Page 44 of Rose and the Rogue
That was undoubtably true, for Poppy’s mother had accepted a much lower standard of living when she chose to marry a man in trade, moving to a cramped dwelling above the new shop. But she had done it happily, with a husband she truly loved.
“It’s not for Poppy herself,” Rose explained. “She’d pass the earnings on to her mother and stepfather. The new shop is succeeding, but costs are exceeding the income for the moment…or so I understand.” Rose was not versed in matters of business at all. “I’d hate to think that Poppy is helping me more than her own parents.”
Her father held silent, thinking. Then he said, “I see. Perhaps something can be done. Let me look into the matter. After all, it would be terrible to lose Poppy. She is such a great comfort to us all.”
“Thank you, Papa!” Rose hugged him, ever grateful that she had such a caring family.
* * * *
Upstairs, Poppy directed the servants where to put all the items they’d purchased that day. She was excited to make new dresses, and she knew exactly what to do for Rose’s gowns. Her ideas for her own wardrobe were a bit more muddled.
She picked up the letter from the top of the chest where Alice had placed it earlier that day. Recognizing Heather’s handwriting, she quickly broke the seal.
Dear Poppy,
Life with my uncle is getting worse than ever. He’s always pestering me to look pretty and proper when his old cronies come to the house for a visit, as if it matters what they think of me or I of them! They play cards in the parlor till all hours and Uncle is losing every time, I’m sure. He looks terrible in the mornings—not that I see him till practically noon, for he is no early riser. Whisky is certainly involved, and I do not like it.
I cannot wait until my birthday. It will be better than any of the previous twenty birthdays, for my gift will be freedom. Glorious freedom, when I’ll have control of my fortune and my future. I fully intend to move out and rent rooms somewhere so that I can be a spinster in peace! Perhaps near Wildwood Hall, so I can call upon Mrs. Bloomfield and borrow all the books in her library. I have decided that my family shall be three cats and two dogs. Possibly rabbits, but no men! They are more trouble than any devil. (Mr. Blake excepted, of course. And your stepfather, Mr. St. George, who was so nice when I met him. And I suppose the Duke of Lyon. And his friend Mr. Kemble, who was so helpful during that whole nasty business. But that is the absolute end of the list.)
How I whine! Forgive me, but I am quite sour at the world at the moment. I should have waited to write letters, that is certain. Don’t read this one aloud to Rose, please. I never want to distress her, and this is unpleasant talk. I shall write a letter to her that is all sunshine and gentleness, I promise. But not today! Today I am clouds and storm.
Please write to me and tell me what is going on. I’ve heard Rose has a thousand suitors. Can it be true? I hope so, for Rose deserves it. I think she is the sweetest of us (certainly I will not claim that title). Tell me all the news.
Much love,
Heather
Poppy folded the letter back up, staring thoughtfully into the distance. Heather was far away, and it had been too long since she and Rose had a proper visit. Perhaps something could be arranged. It would be good to have Heather about—though she claimed to be sour and stormy, Poppy knew her to be a fun and adventurous girl, always ready with a laugh and able to enliven any room she was in. Her uncle must be acting crotchety indeed to make Heather so upset.
Poppy was very fortunate to have Mr. Blake as her uncle. In fact, she was lucky in her whole family. Her stepfather was a kind and generous man, and her parents clearly adored each other. She was lucky that her aunt and uncle had offered her the position of Rose’s companion, which allowed both families to support each other in their way. Poppy’s and Rose’s mothers were sisters, and it was also fortunate that the decision of one of them to marry a tradesman did not impair their relationship. Poppy knew that some families of the upper classes had disowned members who went into trade or married into trade.
How silly, she thought. Trade was essential, and the upper classes relied upon it to get everything they prized so much. Secretly, Poppy suspected that jealousy was the root of the matter, for some in the growing middle class were wealthier than the gentry who despised them. Poppy’s father was not among those nouveau riche—not yet! But she had a comfortable life, surrounded by loving family, and she did not want any more than that.
Then why did she dream of going to new places, different places, and living a very different life than the one offered to her? It felt disrespectful to her family to even think of it, and such ideas left Poppy feeling like an ungrateful brat.
Moments later, Mr. Blake escorted Rose into the room, smiling at Poppy as he helped Rose to a chair. “Well, should I expect to see all new gowns by supper?”
“You mean summer, not supper!” Rose laughed. “Poppy’s a seamstress, not a sorceress. You’ll see the new gowns by summer.”
“And I’m sure you’ll both look lovely in them. I hope you two will relax before supper. All that running around London’s shops must exhaust a young lady.”
“No more than arguing in Chancery exhausts a gentleman,” Poppy returned gamely.
“Ah, it tires me out more than I care to admit. I look forward to the day I can finish this case and leave the city. It will be good for all of us,” he added with a slight frown.
Poppy wondered if he’d heard more rumors about Lord Norbury…such as a rumor that the viscount managed to be alone with Rose at Vauxhall for a little too long.
But Mr. Blake simply said he’d see them downstairs in the dining room, and left.
Before Poppy could mention Heather’s letter, Alice poked her head in conspiratorially. “A box for Miss Blake arrived this afternoon.” She placed it carefully on the table, as if it might hold an adder. The box was wooden, stamped with lettering in one of the languages used in India, though Poppy was not able to tell exactly which one. She’d seen similar script on some of the shipments of cotton and silk at the warehouse.
Alice went on, “Flowers are one thing, but this package looked a little more…special. I didn’t want Mrs. Blake to order it burned on the rubbish heap.”
“Good thinking, Alice.” Poppy reached for a folded paper on top of it. “There’s a note this time. Shall I read it, Rose?” she asked as the maid backed out of the room.
“I suppose,” Rose replied, clearly intrigued.
Poppy cleared her throat, reading, “‘I regret not being able to visit you in person in the past few days, and I hope the gifts provided some enjoyment in the absence of my own charming personality. Today’s gift is more practical. I hope that it will be of use to you tomorrow evening.’”
