Page 110 of The Wallflower Takes All

Poppy followed his gaze. The cottage list lay visible beside her calculations.

His eyes returned to her face. “What is that?”

“Practicality.”

Gabriel crossed to the escritoire and looked down at the page without touching it. “A cottage,” he said.

“For Mama and me.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You mean to leave London?”

“I mean to prepare for the likely outcome.”

His gaze moved across the list. “Lady Vanover offered you rooms, did she not?”

“She did.”

“And you refused?”

“I cannot impose upon Bea indefinitely. Nor upon Georgie. Mama is not a temporary complication. She is a permanent one.”

That drew a reluctant breath of amusement from him.

Poppy smiled faintly. “Imagine her as a member of Lady Vanover’s household. She would take over Bea’s drawing room by the second day, fill the guest rooms by the third, and invite an orchestra before the week was out because she found the silence oppressive.”

“Yes. Lady Vanover might object,” he allowed.

“Bea would declare war.” Poppy looked down at her calculations. “I do not wish to lose one of my only friends—or my mother—because I failed to secure a match.”

“You did not fail,” Gabriel said quietly.

“Perhaps not yet.” Poppy smoothed the top page. “At any rate, a cottage is possible. Not ideal, perhaps, but possible. You said yourself Mama’s jointure may maintain us for some months if we live quietly.”

His brows drew together. “Will Lady Montague agree to live quietly?”

“No.”

The word escaped with such certainty that, despite everything, they both smiled.

Then Poppy’s smile slipped. “I shall have to persuade her.”

Gabriel’s gaze rested upon her face. “You should not have to carry all of this alone.”

His quiet certainty threatened the composure she had so carefully assembled. Poppy reached for the papers and aligned their edges. “It is easier if I know what must be done.”

The silence stretched. The curtains stood open to the dark street beyond, where carriage wheels rattled over the stones. She could not help but think that ladies and gentlemen would still be making their way toward Lady Lemonwood’s ball.

“You are not attending the Lemonwood ball,” Gabriel said as if reading her thoughts.

Poppy kept her attention upon the papers. “An impressive deduction.”

“Poppy.”

The use of her name undid the small defense she had built from courtesy.

She looked at him.

Gabriel’s face had changed. Beneath the calm, she saw anger gather—not at her, never at her, but on her behalf.