Page 137 of The Wallflower Takes All

It was not phrased as a question.

Poppy looked toward him. “Don’t you?”

“The valise suggests she does not mean to return immediately. The promise that you will not be obliged to marry in haste suggests she believes she has found another means of securing your future.”

“By securing her own,” Poppy breathed.

“Yes.”

Poppy folded the note carefully. The paper trembled between her fingers. “Do you suppose the count has convinced her?—”

“Likely.”

The honesty hurt. But it also helped. She had to be prepared for whatever they found at the hotel. Poppy looked out the window as the hackney turned onto a busier street. Carriages pressed close around them. Pedestrians moved along the pavement, carrying parcels, baskets, umbrellas, and ordinary concerns. No one looked like a woman whose mother had decided to solve impending eviction by marrying the first adventurer who offered to sweep her away.

“He obviously wants her money,” she said.

“Lady Montague has no money.”

“No. But the count does not appear to know that,” Poppy replied.

“Then any marriage between them would be brief in its satisfaction.”

“Not to mention Count Bellarosa may not be a count.”

“I have entertained doubts.”

“He may not be named Bellarosa either,” Poppy added.

“I have entertained that thought as well.”

Despite everything, a breath of laughter escaped her.

Gabriel’s mouth softened faintly.

Poppy pressed the paper to her lap. “I should not laugh.”

“I suspect Lady Montague would object if you did not.”

“Yes. Mama objects to sorrow unless it belongs to a poet. Then she finds it decorative.”

Gabriel’s gaze rested upon her. “And what do you find it?”

The question struck too close. Poppy looked back toward the window. “Inconvenient.”

Gabriel said nothing. He did not need to.

The King’s Arms Hotel stood in Albemarle Street behind a handsome stone façade intended to reassure travelers that no calamity could possibly survive admission through its polished doors.

Poppy had lived too long with Lady Viva to be deceived by architecture, however.

Gabriel helped her from the hackney and followed her into the entrance hall. A porter hurried forward, then hesitated when he saw Poppy’s expression.

“I am looking for Lady Montague,” she said.

The porter’s gaze flicked toward Gabriel.

“My mother,” Poppy added. “She arrived this morning.”