Page 36 of The Wallflower Takes All

Freddie sneezed.

He would need to wash his boot.

Jenkins appeared from the direction of the salon. “Mr. Ashby.”

“Jenkins.”

“Miss Montfort is not at home.”

Gabriel had inferred as much. She had said she must go, and a woman with Miss Montfort’s expression, when she said such things, did not linger.

“Lady Montague?”

“In the salon, sir.”

That answer contained a world of warning.

“I require the deed box from the small cabinet in the study,” Gabriel said. “Miss Montfort mentioned it this morning.”

Jenkins’s relief was visible. “Yes, sir. This way.”

Gabriel followed him to the study and found, to his irritation, that the room looked emptier without Miss Montfort in it.

Nothing had changed. The papers remained on the desk, the chair stood where it had been, the globe waited in its corner, and the portrait of the late viscount still watched over the room with its laughing mouth. The remaining papers had been arranged into a neat pile, a final, quiet attempt at order in a house already surrendering to departure.

Miss Montfort had arranged them, obviously.

Jenkins retrieved the deed box and set it on the desk. “Will there be anything else, sir?”

“No. Thank you.”

The butler hesitated.

Gabriel looked up.

Jenkins, whose steady bearing suggested long practice at maintaining order while the household collapsed around him, cleared his throat. “If there is anything to be done, sir…”

Gabriel went still. The words were simple, respectful, and almost bland, but he heard everything Jenkins had left unsaid. If there was anything to be done, it was to be done for Miss Montfort, the young lady who had evidently earned the loyalty of every sane person in the house by standing between them and the storm.

“I am looking into it,” Gabriel said.

Jenkins nodded once, then withdrew.

Gabriel opened the deed box.

No miracle waited inside.

There were leases, old receipts, a copy of the settlement, correspondence regarding Brambleberry Court, and three hairpins that had no earthly business being there. He read every document. Checked every seal. Compared dates. Followed one faint hope regarding a small parcel of land until it became clear the income had been sold years ago to pay a debt Lady Viva had likely forgotten.

Nothing.

Less than nothing, because every avenue closed made Miss Montfort’s road narrower.

At last Gabriel sat back and looked toward the portrait of the late viscount. “You might have done better by them,” he muttered.

The painted Lord Montague smiled down, handsome and useless.

From the salon came Lady Viva’s voice. “Mr. Ashby, darling, are you hiding in there?”