Page 51 of The Wallflower Takes All

Lord Rillington’s brows lifted.

Near the center of the room, Georgie and Bea exchanged a tense glance.

Mama waved her quill. “There is always money for opera, sweetie. One merely has to neglect something dreary.”

“Such as food?” Mr. Ashby countered.

“No,” Mama replied. “Food is not dreary. Coal is dreary, darling.”

Mr. Ashby grabbed the paper from Bellarosa and read it. His expression turned glacial. “This is not a subscription.”

The count’s smile dimmed. “It is phrased with passion.”

“It is phrased as a promissory note,” Mr. Ashby replied.

Lady Viva blinked. “Is it?”

“Yes.” Mr. Ashby nodded.

Poppy closed her eyes for a fraction of a second. There was little she could do. Lord Rillington had heard it all.

Of course Mama had nearly signed away money she did not have to a man who might not possess the title he claimed, in the middle of the first evening Poppy had a gentleman looking at her as though she were something other than a cautionary tale.

Mr. Ashby folded the paper once. “Lady Montague will not sign this.”

The count drew himself up. “Sir, you interfere with art.”

“Be that as it may,” Mr. Ashby continued.

“Madam.” Count Bellarosa turned to Mama. “Will you allow a man of documents to stand between you and art?”

Mama looked genuinely torn. “When you say it like that, darling?—”

“Mama,” Poppy said. She wanted to stamp her slipper but was convinced it would not be attractive.

Lady Viva sighed. “Oh, very well. No opera.”

The count pressed one hand to his brow. “Then art must starve.”

“Not in this house,” Lord Pembroke said dryly. “The supper room remains open.”

Poppy might have laughed if she had not felt Lord Rillington shift beside her.

Nothing dramatic happened. He did not gasp or draw back, but something in him altered all the same. His gaze moved from the count to Lady Viva, from Lady Viva to Mr. Ashby, and from Mr. Ashby to Poppy.

Calculation entered his eyes, and the worst of it was that the calculation was sensible rather than unkind. It was the sort that looked at a pretty woman in a blue gown and began quietly subtracting every complication from her charm—a difficult mother, uncertain finances, a flamboyant count, a promissory note, and a solicitor intervening at dinner.

Poppy felt the small hope she’d begun to nurture fold in upon itself.

Mama, apparently unaware she had just set fire to the only promising possible courtship of Poppy’s life, gave Lord Rillington a dazzling smile. “Are you fond of opera, my lord?”

Mr. Ashby turned then and the look of alarm on his face indicated he hadn’t realized Lord Rillington was standing there.

“I enjoy opera on occasion,” Lord Rillington said cautiously. “I just came from Italy, actually, where it was quite popular.”

“Splendid. Poppy adores music,” Mama continued. “And she is so useful with accounts. If you marry her, you must let her manage all your dreadful papers. She has been managing mine for years.”

“Mama,” Poppy said softly, wanting the floor to open and swallow her.