Page 132 of The Wallflower Takes All

“Where is Miss Montfort?” Gabriel asked.

“In the morning room, sir. Lord Caldermere is expected to call.”

Of course he was.

Gabriel found her in the morning room dressed in a plain morning gown of soft pink muslin, her hair pinned back with more neatness than ornament. No violets softened the effect this time. The tea tray had been set out, the cakes remained untouched, and the chairs had been arranged with all the grim civility of a negotiation. Poppy sat beside the hearth with her hands folded in her lap, composed enough to receive an offer and possibly tired enough to accept one.

She looked prepared.

That made what he had to say worse.

“Gabriel,” she said, then seemed to recall herself. “Mr. Ashby.”

“Poppy.”

Her expression altered at the sound of her name. Then she saw his face. “What has happened?”

“I spoke with Lady Cecily Lane this morning.”

One brow shot up. “Who is Lady Cecily Lane?”

“Caldermere’s former betrothed.”

Poppy slowly closed her eyes. “Of course she is.” She blew out a deep breath and looked at him again. “How industrious of you.”

The edge in her voice was deserved.

Gabriel inclined his head. “Perhaps, because I did not trust the ease with which he offered everything you require.”

Poppy leaned down to adjust the tea tray, though it had no need of her attention. “Go ahead, then. What did Lady Cecily say?”

Gabriel chose each word with care. “She said Caldermere is not cruel. Not violent, not intemperate, and not overtly unkind.”

Poppy’s mouth tightened. “A devastating report.”

“She also said his affections are already engaged elsewhere. He intends to marry because his title requires an heir, not because he wants a wife in any private sense. In exchange for his name, protection, and every material comfort, his wife will be expected to make no claim upon his heart and to ignore the woman who already possesses it.”

Her fingers stilled against the tray.

“She broke the engagement,” Gabriel continued, “because she wished to be valued as a companion, not merely installed as the appropriate marchioness.”

“I see.”

Gabriel watched the understanding enter her eyes, followed too quickly by disappointment.

“She advised that you ask him plainly what he expects.”

Poppy lifted her chin. “How thoughtful of her.”

“Poppy—”

Her nostrils flared. “What would you have me do with this information?”

“Ask questions before you accept him.”

“He has not offered.”

“Not yet.”