Page 71 of The Wallflower Takes All

Perhaps that was what a sensible marriage was. A well-kept room. Paid accounts. Known expectations. No borrowed time. No note from Algernon Montfort arriving to tear the floor from beneath her.

A home. Not love, perhaps. But safety. And if safety did not make one’s heart race, perhaps that was because racing hearts were not always reliable organs.

The dance ended. Lord Ketterham bowed over her hand. “I have been too direct,” he said.

“Perhaps.”

His brows rose.

Poppy smiled faintly. “But not unkind.”

“I am relieved by the distinction. And I shall be direct again and ask whether I may call tomorrow.”

Poppy’s pulse beat hard once. “Yes,” she said. “You may.”

“And if you are willing, perhaps I might take you driving in the park. With whatever companion you prefer, of course.”

Poppy looked past him toward Bea and Georgie. Bea’s face was triumphant. Georgie’s eyes shone with careful, cautious joy.

Poppy turned back to Lord Ketterham. “I would like that,” she said.

He bowed again. “Then tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.”

He escorted her back to her friends, spoke briefly with Lord Vanover, then was claimed by an older lady Poppy did not know.

The moment he was out of hearing, Bea seized Poppy’s arm. “Well?”

“He is a possibility,” Poppy said.

Georgie exhaled. “Possibility is excellent.”

“Possibility is practically romantic under the circumstances,” Bea said.

“He asked to call tomorrow,” Poppy admitted. “And to drive with me in the park.”

Georgie eyes lit. “Poppy!”

“I know.” Poppy’s own smile trembled. “I know.”

Bea’s grip tightened. “This is good.”

It was good.

It had to be good.

Lord Ketterham was titled, wealthy, respectable, and practical. He had asked to call. He offered exactly the sort of future Poppy had claimed to want: honesty, competence, mutual advantage, and a household where the roof remained securely over one’s head.

Then she found Mr. Ashby across the room.

He stood beside Lord Vanover, grave and still, one hand closed around a glass he had made no attempt to drink. His attention did not accuse her. That would have been easier. It seemed to ask whether Lord Ketterham had seen the woman beneath all that usefulness.

Poppy excused herself from Bea and Georgie under the pretense of wanting lemonade.

Mr. Ashby met her near the edge of the ballroom before she reached the refreshment table.

“Lord Ketterham asked to call,” she said.