Page 123 of The Wallflower Takes All

A possible miracle had arrived wearing an excellent coat and an ancient title.

Gabriel had no right to object.

Every instinct in him did.

Chapter Twenty

The Marquess of Caldermere ought to have been the answer to every prayer Poppy had not quite dared to utter aloud.

He was handsome. Not merely respectable in profile, as so many titled gentlemen managed by virtue of good coats and favorable lighting, but genuinely handsome, with dark hair, an intelligent face, and the assured manner that came from generations of Caldermeres entering rooms without once wondering whether they belonged in them.

She already knew he was wealthy enough that Mama would not trouble his steward beyond a raised brow or two. His title was old enough to render gossip almost harmless. If Lady Viva called a footman darling, invited a fraudulent count to supper, or attempted to finance an opera before pudding, Society would no longer laugh quite so loudly. Society had a remarkable gift for discovering charm in eccentricity when sufficient rank endorsed it.

And best of all, Caldermere did not appear alarmed by the Montfort household.

That alone placed him above nearly every gentleman Poppy had met during the past several days. Of course, Poppy vaguely remembered Bea saying something about rumors surrounding the marquess, but clearly, at this point, the rumors were of little concern.

He offered her his arm, and she accepted it. As she did, Poppy smoothed one gloved hand over the morning gown she had put on before anyone expected a marquess to appear in the hall. It was a perfectly charming gown for receiving legal advice and rescuing stolen gloves, less obviously suited to becoming a possible marchioness. But there was no help for it.

As they crossed the passage toward the drawing room, Poppy felt Gabriel behind them with an awareness she could not dismiss. She did not hear him move. She did not turn to look. Yet the space between her shoulders prickled as though every one of his thoughts had fixed upon the gloved hand resting on Caldermere’s sleeve.

Good.

The small, uncharitable satisfaction arrived before she could prevent it.

Gabriel had kissed her and touched her in the drawing room, then drawn away as if their intimacy had been a mistake. He had arrived this morning prepared to help her move to the countryside or marry someone else. He had made restraint sound like honor and sacrifice sound like sense.

Let him dislike the result of his own plan.

The drawing room merely confirmed that the Montfort household treated disorder as a governing principle.

Mr. Loxley, at least, had improved dramatically since the arrival of additional cake. He sat upright on the sofa with a plate balanced upon one knee, pale enough to inspire concern but not so pale as to neglect the cake.

Lady Viva reclined opposite him, one slipper peeping from beneath her violet skirts. Beside Mama sat Count Bellarosa, of all unwelcome people. What was he doing here?

Mama looked up. Her gaze passed over Lord Caldermere, lingered appreciatively upon him, then returned to the fop at her side.

“Poppy, darling,” she said, “introduce the count to your terribly handsome young man.”

Lord Caldermere’s mouth shifted by a fraction. “Why, thank you for the compliment, my lady.”

Poppy closed her eyes while the introductions were made. Afterward, Lady Viva tapped her fan against the count’s sleeve. “He has been telling me about Italy.”

“Yes. I have been telling Lady Montague about the delights of Naples,” Count Bellarosa said.

“I have already learned a great deal about Italian wine,” Lady Viva told Poppy.

“That concerns me,” Poppy said. “You have not asked her to invest in a winery, have you?”

Count Bellarosa laughed.

Mama beamed, clearly prepared to accept personal credit for the success of the exchange.

Poppy glanced back. Bea had entered behind Gabriel and now surveyed the room with brisk alertness. She clearly had no intention of leaving this final attempt at matchmaking to chance…or the whims of the Montfort household. Gabriel stood near the door with the cottage particulars still in one hand, his expression composed.

Too composed.

Poppy had begun to recognize the signs. The precise set of his shoulders. The care with which his gaze touched Lord Caldermere, then retreated before it could reveal too much.