Page 125 of The Wallflower Takes All

The words settled firmly inside her. She had chosen the cottage already. Which meant she could afford, at last, to be entirely honest with Lord Caldermere. It was the proper thing to do.

Caldermere nodded without hesitation. “Of course.”

Relief loosened something in her chest. So that had not dismayed him? Excellent.

He continued, “My town house would accommodate her with ease, of course. Caldermere Park has a dower house as well, though I would not presume to suggest any arrangement before understanding Lady Montague’s preference.”

Poppy stared at him.

A town house with room for Mama. A dower house in the country. No dismal cottage. No humiliating scramble. No need to impose upon Bea or Georgie. No desperate hope that Algernon might discover generosity before the week’s end.

Caldermere could solve everything with careless ease, as if he were offering another cup of tea. It was almost too perfect to credit.

“Thank you,” Poppy said softly. “That is generous.”

“It is practical,” Lord Caldermere replied.

Practical.

That was the word around which Poppy had built her life. Practicality had kept the tradesmen from shouting at the door. Practicality had preserved Mama’s last fragments of dignity. Practicality had sent Poppy into ballrooms hoping to secure a titled husband before a dingy cottage became their only refuge.

She could hardly resent Caldermere for offering exactly what she had asked for.

Count Bellarosa stood to refill his teacup, and Mama reached for his sleeve. “You must not leave me yet, darling. You have not explained whether Naples is a city of wine, brandy, or champagne.”

“Madam,” Count Bellarosa said, “Naples is a city of yes.”

Mama smiled brilliantly. “There. You see? The count understands things.”

Lord Caldermere glanced toward them. “Count Bellarosa appears to have excellent taste in company.”

“While Mama,” Poppy said, “tends toward the company of…colorful characters.”

“I had gathered as much.” The marquess’s tone held amusement, and the amusement was kind.

Another measure of relief slipped through Poppy.

Mama leaned toward Count Bellarosa and lowered her voice without making it any less audible. “You must take me to Naples, darling, and we shall sample its delights.”

The count bowed his head. “I should love nothing more.”

For one alarming instant, Poppy pictured Mama sweeping out of London on Count Bellarosa’s arm, bound for Naples, wine, opera, and an international incident. She glanced at Gabriel.

Gabriel glanced back. His expression remained perfectly composed, but his understanding showed all the same. He had pictured it too.

“Mama,” Poppy said in a warning tone.

“What? Naples sounds lovely.”

Poppy glanced down at Freddie. The puppy had fallen asleep in her lap, exhausted by crime and cake crumbs.

Bea set down her cup. “Lord Caldermere, perhaps Miss Montfort might show you the garden.”

Poppy turned toward Bea. Bea’s expression remained innocent.

Too innocent.

A walk in the garden would allow a more private conversation while remaining entirely proper beneath the drawing room windows.