Page 57 of The Wallflower Takes All

A boy who had learned that meals could be forgotten, letters unanswered, money given away, and grown men rendered helpless by love. No wonder Gabriel clung to rules. No wonder he trusted figures more than feelings, contracts more than promises, order more than hope.

His control was not coldness. It was fear turned into discipline.

“My father loved my mother so deeply. When she died a part of him seemed to follow.”

“That is a lovely way to put it,” Poppy murmured. “Mama loved my father deeply as well. I know she did. I know she still does. And she is not cruel. She has never meant?—”

Her voice caught, which was intolerable, so she forced it steady.

“She has never meant to leave so much of life for me to manage.”

“But she did,” he said. “She has.”

Poppy’s eyes stung. Mr. Ashby’s voice had not been harsh. That was the trouble. Harshness would have given her something to resist.

This was only truth.

“Yes,” she said. “She did. She has.”

Somewhere above them, Mama laughed, bright and musical, and already drifting away.

Mr. Ashby’s gaze lifted toward the sound, then returned to Poppy. “My father believes I have too much faith in order,” he said.

Poppy tilted her head, a bit surprised at the unexpected turn. “Do you think you do?”

“Perhaps.”

The answer came so promptly she almost smiled.

“At least you are honest.”

“I try to be,” he said.

“That sounds exhausting.”

“It has its uses.”

Poppy took a deep breath. “Does it? Tonight I should have liked dishonesty very much. Something grand and comforting such as, ‘Miss Montfort, you have misunderstood everything. There is a secret fortune, Lord Rillington is enchanted by you, Count Bellarosa is exactly who he claims to be, and your mother would never dream of signing a promissory note she did not have the funds for.’”

Mr. Ashby’s eyes softened. “That would require more invention than I possess.”

Poppy sighed. “A pity. I begin to see invention’s charms.”

“My father has it.”

She lifted her brows. “Invention?”

“Charm.”

Poppy looked at him more closely. He had turned his gaze toward the open door, but she saw the faint tightening at the corner of his mouth.

“You disapprove of that,” she said.

“Not precisely.”

“Mr. Ashby.”

His gaze returned to hers.