Chapter Five Return of the Prodigal Daughter #2
Once, on a picnic, Cassandra had removed her bonnet. “Careful, Cassandra,” Olivia had snickered. “Too much sun and you’ll become as dark as Poppy!”
If they had been bold enough to say such things to Poppy’s face, then she was certain they had said far worse, especially when they’d giggled and whispered to each other and refused to let her in on the joke. All three of them had known that Poppy was the punch line. But no longer.
“Of course,” Poppy drawled. “How could I forget?”
The two of them stared at Poppy, but she held their gazes. The girl who had shrunk under their insults was gone. This time when Cassandra and Olivia whispered to each other, there was no giggling.
Good.
In that same manner, the Sutherlands greeted two more families: the Whitecliffs, led by the Earl, Lord Arthur, with his heir Andrew and his younger twin sons, Augustus and Alexander, and then the Viscount Gerald Alderfort, with his wife and heir, James.
His daughter, Geraldine, had married a minor lord in Welkland after graduating from Thornhaven a few years ago and rarely visited.
Only three seats remained empty. Before anyone could remark on their absence, the butler announced that the Montroses had arrived.
The Marquess, Lord William Montrose, entered first. Time had not been as harsh on the Montrose patriarch as it had been on Clarence.
The only indication of his age was that his thick golden hair had now turned silver, even his eyebrows and well-kept beard.
Beside him stood his wife, Lady Elizabeth Montrose.
She was nearly unchanged, save for a new set of wrinkles and strands of white running through her chestnut bun.
“Lord Montrose,” Clarence said. “Glad you could make it.”
“A pleasure,” Lord Montrose agreed.
Then their son walked in, and their voices fell away as Poppy’s focus locked on him.
Here at last was Richard Montrose II: high society’s golden boy, the youngest captain on the Marnapur police force in history, and, if the Miss Marnapur magazine that Catherine had regularly mailed Poppy throughout her time at Thornhaven was to be believed, the most eligible bachelor on the island.
If Poppy wished to anchor herself to society, there was no stronger rock she could choose than Richard.
She sized him up discreetly, peeking through her lashes.
She hadn’t had much cause to interact with Richard when they’d been children, save for rare encounters when she visited Catherine.
While Poppy’s change had been a metamorphosis, Richard had only become more himself.
His sandy-blond hair had deepened into a rich gold, and the freckles that had once dusted his nose and soft cheeks had given way to perfect, marble skin, with a jawline and cheekbones that could have made a sculpture weep.
Even his personality had grown stronger over the years.
His friendly, boyish nature had translated into masculine confidence that made one avert their eyes in respect, the same way one never looked directly at the sun in all its brilliance.
Despite his noble disposition, he wasn’t cold or haughty.
He smiled warmly at the other guests, even offering young Edward IV a brisk handshake that left the younger boy starry-eyed.
Poppy could see why his superiors had taken to him so quickly, promoting him not once but thrice in the last seven years.
In a way, he reminded her of the man her father had been when she’d left: vital, ambitious, and intelligent. Miss Marnapur had not led her astray—if there was ever a man to take as husband, it was this one.
At that moment, Richard turned and caught Poppy staring. She met his gaze, then immediately dropped her eyes, feigning bashfulness. Gawping is unladylike, the Hawk had instructed, but when it comes to gentlemen, a little eye contact goes a long way.
Richard pulled out the chair closest to Poppy. Her skin warmed under her dress in response. She inhaled, remaining calm and smiling demurely at him before focusing on her plate.
The first course arrived quickly: a fresh salad of dark-green leaves mixed with nuts and sweet oranges, tossed in bitter dressing.
As was custom, the table waited for the duke to take the first bite before diving in.
The conversation flowed as easily as the wine and food.
A lamb roast followed the salad, which was succeeded by sweet rice pudding for dessert.
For the most part, the men carried the conversation.
How interesting, that this dinner was meant to honor my return, and yet no one wants to hear from me, Poppy thought, but she held her tongue, determined to make the best impression on Richard.
He was quiet, too, speaking only when spoken to.
