Page 27 of The Wallflower Takes All

“Then we shall make it permanent until it need not be,” Bea insisted.

Poppy reached out and squeezed her friend’s hand. “You cannot adopt me, Bea.”

“I could,” Bea insisted. “I have done many alarming things since marriage.”

Georgie smiled faintly. “She has.”

Poppy shook her head. “It is terribly kind of you, but I need a real solution. A borrowed room will only postpone the difficulty, and kindness, however generous, cannot give Mama and me a home. We cannot drift from one friend’s hospitality to another while Algernon sits in our house sniffing snuff and complaining about curtains.” She drew a breath. “Which is why Mr. Ashby’s other suggestion—or rather, Algernon’s assumption—may not be the worst idea.”

Bea went still.

Georgie’s hand tightened around the letter.

Poppy lifted her chin. “Marriage.”

The word seemed to rearrange the room.

Georgie set the letter on the table very carefully.

Bea sat back. “Marriage.”

“Yes.” Poppy nodded.

“To whom?” Georgie asked.

Poppy gave a small laugh. “At the moment? Anyone titled, solvent, and willing to take both me and Mama.”

Georgie blinked. “Well. That narrows matters considerably.”

“Does it? I feared it might eliminate all of England.” Poppy gave her friends a tremulous smile.

Georgie came to her and took her hand. “Poppy.”

The gentleness nearly undid her. Poppy withdrew her hand under the pretense of smoothing her skirt. “Do not look at me like that. I am not saying I want to be traded like a parcel. I have little recourse left.”

“There must be something we can do,” Bea said.

“There is.” Poppy nodded again, forcing herself to keep going. “I need a husband. A titled husband, if possible. Quickly. Before Mama and I are obliged to remove to some damp cottage where she will either wither from boredom or become the terror of the parish.”

Her friends were quiet, obviously considering the matter.

“I know it is not much of a revolt,” Poppy continued. “Georgie escaped an unwanted marriage. You refused to be handed over like a political prize. And I am here begging you to help me find a husband before I am evicted.”

“Poppy,” Bea said firmly, “we do not disapprove. Our revolts were never against marriage. They were against being told we had no say in the matter.”

Georgie nodded. “We wanted to choose.”

“Yes, well, I choose not to starve in a cottage,” Poppy said, then winced. “Oh, that sounded dreadful, didn’t it?”

“It sounded honest,” Georgie said, giving her a tentative smile.

Bea squeezed her hand. “If a husband is what you choose, a husband is what we shall find you.”

Poppy stared at her.

For one foolish moment, hope tried to rise in her chest. But she crushed it immediately. Hope was lovely in poetry and harmful in practice.

“It is not that simple,” she said. “Bea, you spent five Seasons avoiding marriage. You cannot possibly understand how difficult it is to attract a man who is not already half in love with your dowry.”