Page 183 of The Wallflower Takes All

“What? I have been quiet for several minutes. It was heroic.”

Gabriel looked at Poppy, then at Lady Viva, then at Freddie, who had begun edging toward the confiscated tassel again.

Poppy slipped her hand into his.

Whatever came next—wedding lists, guest rooms, suspicious spaniels, ducal correspondence, and Mama with access to a ducal ballroom—they would face it together.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

By half past nine on the morning of his wedding, Gabriel had received three invitations addressed to the Duchess of Alderbury, two addressed to Lady Montague, and one note from Lady Lemonwood describing Viva as “a lady of uncommon spirit whose presence lends distinction to any gathering.”

Gabriel read the last line twice.

Then he handed it to his father.

They stood in the library of Alderbury House in Grosvenor Square, a room so large and expensive that traversing the distance from door to hearth might require a golden curricle.

Shelves of leather-bound volumes rose almost to the ceiling. More than one ladder of polished mahogany waited upon brass rails. The hearth was carved marble, the carpet thick enough to swallow footsteps, and the tall windows looked out toward the square with generations of certainty in every pane.

It was beautiful.

It was also unsettling.

A week ago, Gabriel had been a solicitor with a respectable office at Lincoln’s Inn, an opinionated father, a solid reputation, and a growing suspicion that his life had been arranged too narrowly around caution. Now he possessed a dukedom, a house in Grosvenor Square, estates he had not yet seen, a staff who addressed him with alarming deference, and a wedding that required an archbishop.

The practice would be placed in capable hands once every client had been properly provided for, though Gabriel suspected he would never entirely cease thinking like a solicitor.

His father adjusted his spectacles and read Lady Lemonwood’s note. “Uncommon spirit,” he said.

Jason Pemberton, who stood near the mantel, made a low sound. “That is a swift revision.”

“It is Society remembering its principles only after consulting the rank of the person involved,” Gabriel said, rolling his eyes.

Nicholas Archer looked up from the book he was perusing. “Then Society is behaving precisely according to habit.”

Gabriel almost smiled.

He would have handed the note to Poppy himself, but Lady Viva, Georgie, and Bea had formed a temporary alliance with tradition and forbidden him from seeing his bride before the ceremony. The rule struck him as absurd under the circumstances. He had seen Poppy in laughter, in courage, in love, and in very little at all. Yet this morning she was upstairs somewhere in Alderbury House, dressed in ivory silk, surrounded by women who loved her, and he was reduced to sending notes through Jenkins like a schoolboy with illicit correspondence.

He folded Lady Lemonwood’s note. “Jenkins.”

The butler appeared in the doorway with immediate and grave attention. He had moved from the Montfort house to Alderbury House with Poppy and Lady Viva, and although Gabriel suspected the grandeur of the place offended Jenkins less than the disorder it was about to contain, the butler had borne the transition with admirable steadiness.

“Your Grace?”

Gabriel still disliked the address. He suspected he would dislike it for some time.

“Please take this to Miss Montfort.”

Jenkins accepted the note. “Very good, Your Grace.”

“And wait for an answer, if there is one.”

A faint pause followed. “Given the present company upstairs, Your Grace, I shall prepare myself for several.”

When he had gone, Gabriel looked toward the library door.

His father’s expression gentled. “You will see her soon.”