Page 19 of The Wallflower Takes All

The word sounded too much like it had earlier, when she had asked about the accounts. She hated that. She hated that every question she asked this man seemed to contain the possibility of disaster.

Mr. Ashby did not answer immediately. Which was answer enough.

She swallowed. “He can do this?”

“The town house belongs to the estate?”

“Yes. I believe so. Papa always said…” She stopped. Papa had said many things. Most of them at dinner, with a drink in his hand and Mama laughing beside him, when Poppy was still young enough to think parents could arrange the world into permanence. “I believe it belongs to the estate.”

“I have seen nothing to suggest otherwise,” Mr. Ashby replied.

“And Brambleberry Court?” Poppy asked.

“Entailed with the title.”

“Yes.” Poppy looked down at the letter. “Of course.”

“I will need to review the late viscount’s will and your mother’s settlement again, but if the town house was not separately settled upon Lady Montague, then Lord Montague is likely within his rights to take possession.”

Poppy nodded once, so sensibly, so composed, that it almost concealed the fact that she had just learned she might be homeless in ten days.

“What course is open to us?” she asked.

Mr. Ashby’s gaze lifted to hers. “Us?”

The word struck harder than it ought to have. She drew herself up. “Mama and myself.”

His expression shifted into something like regret, quickly mastered. “Of course.”

Poppy moved to the chair opposite the desk and sat because her knees had become less trustworthy than she preferred. Freddie crawled out from beneath the desk, trotted over, and set his chin on her foot.

She lowered one hand to his head.

Mr. Ashby remained standing for a moment. Then he sat as well, though not comfortably. Men like Mr. Ashby did not lounge. They occupied chairs with every appearance of readiness to rise at the first sign of disorder.

“I will be plain,” he said.

She swallowed. “I had not supposed you would be anything else.”

That almost earned her a smile. Almost.

“If Lord Montague insists upon taking possession, and if there is no separate legal right allowing Lady Montague to remain here, then the law offers little protection. I may be able to negotiate additional time. Perhaps a month. Perhaps two, if he is susceptible to argument or persuasion.”

Poppy thought of Algernon’s letter. “He does not seem susceptible to anything but snuff and curtains.”

“Then perhaps less.”

She nodded.

“The remaining funds,” Mr. Ashby continued, “are not sufficient to maintain a household in London. If properly managed, and if Lady Montague’s expenditures are curtailed at once, there may be enough to secure modest lodgings, for a short time…in the countryside.”

“The countryside?” Poppy repeated. She couldn’t imagine Mama living in the countryside. The few times they’d visited had been brief and markedly hostile to Mama’s constitution.

“Indeed,” Mr. Ashby replied.

“How modest?” Poppy ventured.

He paused.