Page 28 of The Wallflower Takes All

Bea lifted her brows. “On the contrary, I should think it cannot be difficult to attract a suitor. Avoiding them required constant vigilance.”

Poppy gaped at her.

Georgie pressed her lips together, though not quickly enough to hide her smile.

“Not if the lady in question is you,” Poppy said. “You are a duke’s daughter. You are beautiful enough to make men forget their own names. You had a dowry large enough to tempt saints into wickedness. If you stood near a potted palm, the palm would propose before supper.”

Bea frowned. “That is silly.”

Georgie wrinkled her nose. “Perhaps the potted palm part, but she is not wrong about the rest, Bea. You do not know what it is like to have no dowry.”

Poppy turned to Georgie then. “And you are a countess now, married to a handsome earl who swept you up onto a horse in front of half the ton. You were practically carried into legend.”

“It did not feel legendary at the time,” Georgie insisted, frowning.

“No, I daresay it felt inconvenient and romantic and terrifying, but the point remains.” Poppy drew a breath. “I have no dowry, no fortune, no home in ten days, no father to settle anything, and no brother to ask his handsome friend to watch over me. All I have is a mother Society invites only when it wants something delicious to laugh about the next morning.”

The room went still.

There. She had said it.

The shameful thing. The true thing.

Poppy looked down at her gloves. “Gentlemen do not ask me to dance. They do not call. They do not send flowers. They certainly do not think, ah yes, there is the woman I should like to marry. What a sensible addition to my household, a penniless spinster with a scandalous mother and a puppy who eats deviled eggs.”

“Freddie has charm,” Georgie insisted.

“Freddie has a digestive complaint more often than charm.”

Bea’s expression softened in a way Poppy was still not entirely used to seeing. “You are not shameful.”

“No,” Georgie agreed, her voice vehement. “Nor is wanting help.”

Poppy’s throat tightened. “I am not certain there is a difference any longer.”

Bea took both her hands now and held them firmly. “Listen to me. You are Poppy Montfort. You are kind, clever, loyal, and entirely too good at making other people comfortable while you are drowning. You have spent years keeping your household from collapsing, and if Society has been too stupid to notice you except when Lady Viva does something outrageous, that is Society’s failure. Not yours.”

Poppy blinked hard.

Georgie moved to her other side. “And if titled gentlemen have not been asking you to dance, then we shall put you in rooms where they will have to.”

“That sounds mildly threatening,” Poppy said, forcing a smile.

“It was meant to,” Georgie replied, giving her a wink.

Bea nodded briskly, all tenderness vanishing beneath action. “We shall host.”

“Host what?” Poppy asked, brightening.

“Everything,” Bea said.

Georgie nodded. “A dinner first, perhaps. Something small enough for conversation.”

“Then a ball,” Bea added.

Poppy nearly choked. “A ball?”

“A ball is efficient,” Bea said. “One may inspect a great many candidates at once.”