Page 131 of The Wallflower Takes All

“No.” He paused. “Not if she is told before she chooses.”

Lady Cecily studied him. “Is your concern for this lady merely professional, Mr. Ashby?”

Gabriel could have lied. The lie would have been easy. “No,” he said.

Lady Cecily’s expression did not change, but understanding moved through her eyes. “Then be careful. A warning given from jealousy may still be true, but it rarely arrives gently.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

Gabriel looked toward the window, where pale morning light touched the embroidery frame near Lady Cecily’s aunt. Caldermere could give Poppy shelter, rank, comfort, and a future free from the immediate threat of ruin. He could solve every visible problem.

Gabriel could solve almost none of them.

That had been the argument he used to restrain himself.

Then Lady Cecily had named the cost of that kind of bargain. A wife placed neatly inside a life already arranged around someone else. A lady given rooms, jewels, and civility while every private tenderness remained elsewhere.

The image of Poppy in such a marriage made Gabriel’s restraint feel less like honor and more like cowardice.

“I know enough,” he said at last. “And perhaps less than I should.”

Lady Cecily’s mouth softened. “Then tell her the truth, Mr. Ashby. All of it. Caldermere’s truth and your own.”

Gabriel bowed. “I shall try.”

He meant it.

The difficulty was that where Poppy was concerned, trying no longer seemed nearly enough.

Two days.

That was all that remained before Lord Montague arrived to take possession of the town house. Two days, and Gabriel was about to make Poppy’s safest choice far less safe.

He knew that as he climbed the steps to the Montfort house.

He had no right to want Caldermere dismissed. He had no right to hope Lady Cecily’s warning would turn Poppy’s heart away from a future Gabriel could not match.

But he had every right to tell Poppy the truth.

More than that, he owed it to her.

He had failed her each time he pretended distance was the same as honor. He had failed her each time he let silence make decisions for them both. Today, at least, he would give her facts instead of retreat.

And if those facts broke his own heart, he would have to endure it.

Jenkins admitted him with a look of visible relief. “Mr. Ashby.”

“Jenkins.”

“There has been a note, sir.”

Gabriel stilled. “From Lord Montague?”

“No, sir. Very heavily scented. I believe it is from Count Bellarosa. Though it’s addressed to Miss Montfort.”

Freddie sat beneath the hall table, staring at the envelope with deep suspicion.