Page 70 of The Wallflower Takes All

“Then we may have something in common.” Also, sensible.

“So I was told. Lady Vanover described you as capable.”

Poppy’s breath caught.

Capable.

So that was tonight’s word? It should have pleased her. Bea had meant it as praise; Lord Ketterham clearly meant it as praise. Yet it struck Poppy with the peculiar ache of being measured for usefulness. A capable woman could manage children, accounts, servants, households, and difficult relations. She got the distinct impression that was precisely what Lord Ketterham was looking for.

Not far away, Mr. Ashby had stopped speaking to Lord Vanover.

He did not say anything. He did not need to. The look in his eyes told her enough. He had heard the word, and somehow, impossibly, seemed to understand why it had hurt her.

The next turn carried her away before she had to answer Lord Ketterham. When the dance returned them to one another, he said, “I admire a practical turn of mind.”

“Do you?” How romantic.

“Very much. I have little patience for foolishness. Marriage is for the procreation of children…to secure the line.”

Poppy ought to have recoiled from the plainness of it. Instead, she appreciated being spared the trouble of pretending this was anything other than what it was: a practical arrangement, not a lover’s vow. “You make marriage sound like a position.”

“In part, it is.”

She forced a smile. “Most gentlemen would not say so while dancing with a lady.”

“I am not romantic by temperament, Miss Montfort,” he continued. “I do not say that as a boast. Merely a fact. But I am not unkind. I value companionship, competence, and good sense. I should prefer a marriage in which both parties know what they are offering and what they require.”

Poppy looked at him. What are you offering? What do you require?

The questions were blunt enough to bruise her heart and practical enough to steady her mind.

If practical was what Lord Ketterham wanted, then practical was what he would receive. “I require security,” she said before she could lose courage. “For myself. And some provision for my mother.”

Lord Ketterham’s gaze moved, briefly, toward Lady Viva.

Poppy braced herself.

Mama was laughing again, her head tipped back, one hand on Lord Crampton’s sleeve. Lord Crampton looked captivated. Or greedy. Sometimes, with men of a certain age, the two were difficult to distinguish.

“Lady Montague is lively,” Ketterham said.

“That is one word for it,” Poppy allowed.

“I have known worse qualities in a mother-in-law.”

Poppy looked back at him quickly.

He did not look horrified. He looked amused, faintly wary, and far too sensible to be deceived by denials.

“You are not alarmed?” she asked.

“I am often alarmed. I have learned not to show it in public.”

Well. That made her laugh.

His expression eased at the sound, and Poppy felt another small shift inside her. Mr. Ashby unsettled her in ways she had no wish to examine. Lord Ketterham, by contrast, suggested something quieter, steadier, like a door opening upon a well-kept room.

Perhaps that was enough.