His humility was a pleasant surprise, especially given his accomplishments, but she wished he’d speak more, to give her clues on how to win him.
Eventually, Lord Montrose insisted that Richard tell the other guests about a major breakthrough in a case he’d been working on. Richard hesitated, then relented.
“I can’t say much right now, as the investigation is ongoing,” he cautioned, “but I have good cause to believe that there’s a web of organized crime in Viryana that seeks to corrupt Welkland through the drug trade.”
Disconcerted murmurs broke out around the table.
“Is it related to the Jackal?” Lady Olivia asked, wide-eyed, causing a second round of chatter.
Poppy blinked, confused but unwilling to expose her ignorance.
However, Richard turned to her anyway, explaining, “Since you’ve been gone, a criminal who identifies himself as ‘the Jackal’ has risen to notoriety.
He’s responsible for various grifts, extorting the poor, dealing in contraband, committing murder and arson.
What makes him so difficult to catch, however, is the complexity behind his schemes.
We estimate his network to include over two hundred people, which would make him the head of the largest organized crime setup in the city, if not the island. ”
“Crime has certainly spiked,” Lord Alderfort said meaningfully. “It was never like this before, was it, Your Grace?”
Poppy recognized the thinly veiled accusation as easily as her father.
“Crime rates have gone up with the population,” he replied, lifting one brow.
“Any man who understands numbers will understand this. As the poverty rate has increased, resources are stretched thin. We need to have a firm hand with these people, just as the Founder would have done.”
The Founder was the first Welkish king. Before he’d united Welkland under his banner, the people on the continent had lived in motley villages and towns, with limited trade or interaction.
His writings described how he’d rallied the people, flushing out those who wielded the “unnatural and arcane” practice of magic as a means of oppressing and dividing the common folk.
With such inequality gone, he raised Welkland to a free society where everyone had a purpose and a place.
In the absence of magic, new advancements in medicine and industrialization abounded, allowing Welkland to develop exponentially.
His teachings became a manifesto for his successors, who followed one of the final instructions in the book like a commandment: To go and shape other nations in the world so that they might resemble the utopia of Welkland.
Talk of the Founder jostled something in Poppy’s brain. She glanced at Richard, at the red stripe of his captain’s uniform, then took a deep breath. “If I may, my lords.”
The rest of the room turned to stare, but Poppy continued.
“The Founder writes that crime is the hobby of an idle man. Instead of using his energy and talent to contribute to a greater society, he uses it to benefit himself. We ought to encourage these men to make better use of themselves than such selfish pursuits.”
“And how do you propose we do that, Miss Sutherland?” This question came, as Poppy hoped it might, from Richard. He held her gaze, interest clear in his blue eyes.
“We ought to penalize indolence,” she replied, speaking directly to him. “On the drive home, I saw so many men lounging in the streets, unoccupied. These men ought to be fined for loitering. That will motivate them to find other, more productive places to be.”
Poppy finished her speech, taking a bite of rice pudding in an attempt to erase the foul taste on her tongue.
Her suggestion was repulsive—not to mention illogical.
The solution to unemployment was not to strip those without income of whatever little funds they might have.
But to this audience, poverty was a crime, a moral failing meant to reassure them about the integrity of their own immense wealth while others went without.
Punishment would appeal to them, even if it didn’t solve the problem.
Her mouth still tasted bitter. Poppy recalled her earlier determination. If there is no place for me at this table, I will carve it out myself. No matter what it took.
She picked up her spoon and took another bite of her rice pudding, hyperaware of Richard’s eyes roving over her face.
She resisted the urge to fidget. The Hawk had beaten that behavior out of her during her first few months at Thornhaven, but between her ugly words and Richard’s gaze, the impulse resurfaced in full force.
Finally, his lips curled upward. “An interesting solution,” Richard allowed, and Poppy could have sworn that a hint of admiration laced his tone.
She tentatively smiled back, then ducked her head again. Poise is a must in a lady, the Hawk had preached, but there is a fine line between being self-assured and being arrogant.