Page 72 of The Wallflower Takes All

“So I understand.”

“That is good.”

“Yes.” He nodded.

“You sound unconvinced.”

His mouth tightened. “I am attempting to sound professional.”

“At a ball?”

“I find the habit difficult to discard.”

That nearly made her smile.

“He is a respectable man,” Mr. Ashby said.

“Yes.”

“Financially sound,” Mr. Ashby added.

“Yes.”

“Plain-spoken.”

“Quite,” Poppy agreed.

Mr. Ashby looked past her toward Lord Ketterham, then back to Poppy. “Be certain he is plain-spoken about the right things.”

Her fingers tightened around her glass. “Meaning?”

“A man may admire your competence and still fail to value what it has cost you.”

Poppy’s breath caught.

Mr. Ashby’s voice lowered. “You are more than the household you manage, Miss Montfort. If he is wise, he will understand that before he asks anything of you.”

The words should have comforted her.

Instead, they made everything far more difficult.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, at a loss for anything better to say.

He bowed, the movement correct enough to belong to a stranger. “I hope he proves worthy of the call.”

So did Poppy. That was the trouble.

It should have filled her mind entirely.

For several minutes, it did.

She danced once more with another gentleman, spoke to Lord Vanover about nothing she could later recall, accepted another glass of lemonade, and watched Mama evade Lord Crampton’s increasingly hopeful remarks with the skill of decades spent charming men she had no intention of encouraging.

All the while, one thought should have repeated in Poppy’s mind.

Lord Ketterham will call tomorrow.

Instead, as the music swelled and the candlelight shimmered across the ballroom, Poppy found her hand lifting to the spot at her throat where Mr. Ashby had touched her.