see the error of their ways and adopt Struan Mackenzie’s attitude toward her and expel her from their orbit.