Page 106 of The Wallflower Takes All

“Why?” Poppy asked.

“It is unbalanced.”

Poppy looked at the urn. Lord Crampton’s latest flowers still overflowed from it. Freddie sat beneath them, chewing a fallen petal and looking pleased with his contribution to household beauty.

“The urn has stood there since before Algernon was born,” Mama said.

“His lordship found it unbalanced during his last visit.”

“Perhaps Algernon was standing crookedly,” Mama suggested.

“Mama.”

“What?” Mama shrugged. “It is possible.”

Mr. Pritchard consulted his notes. “His lordship further requests that lemons not be placed in any room he is expected to occupy and that the portrait in the study be moved to the north wall.”

“Which portrait?” Poppy asked.

“The late viscount’s.”

The words struck sharply.

Poppy looked toward Papa’s portrait. She could not see it, but she’d memorized it. The laughing face. The careless charm. The reminder of a life that had ended before Poppy understood how much it had protected.

Mama went still beside her. Only for a moment. Then she lifted her glass and smiled too brightly. “Well. Algernon has always disliked being looked at by men with better hair.”

Poppy swallowed. “Nothing is to be moved today,” she said.

Mr. Pritchard hesitated. “Miss Montfort?—”

“Lord Montague arrives in five days. Until then, Lady Montague remains in residence. You may place the snuff cabinet somewhere discreet and measure whatever passages require measuring, but the portrait stays where it is.”

Mr. Pritchard studied her.

Poppy held his gaze.

At last, he bowed. “As you wish, miss.”

Mama drifted toward the snuff cabinet and opened one compartment. “Do you suppose he labels them? Morning melancholy. Afternoon pomposity. Evening reflections upon curtains.”

Poppy pressed her lips together.

She tried not to laugh.

She did regardless.

It escaped as a short, helpless sound, and once it began, she could not quite stop it. Perhaps because the alternative was shouting. Perhaps because five days from now Algernon would stand in this hall as master, and Poppy could do nothing about it.

Or perhaps because Gabriel had taught her that laughter could feel less like a disguise and more like a small rebellion she was still permitted to keep.

Mama glanced at her and smiled.

For one brief, tender moment, affection tightened Poppy’s throat.

Then Freddie walked up, inserted his snout, and sneezed into the snuff cabinet. Mr. Pritchard appeared ready to tender his resignation, and Mama laughed so hard she nearly spilled her drink.

Poppy laughed too.