Poppy Appeal Quotes

Didn’t he have to admit, begrudgingly, that in some extra-perverse corner of his brain the idea of having to be out of town before sundown appealed to him? New Orleans had been the only constant thing in his life. But didn’t he yet an itchy foot sometimes, didn’t he sometimes think about just throwing all his stuff in his car and going? Of course he did. Everybody did, even normal people, the ones with triple mortgages and orthodontists’ bills and responsibilities to everything except what they really wanted.

Why aren’t you betrothed to anyone?” he asked with startling directness. “You’ve been out in society for two, three years?” “Three,” Poppy said, feeling more than a little defensive. “Your family is one of means—one would assume you have a generous dowry on the table. Your brother is a viscount—another advantage. Why haven’t you married?” “Do you always ask such personal questions of people you’ve just met?” Poppy asked in amazement. “Not always. But I find you . . . interesting.” She considered the question he had put to her, and shrugged. “I wouldn’t want any of the gentlemen I’ve met during the past three years. None of them are remotely appealing.” “What kind of man appeals to you?” “Someone with whom I could share a quiet, ordinary life.” “Most young women dream of excitement and romance.” She smiled wryly. “I suppose I have a great appreciation for the mundane.” “Has it occurred to you that London is the wrong place to seek a quiet, ordinary life?” “Of course. But I’m not in a position to look in the right places.” She should have stopped there. There was no need to explain more. But it was one of Poppy’s failings that she loved conversation, and like Dodger facing a drawer full of garters, she couldn’t resist indulging. “The problem began when my brother, Lord Ramsay, inherited the title.” The stranger’s brows lifted. “That was a problem?” “Oh, yes,” Poppy said earnestly. “You see, none of the Hathaways were prepared for it. We were distant cousins of the previous Lord Ramsay. The title only came to Leo because of a series of untimely deaths. The Hathaways had no knowledge of etiquette—we knew nothing of the ways of the upper classes. We were happy in Primrose Place.” She paused to sort through the comforting memories of her childhood: the cheerful cottage with its thatched roof, the flower garden where her father had tended his prized Apothecary’s Roses, the pair of lop-eared Belgian rabbits who had lived in a hutch near the back doorstep, the piles of books in every corner. Now the abandoned cottage was in ruins and the garden lay fallow. “But there’s never any going back, is there,” she said rather than asked.

She frowned, and the effect was so pretty he wondered if he was going mad. Why did he find this cranky, kooky woman so damned appealing? He knew for a fact he could go out tonight and drag home some hot, willing chick who would stroke his ego and never argue with him about anything. He closed his eyes and remembered just how good that felt. Willing women; god bless them.

Poppy McKeever hoped with a passion that she was dreaming. Her family was sitting around the kitchen table looking at her, their faces full of smiling expectation, yet she felt nothing. She looked at each of them in turn, willing herself to feel something – anything – so she could join their happy trio. Her dad was treating her to his full-wattage BBC beam, her stepmother’s cerulean blue eyes were appealing for her approval and her brother was fidgeting on his chair, barely able to keep a lid on his excitement. And still she felt nothing. She chewed her bottom lip and wondered how best to break the news. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said at last. ‘I’m not going.’ Her dad and stepmother exchanged a look and Charlie stood up so quickly his chair rocked back and landed on the tiled floor with a clatter that sent Magpie, their overweight black and white cat, scurrying for cover. Poppy used the diversion to sneak another look at the estate agent’s brochure on the table. The pictures showed a cottage sitting