Page 32 of The Wallflower Takes All

Yesterday morning, it had seemed the only rational course. But that had been before Miss Montfort had looked at him across the late viscount’s study with her bright blue eyes, and her mouth trying for humor while panic gathered beneath it.

That had been before he had seen the note in the margin of her account book.

Find money somewhere.

This morning he had added three more items to his list.

Write Lord Montague requesting delay of possession.

Advise Lady Montague regarding reduced establishment.

Advise Miss Montfort regarding alternative possibilities.

Gabriel dragged one hand down his face. He already regretted the last one. It was clearly not the work of a solicitor. He reached for his quill, more to have something proper to do with his fingers than because the figures required another mark.

This was exactly how it began. First a man noticed a young lady was frightened. Then he admired her courage. Then he began inventing reasons why an unpaid account deserved more of his time than any other matter on his desk.

His father would be delighted.

Gabriel was not. He had to keep his wits about him. It would not do to become sentimental.

He bent to the papers again. The late Viscount Montague’s will was clear in all the ways he wished it were not. The title had passed to Algernon Montfort. Brambleberry Court was entailed. The London town house, though not entailed in the same manner, appeared to be held with the estate and not settled separately upon Lady Viva. There was no language granting her the right to occupy it indefinitely. No protective clause for Miss Montfort. No clever provision by a farsighted father.

Either the late viscount had not imagined dying while his daughter was still young enough to be left exposed, or he had imagined the new heir would behave generously.

Dead men, Gabriel had found, were forever expecting too much of the living.

The office door opened.

Gabriel looked up sharply.

His father stood on the threshold, one hand resting on the handle, his silver hair rumpled by the wind and his old brown coat buttoned incorrectly by one hole. Retirement, Gabriel had begun to suspect, suited his father far too well. It had made him cheerful, careless, and insufferably serene.

“I thought I might find you here,” his father said.

“This is my office.”

“Still. One likes to be correct occasionally.”

Gabriel returned his attention to the papers. “If you have come to ask after the Montforts, you may spare yourself the performance of casual concern.”

His father stepped inside and shut the door. “Ah. Worse than expected then.”

“Did you expect anything else?”

“I expected Lady Viva to have spent too much, Miss Montfort to have hidden the worst of it from her, and you to be displeased.”

“Then congratulations. You are nearly right.”

His father’s eyes crinkled. “A comfort at my age.”

Gabriel did not smile. “The arrears to the firm are significant.”

“I know.”

“You did not press them.”

“No.”