Page 176 of The Wallflower Takes All

“Storage.”

“And the bronze satyr?”

Poppy paused. “What bronze satyr?”

“The one her ladyship says represents merriment.”

“Storage,” Poppy said. “Before Mama gives her opinion.”

“Very good, miss.”

Another thump came from above, followed by Lady Viva’s voice calling, “If that was Algernon’s cabinet, no one move! I want to cherish the moment.”

Jenkins’s eyelid flickered.

Poppy pressed a hand to her forehead.

“I heard that,” came Algernon’s voice from somewhere far away.

Then the front door opened below, and the rhythm of the house changed.

She knew before she heard his voice.

Gabriel.

Poppy turned from the crate as footsteps crossed the hall with unusual haste.

“Miss Montfort is in the library,” she heard Jenkins say.

A moment later, Gabriel appeared in the doorway. He looked windblown and hurried, his hat gripped in one hand and his blond hair ruffled by weather or agitation. Worst of all was his expression, composed with such care that Poppy knew at once he was holding something back.

“Gabriel,” she said.

He looked at the open crates, the half-empty shelves, the book in her hand, and something restrained broke through his expression. “I need to speak with you.”

Lady Viva appeared behind him in the hall, peach silk skirts gathered in one hand. “Mr. Ashby, darling, you look as if you have been chased by street urchins.”

“Something has happened,” Gabriel said, breathing hard.

Algernon emerged from the hallway, snuffbox in hand, his beetle-green waistcoat somewhat less starched than it had been that morning. “What now?”

Gabriel did not look at him. “Poppy, may we have a moment?”

Her heart began to beat too fast. “Yes.”

She led him down the staircase and into the study, leaving the door ajar because even after accepting a proposal in a room full of crates, propriety deserved a token appearance.

Gabriel remained standing.

Poppy set The Tempest upon the desk. “You are frightening me.”

His gaze flew to hers. “Forgive me. I did not mean to.”

“What happened?”

He drew a breath. “The letter from Lincoln’s Inn concerned the Duke of Alderbury.”

Poppy blinked. “The one who died?”