Page 64 of The Wallflower Takes All

He did step back…almost at once.

“Thank you,” she said. Her voice was quieter now.

He inclined his head, annoyed with himself for noticing the softness of her fingers.

When the tradesmen had been soothed—one with coin, the other with such earnest promise that even Gabriel nearly believed Friday would produce money—and the soprano had accepted seed cake as readily as Mr. Loxley had, Miss Montfort turned back to him.

“You came about the marriage contract.”

“Yes.” He held out the papers. “I reviewed your draft.”

She took the papers carefully, holding them with equal parts defense and dread. “And?”

“It is sound as far as it can be before there is a gentleman on the other side of it.”

The side of her mouth quirked up. “On the hook, you mean.”

“I would not have phrased it that way.”

“No. You would have said something much more proper and somehow worse.”

He allowed that. “Once there is a named suitor, I can complete the necessary provisions. Jointure, separate maintenance, if possible, responsibility for existing debts, a provision for Lady Montague, and any protection that may be secured for your personal funds and possessions.”

“My possessions,” she said lightly. “How grand that sounds. Like referring to Freddie as an estate.”

Freddie barked, possibly offended or flattered.

“You were right to prepare it,” Gabriel said.

Her expression shifted. The brightness moved, faltered, steadied. “Was I?”

“Yes.”

“Even though no one has offered?”

“Preparation is not wasted effort.”

She glanced toward the papers in her hands. “I thought it might be foolish. Presumptuous, perhaps.”

“It is neither foolish nor presumptuous to know the terms upon which one might entrust one’s future to another person.”

Her fingers tightened around the packet, and, for a second, the bustling room seemed to recede around them. “Thank you,” she said.

He ought to have replied in some ordinary manner. You are welcome. I shall call again when Lord Montague replies. Something useful and empty.

Instead, because the Montfort house had apparently begun eroding his judgment by the hour, he said, “You need not accept the first offer merely because it is made.”

A slight smile touched her lips. “That is easy advice from a man who is not being evicted in seven days.”

“It is still good advice.”

“Is it?” She moved to the nearest table and set the papers down, aligning their edges with the edge of a book. “What if the first offer is the only offer? What if the man has all his teeth, a title, and no obvious appetite for opera fraud? Am I to become particular?”

“Yes.”

The word emerged too quickly.

Miss Montfort looked at him.