Maybe they were better at hiding it, but Patrick knew exactly how the rest of the family felt. He snapped the clasp shut and tugged the heavy bag off the bed. “Poppy is the ringleader, but she’s got a loyal following.”
“We don’t have to see her,” Gwen said quietly. “I’ve got a lovely house on campus. You’ve seen it. It isn’t grand or fancy, but it’s big enough for us . . . if someday there is going to be an us.”
He turned away, uncomfortable with her pleading. She’d done the same while trying to win her unworthy husband away from his mistress, and Gwen was better than that. She shouldn’t grovel for any man.
Footsteps pounded downstairs and a voice called up from below. “Gwen, it’s time for horseshoes!”
She made no move to leave, and they watched each other from opposite sides of the room. This was it. This was the end. This fleeting summer interlude was over, and he wished there was another way, but it was better to get out now before they hurt each other even more.
“I’ll be in touch with Liam to lead him through the July board meeting,” he said. “If you need me to show him the ropes in Manhattan, just holler. I’ll help however I can.”
“Is there anything I can say to make you stay?” she asked. “Tell me, and I’ll say it.”
His spirit sagged. “Don’t ever beg, Gwen. You’re too good for that.”
He left the room without saying anything else, but the pain on her face haunted him long after he left the estate.
Gwen was too ill to eat after Patrick’s departure. The ferry wouldn’t leave until tomorrow morning, but Mr. Smitty rented rooms over the general store where Patrick could stay the night.
She ignored the horseshoe game on the beach and joined Liam at the picnic table. It was amazing how quickly conversation returned to normal after Patrick left. Chester went back to discussing a racehorse he wanted to buy, and Bertie pestered Edwin about a pricey antique he’d ordered.
“When am I going to see it?” Bertie asked. “I paid six hundred dollars for it.”
Edwin preened as he described the rare find for the group. “It’s a fifteenth-century flask from the Ming dynasty. It’s made of jade and very rare.”
“When can I see it?” Bertie pressed.
“Come by my townhouse when we’re back in the city,” Edwin said. “Maybe I can interest you in a Han dynasty funerary urn.” Edwin launched into a monologue about Chinese antiquities, but Poppy was bored and pulled an exaggerated stretch as she rose from the table.
“I shall go for a little stroll,” she said, cradling her belly. “The doctor says I must walk for twenty minutes a day before the little one arrives. And, Edwin, if you say one more word about the Han dynasty or any other, we are all in danger of falling into a catatonic stupor.”
Everyone except Liam laughed at the comment. Poppy was an undiluted snob, but her influence in the family would only become stronger once she gave birth to Oscar’s long-awaited heir. If Patrick was ever to marry into the Blackstone family, Poppy needed to be neutralized.
Gwen stood and put a hand on Liam’s shoulder. “Liam, would you like to see the eggs of a nesting sandpiper I found yesterday?”
He glanced at her. “Not really.”
She nudged him. “Are you sure? It’s quite interesting.”
He must have understood her intent, for he pushed away from the table and headed out after her. Poppy was a speck of pale pink muslin in the distance as she meandered on the path leading into a cluster of scrubby oaks.
“I can’t stand that woman,” Liam seethed.
“I can’t either, but we need to see that she is declawed.”
Liam snorted. “She’ll grow a new set within the hour.”
“I intend to appeal to her better nature. She can help smooth the way for you and Patrick to join the family. We need to persuade her to stop lobbing bombs at you both.”
Liam folded his arms across his chest. “Let her come after me. I don’t care that she’s a woman. I’ll return fire and blast that smug look off her face.”
“No, you won’t. That’s not the right way to handle this situation.”
Liam glowered. “It’s how I handle things.”
“Then you need to grow up,” Gwen said, turning to face him. “From the moment you arrived on my doorstep, half-dead, angry, and mistrustful, I accepted you. Now I need your help declawing Poppy, and to do that, we need to flatter her. I want you to appeal to her better nature and ask for her advice.”
He cursed and looked heavenward, but she wasn’t having it.
“I won’t let Poppy drive Patrick away. We need to get Poppy on our side, and frankly, it won’t be that hard. Ask for her help learning croquet. Praise her skills. She’ll like that.”
“I’d rather beat her with a croquet mallet than ask for her help with it.”
“Too bad. We both owe Patrick, and it’s time to start delivering.”
They cut across the dunes on their way toward Poppy. Trudging across the sandy dunes was slowgoing because Liam still had to move gingerly. In the past few days, it had been easy to forget how far he’d come in healing from the stab wound, but it was still tender. Even with Poppy’s slow, ponderous gait, it took them a while to catch up to her.
“Yo! Poppy, wait up,” Liam called as they drew close.
Poppy turned to look at them. With her wide-brimmed straw bonnet, she looked like a Gainsborough portrait as she watched them approach on the path through the long grasses. The cattails were chest high and swayed in the stiff breeze, brushing against Gwen’s skirts as they walked.
The path was only wide enough for two people, so Gwen dropped behind, watching in approval how Liam offered his arm to Poppy, letting the pregnant woman accept his help as they walked along the scrabbly path.
“I liked the way you beat Edwin at croquet,” Liam said, and Poppy preened.
“I won five dollars from him, and that’s not easy,” Poppy said. “Edwin takes sports very seriously.”
“I was hoping maybe you could give me some advice on the game. I hear you’re a champ when it comes to croquet.”
“You came to the right place,” Poppy said in satisfaction.
“Maybe you can help Patrick too,” Liam said. “Patrick is a good man, and you were pretty tough on him back there.”
“I had to be,” Poppy said. “Gwen is consorting with the help, and it’s tacky. I can’t imagine why Frederick doesn’t put his foot down.”
“You know that I can hear every word you say,” Gwen called.
Poppy tossed her a condescending glance over her shoulder. “Darling, I’m saying it for your own good. Patrick isn’t comfortable here. Everyone can see it. Poor Liam can’t help what happened to him, but he’s one of us and will blend into the fold eventually. Patrick never will. Oh look, wild blackberries.” She stepped in front of Liam toward a tangle of blackberry vines.
A loud crack and a bang echoed across the dunes. Gwen startled at the noise. “That sounded like a gunshot!”
Liam cursed. Poppy had fallen and started screaming.
“Hit the dirt,” Liam yelled. He grabbed Gwen’s arm, tugging her down.