Free Poppy by M.C. Beaton Page B

staff, which can be bewildering to most people. You now belong to this society, since you married my nephew, and I suggest you accustom yourself to it as soon as possible. You must be open and honest and ask me any questions you like. My mother and myself will be only too glad to instruct you. Don’t bristle, girl. You surely do not want to spend the rest of your life living with your own servants, as you will no doubt have them when you set up your own establishment with Freddie.”
    He suddenly smiled down into her eyes, and Poppy felt only that she wanted to get away from this man who made her feel so elated, so frightened at the same time.
    “Good night,” she said suddenly, and ran for the stairs.
    “Mrs. Plummett!” came the cool and mocking voice below her.
    She faltered, stopped, and turned around.
    “If you could not find your way down,” he said, mounting the stairs slowly toward her, “then I doubt very much if you will be able to find your way back. I will conduct you to your room.”
    “Hugo!”
    Freda had come out of the drawing room on the first-floor landing and was staring down at him.
    “What are you doing, darling?”
    “Escorting Mrs. Plummett to her room,” the duke said, tucking Poppy’s nerveless hand under his arm and leading her up toward Freda.
    “Well, really, Hugo. You are neglecting your guests shamefully. One of the servants can show her. That is, if you can find one of the servants. We had to ring the bell for about fifteen minutes before that Stammers deigned to appear with the chicken sandwiches. I took it upon myself to have a sharp word with him.”
    “You did, did you…” said the duke in a light voice that nonetheless held a hard edge. He ignored the fact that Poppy was trying to tug her hand free. “Then as soon as I see Mrs. Plummett to her quarters, I shall take it upon myself to have a word with
you
, Freda.”
    He escorted Poppy past her and on up the next flight of stairs while Freda turned on her heel and stalked back into the drawing room.
    Poppy glanced up at the duke nervously, for she sensed he was angry, but he met her glance with an amused smile and tapped her hand lightly with his own.
    “Ah, Mrs. Plummett, now you must see what I mean. You cannot go on seducing my servants from their duties.”
    “I didn’t mean no harm,” said Poppy. “We’re friends, ain’t we?”
    He stopped and looked down at her long and consideringly. “Yes, Mrs. Plummett,” he said at last. “I think we are.”
    Poppy felt a sudden lighthearted rush of happiness. Freddie would be so pleased that his formidable uncle liked her, and that was the only reason she was so happy. There was, after all, no other reason. She was a married woman.
    A very married woman, she thought rather sadly after she said good night to the duke again and walked through her sitting room and pushed open the bedroom door.
    The servants had undressed Freddie and put him to bed. He was snoring quite horribly, and the room reeked of the stale smell of beer.
    Poppy looked at him for a long while, and then began to prepare herself for bed. “Oh, nights of love, Oh, nights of passion,” she sang, then realized what it was she was singing and stopped abruptly, gave a little sigh, and climbed into bed beside her husband.
    Poppy was fully awake when a pale rose dawn flooded the room and the birds chirped noisily in the ivy. Freddie was a champion snorer. He did not keep to the same repetitive sound but played many variations on the original theme. He whistled, he roared, he gasped, he grunted. Poppy had tried pushing him onto his side, but he kept rolling back again, and each time the snores became louder.
    She climbed from the bed and walked over to the window and looked out. A light, silvery frost was already melting from the grass and trees. She opened the window and leaned out, breathing in the morning smells of clean air and woodsmoke.
    Suddenly she felt she could not stay in the room any longer.
    She