Page 34 of The Wallflower Takes All

Those things could not save everyone. He knew that.

But some stubborn part of him still believed that while order could not prevent every catastrophe, disorder invited them. A man who kept his accounts balanced, his conduct proper, his duties clear, and his wants firmly governed at least gave the world fewer chances to punish him.

His father’s gaze softened, which made Gabriel’s temper tighten.

“You think I stayed because Lady Viva amused me,” his father continued. “Sometimes she did. You think I let the account accrue because I had lost all professional sense. There were days when that may have been partly true. But I stayed because each time I saw Miss Montfort, I remembered the first year after your mother died.”

Gabriel looked up sharply. He swallowed.

“You were a boy,” his father said. “Trying to become useful before you had finished being bereaved. You sorted my papers. You corrected my appointments. You stood in doorways asking whether I had eaten.”

“I remember,” Gabriel intoned.

“I do too.” His father’s voice lowered. “And I remember wishing someone had told me that a child’s competence can be a form of pleading.”

Gabriel closed the account book.

A taut silence followed. He disliked this subject. He disliked the memories: his father hollowed by grief, the house gone quiet, the small desperate pride Gabriel had taken in being helpful because helpful boys needed less.

“Miss Montfort is a client,” he said.

“Yes,” his father replied. “And you were my son.”

Gabriel’s jaw set. “I have seen too many aristocratic households devour sense, money, and everyone foolish enough to serve them. They sign papers without reading them, spend money without earning it, and expect men like us to make consequences tidy. I have no wish to become another ornament of Lady Viva’s disorder.”

His father studied him for a long moment. “And Miss Montfort?”

Gabriel looked down at the papers. “Miss Montfort is not the source of the disorder.”

“No.” The single word held far too much satisfaction.

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed. “Do not sound pleased.”

“I endeavored to sound grave,” Father said.

“You failed.”

His father smiled. “What will you do?”

“What can be done.”

“That is not always the same thing.”

“It is in law.”

“Is it?”

Gabriel refused to answer that. Instead, he drew a clean sheet of paper toward him. “I will write to Lord Montague requesting additional time. I will review the remaining deeds once more. I will settle what accounts I can, delay what may be delayed, and give Lady Montague my advice regarding a reduced establishment.”

“And then?”

Gabriel’s gaze moved, despite himself, to the notebook.

Recommend alternate solicitor.

His father followed the look. He did not reach for the notebook. He did not need to.

“Ah,” he said.