Free Dukes to the Left of Me, Princes to the Right by Kieran Kramer

the princess said in a honey-thick Russian accent.
    “Oh, we’ll oblige,” Aunt Charlotte said, picked up her teacup, and left.
    Beatrice and Eleanor, too, picked up their cups and exited the room right behind her.
    “Wait!” Poppy called to them.
    But they shut the drawing room door, and she was alone with the princess and her two dogs.
    Natasha sat on the settee with them. “So,” she said, “you’re doing it again.”
    “What?”
    “What you did last night with those chamomiles in your hair. Calling attention to yourself, when really, you are better served blending in.”
    “I am?”
    “Only a rare few of us are meant to shine, Lady Poppy, and you are not one of them. But don’t despair. Yes, you’re to marry the Duke of Drummond, but no doubt he shall remove you to his estate in the north, where you can be a docile, almost invisible wife, which is your duty.”
    Poppy cringed inside. She did not want to be a docile, almost invisible wife to anyone. She must explain that she was not to marry the duke. But how could she?
    She’d no idea.
    “Yes,” she said vaguely. “We’re, um, betrothed, but you know how those things go. Can’t look too deeply into the future. Would you care for some tea?”
    “It’s much too early,” Natasha returned abruptly, and eyed the painting of St. Petersburg over the pianoforte. “My English contacts tell me you have a passion for my country, and now I see for myself that you do.”
    “I do my best,” Poppy said, “to learn about all the world’s cultures, although, yes, I have a special place in my heart for Russia.”
    And Sergei .
    Natasha leaned forward. “Tell me, when did this courtship between you and Drummond take place?”
    What a shame she’d changed the subject. Her courtship with Drummond was hardly Natasha’s business, but Poppy dared not tell her so. “I recently purchased a Russian icon that I’ve yet to hang on the wall,” she said instead. “Would you like to see it?”
    Natasha gave an impatient sigh. “I see icons in Russia all the time.”
    “Of course.” Poppy swallowed hard.
    Natasha appeared quite content to sit where she was. Forever, if need be, judging from the way she eased herself farther back into the settee. “You were about to tell me how you and Drummond came together.”
    Goodness gracious, Poppy thought, what was she to do? She’d have to make up a grand story, the way Cook did. She only wished she had a simmering pot to stir.
    “We met at the circulating library. I’ll never forget it.” She laid a hand on her breast. “My heart—”
    “I didn’t ask for maudlin details.” Natasha rolled her eyes. “Love has nothing to do with courtship, or at least it shouldn’t.” She stood, rather violently. “I came today to say that it’s unfortunate you’re involved with Drummond. I was beginning to think you should serve as one of my attendants at the Lievens’ ball, where my wretched brother and I are to unveil my uncle Revnik’s last masterpiece.”
    Poppy’s face flamed. Wretched was a strong word. And Sergei was her beloved. But she couldn’t very well defend him. Family matters were family matters. And she wasn’t in the family—yet.
    Nevertheless, perhaps she could serve as a mediator of sorts, remind Natasha of her brother’s good qualities. “Do you … do you and Sergei ride together?” she asked the princess. “Or play card games?”
    “Shut up about him.” Natasha curled her lip. “He makes me ill.”
    “W-why?”
    The princess scowled. “Isn’t it obvious?”
    Poppy gave a nervous shake to her head. “No. Not really.”
    Natasha gave a short laugh. “He is a brother. Brothers rot. ”
    “Oh.” Poppy raised a shaky hand to her breast. “I’m an only child. I’d no idea.”
    Drummond apparently despised his brother, too.
    The mere recollection of the duke’s existence brought to her mind his captivating sneer and condescending manner. Both made her palms itch to wring his