Page 37 of The Wallflower Takes All

Gabriel closed his eyes briefly. Then he stood and went to the door.

Lady Viva appeared in the hall wearing rose-colored silk, three golden bracelets, and an expression of delighted accusation. Why she had decided to change her clothing midday was a mystery he did not care to solve.

“You are hiding,” she said.

“I am reviewing documents.”

“Yes, darling. That is what I said.”

Behind her stood a gentleman of uncertain age, elaborate dress, and absolute self-regard. He wore a coat of deep purple velvet, a waistcoat embroidered with silver vines, and a sapphire pin large enough to suggest either immense wealth or a complete indifference to vulgarity. His dark curls had been arranged with precise intention, and his expression declared that he had never entered a room without expecting an audience.

“May I introduce Count Bellarosa,” Lady Viva said. “Or Bellarose. Or Bellarosi. He has repeated it many times, but always with so much feeling that I quite lost the consonants.”

The count swept into a bow so deep it bordered on choreography. “Bellarosa, madam. Of the ancient Bellarosas of Naples, Palermo, and, occasionally, Vienna.”

“Vienna?” Gabriel asked, eyeing the man carefully.

“Occasionally,” the count said grandly.

Lady Viva clasped her hands. “Isn’t he marvelous?”

“He is certainly declarative,” Gabriel replied.

The count touched the sapphire pin at his cravat. “My bloodline has advised kings, comforted queens, and suffered betrayal in six languages.”

“I see,” Gabriel intoned.

Lady Viva beamed. “Such confidence, sweetie. It practically requires its own sitting room.”

Gabriel looked from Lady Viva to the alleged count. “Has Miss Montfort met him?”

“Not yet,” Lady Viva said. “Poppy has such a suspicious little way of asking whether people are who they say they are.”

“A useful habit,” Gabriel replied.

“An oppressive one, darling.”

The count lifted his chin. “Madam, I welcome suspicion. Suspicion is but admiration in a veil.”

Gabriel had no immediate answer to that.

Lady Viva leaned closer and lowered her voice to a whisper that carried admirably. “He may not be a count.”

Gabriel cleared his throat. “I had begun to wonder.”

“Does that matter?” she asked, waving a hand in the air.

“It generally matters to the title,” Gabriel told her.

The count smiled magnificently, clearly undisturbed by titles, facts, legal recognition, or any other small local custom that failed to appreciate his grandeur.

“Poppy will know,” Lady Viva said with a sigh. “Poppy always knows whether people are who they say they are.”

“I imagine Miss Montfort knows many things,” Gabriel replied.

“Too many things, sweetie.” For the first time, something like sadness crossed Lady Viva’s face. “Far too many.”

Then, clearly horrified by her own sincerity, she turned to the count with an animated smile. “Come, Bello-something. We must see whether Lady Stone has woken from her nap.”