Page 141 of The Wallflower Takes All

Count Bellarosa took the ring with what remained of his dignity. Then he looked toward Poppy, bowed expansively, and said, “Miss Montfort. A pleasure, despite the atmosphere of persecution.”

Poppy scowled. “The feeling has not been mutual.”

His hand went to his heart.

Gabriel opened the door, and the count departed with all the grandeur available to a man fleeing a false wedding.

Poppy waited until his footsteps retreated down the passage. Then she turned to her mother.

Mama stood beside the sofa in her rose cloak, the champagne glass still in one hand. Without Bellarosa’s grand presence filling the room, she appeared smaller.

Not small. Lady Viva could never be small. But suddenly, unmistakably vulnerable.

Poppy felt anger rise first. Hot, sharp, and frightening in its force. “What were you thinking?”

Mama’s chin lifted. “I told you. I was solving our difficulties.”

“By attempting to marry a charlatan in a hotel parlor?”

“He said he was a count.” Mama sniffed.

“He also said history required him in Vienna.”

“Darling, I admit that part ought to have concerned me more.”

Poppy clenched her fists. “This is not amusing.”

The words struck hard enough that Mama flinched.

Poppy had seen her mother embarrassed, offended, tipsy, delighted, theatrical, and wounded in a dozen fleeting ways. She had never seen Lady Viva with no defense ready.

Gabriel stepped away toward the window. He did not leave. He did not intrude. He simply remained near enough that Poppy knew she would not have to manage the fallout alone. He was there if she needed him.

That steadied her enough to continue. “Mama, you packed a valise. You left the house without telling anyone where you were going. You meant to entrust yourself to a man we scarcely know.”

Lady Viva’s nose wrinkled. “I know him somewhat.”

“You do not even know his name.”

“That has been an unexpected difficulty.”

“Mama.”

Lady Viva looked down at the champagne in her glass.

The silence stretched.

When she spoke again, the airy brightness had gone from her voice. “I could not allow you to do it.”

Poppy frowned. “Allow me to do what?”

“Marry someone who does not love you merely because Algernon is coming.”

The anger in Poppy’s chest shifted.

Mama set the glass upon the table. Her hand trembled slightly as she did so.

“You have spent years putting everything right,” Lady Viva said. “Bills. Servants. Guests. My foolishness. Every dreary little consequence I could not bear to examine closely. And now you are to marry whichever gentleman is willing to take on the inconvenience because I have left you no other choice.”