Page 12 of The Wallflower Takes All

The realization lodged somewhere it had no business being.

He had come here to bring the matter to order, not to notice that Miss Poppy Montfort had been fighting a war with ink and ledgers while the rest of the household drank champagne before noon.

“I will need several hours,” he said.

“Today?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” She glanced toward the door, no doubt thinking of Lady Viva, the wine merchant, whoever else waited in the hall, and the poet dying in the sitting room. “Of course.”

“You need not remain,” he assured her. “I can review accounts without assistance.”

“I am certain you can.” She smiled. “But the accounts cannot explain themselves, and they are notorious liars.”

He should have sent her away. He meant to send her away. Instead, he gestured to the chair across from the desk. “Very well.”

She sat.

Freddie scratched at the door until Jenkins admitted him. The puppy trotted in, inspected Gabriel with suspicion, then settled beneath Miss Montfort’s chair as though he were keeping watch.

For the next hour, Gabriel reviewed the Montfort affairs while Miss Montfort answered questions with unnerving frankness.

Yes, the wine merchant was still owed too much. No, Lady Viva had not understood how much. Yes, the milliner had been patient, but only because Miss Montfort had promised partial payment. No, the late viscount’s remaining settlement had not been large. Yes, the entire estate belonged now to the heir. No, Lady Viva did not like to discuss the heir. Miss Montfort did not like to discuss him either.

She spoke quickly, sometimes too quickly, filling the silence before it could harden into judgment.

At one point, she said, “I know it looks dreadful.”

Gabriel did not answer immediately. He was studying the figures.

“It is dreadful,” he said at last.

Her mouth opened, then closed.

He looked up. “That is not an indictment, Miss Montfort. It is a fact. Facts are useful.”

“I have rarely found dreadful facts useful,” she replied evenly.

He inclined his head. “They are preferable to pretty lies.”

She gave him a small, reluctant smile. “You must be quite popular at parties.”

He drew his brows together. “I do not attend many.”

She pressed a hand to her chest. “That is shocking.”

“Is it?”

“No.”

He bent over the ledger again, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him. She was teasing him. That was curious.

But the next set of figures sobered him quickly.

By the time the clock struck noon, Gabriel had found three errors, two unpaid notes, one forgotten obligation, and not a single hidden reserve of money large enough to matter.

The situation was not merely precarious. It was dire.