While the Duke Was Sleeping (The Rogue Files #1)(70)

He reached for her hand, frowning and appearing suddenly alert. “What is wrong, Poppy? You agreed this morning—”

“No.” She shook her head and slid her hand free.

The dowager stood and rushed to her side. “What do you mean? Is it because of me? Am I overwhelming you with wedding plans? I can stop.”

“She does tend to be overbearing,” Lady Enid interjected dryly, stabbing at a bit of potato on her plate and bringing it to her mouth to chew.

The dowager nodded in dogged agreement. “I do.”

“No. No, it’s not that. I’m sorry all of this has become so complicated. I’m not His Grace’s fiancée. I never was. He never proposed to me. Well, not until this morning, that is.”

“What?” The dowager duchess swung to glare at her stepson as though he were somehow responsible for this matter. “Of course he proposed to you before today.”

“No! He didn’t . . . he wouldn’t have. I made it all up. I’m a mere shopgirl. Your stepson and I have never been romantically involved. I work in Barclay’s flower shop. That is the only way he knows me. As the shopgirl that sells him flowers. I saved his life that day, but that’s all. That’s the only bit of truth that I’ve said to you, and I’m so very sorry for deceiving you.”

Everyone gaped. Lady Enid glared, actually looking unfriendly. Lord Strickland shook his head, looking disappointed. Presumably with her.

As for Bryony, Poppy couldn’t meet her gaze. She wasn’t prepared for the hatred she knew she would find there. She would be lucky if her sister even accompanied her home. She wouldn’t want to leave this place, but she wouldn’t have a choice. The Autenberry clan would hardly want to keep Bryony considering what Poppy had done.

“I’m sorry. Truly. You’ve all been so kind to me. You treated me as one of your own and I’ll always be grateful to you for that.” She shook her head and sucked back a sob. She inched away from the table, pausing at the dining room threshold, her grand skirts swishing with a whisper on the air. “I’ll pack now.”

She fled, glad to escape. She felt only relief in that moment. That confrontation wasn’t as hard as she feared. Staying, living a farce, that would have been immensely more difficult.

“Poppy! Wait.”

Stopping, she turned to face the duke striding toward her. She braced herself, squaring her shoulders. His handsome face was locked in a scowl.

“This is because of him? You’re throwing everything away for him? That degenerate?”

She flinched and had to resist an angry rebuttal. Lacing her hands together in front of her, she managed an even tone. “You don’t know your brother at all, Your Grace.” Her voice rang with satisfying conviction.

He stared at her for a moment. For the first time, he looked a little uncertain as he gazed at her. “You really believe that?”

“Yes. And if you did, you would want him in your life. You’d regret the lost years and try to make up for them.” She moved away, stopping to add, “Someday I hope you have that chance.”

The chance she wouldn’t have. The chance she had lost.

Poppy wasn’t certain if she ever really had such a chance. She’d never presented her true self to him, so had there ever been any hope for them?

Almost as though he could read her mind, he uttered, “Struan Mackenzie is my father’s by-blow. My father abandoned him.” His jaw clenched at this admission. “There is no component of that scenario in which my half brother and I could be friends.”

Poppy shook her head, feeling immensely sad for the duke right then. “You’re better than that . . . than this.”

“And now you think you know me?” He angled his head. “They’re right about you. You see the good in everyone. You even managed to fall in love with my brother.” He snorted. “While I was sleeping, no less, and according to everyone, you spent the majority of your time sitting vigil at my bedside. Impressive feat. I have to hand it to him, he works fast.”

“It wasn’t like that. It isn’t.”

He shook his head. “It’s fine. I’m not angry.” He gestured for her to continue on. “Go, Poppy. Live your life. I wish you well.”

Turning, he walked away. She watched him for a moment. There was something lost about him—the duke she thought had everything. He was as sad as she was.



A little over an hour passed before Bryony entered Poppy’s chamber.

Poppy turned, halting her packing as her sister strolled into the room. Facing her, she squared her shoulders and braced herself for the verbal barrage she was certain would come. She would deserve no less.

She had just destroyed her sister’s chance for a privileged future as the sister to a duchess. All the advantages, all the opportunities such an existence could bring, were gone, lost because she couldn’t bring herself to marry a rich, handsome duke.

Because she was in love with his brother . . . a man who clearly didn’t love her back.

She waited, ready for her sister to call her selfish. Ready and willing to accept all the names she would hurl upon her head.

Bryony propped her hands on her hips and glanced at Poppy’s open valise and the clothing strewn about the bed. “Can I help you pack?”

She could say nothing for some moments. Poppy only watched as her sister stepped forward and began folding her stockings and tucking them inside the valise.