That Poppy Dashwood had actually managed to find an opportunity for her family to host a hunt, as she’d promised him more than half a year ago, was as hilarious as it was impressive. Not that a winter hunt was particularly shocking in itself, but Kristoffer preferred to think she just had everyone wrapped around her little finger and, as such, had concocted all this herself for some nefarious ulterior motives.
Like meeting her precious Charles, or whatever. He could only assume that was why he’d been invited to stay – you know, as if he ever questioned anyone’s good taste in inviting him anywhere. Still, although seeing Poppy Dashwood was as much a quiet priority this weekend as his usual (more brazen) aim of enjoying himself no matter the cost, at first thing in the morning, shockingly Miss Dashwood hadn’t yet crossed his mind.
Mostly because Kristoffer hadn’t hauled himself up out of the bed yet, and was lazing around in the guest room in a half-awake morning doze. He heard the knock on the door and rolled onto his side, hardly bothering to open his eyes at it. “Come in,” he called blearily, kneading his temple before craning his neck to catch a glimpse of the nearest clock. Still early. Presuming it was a maid or a footman come to light the fire or some chore or deliver some mundane morning message about breakfast, Kristoffer propped a cushion behind his head and sat up slightly in bed to see just what they wanted.
Like meeting her precious Charles, or whatever. He could only assume that was why he’d been invited to stay – you know, as if he ever questioned anyone’s good taste in inviting him anywhere. Still, although seeing Poppy Dashwood was as much a quiet priority this weekend as his usual (more brazen) aim of enjoying himself no matter the cost, at first thing in the morning, shockingly Miss Dashwood hadn’t yet crossed his mind.
Mostly because Kristoffer hadn’t hauled himself up out of the bed yet, and was lazing around in the guest room in a half-awake morning doze. He heard the knock on the door and rolled onto his side, hardly bothering to open his eyes at it. “Come in,” he called blearily, kneading his temple before craning his neck to catch a glimpse of the nearest clock. Still early. Presuming it was a maid or a footman come to light the fire or some chore or deliver some mundane morning message about breakfast, Kristoffer propped a cushion behind his head and sat up slightly in bed to see just what they wanted.
