Page 78 of The Wallflower Takes All

Gabriel removed his hat. “Is Miss Montfort at home?”

“She is,” Lady Viva said, smiling too widely. “She is in the morning room. Waiting for a caller. A sensible one, apparently. I am attempting to be pleased, though sensible men are so often dull.”

Lord Crampton’s mouth tightened. “A caller?”

“A baron,” Lady Viva said. “Very steady. Poppy likes steady things. She has had so few of them.”

The remark struck harder than Lady Viva had meant it to, and a moment later, her smile flickered with the realization.

Gabriel bowed. “I should speak with Miss Montfort.”

Lady Viva’s fan stilled. “Is something wrong?”

“Several things,” he said as he continued walking.

Lord Crampton sniffed. “Legal men do enjoy bringing gloom indoors.”

When Gabriel entered the morning room, Miss Montfort was seated beside the window. She wore pale muslin with blue ribbons, her hair dressed simply, a small bouquet of violets pinned at her bodice. The effect was quiet rather than elaborate, hopeful rather than desperate, and so carefully composed that Gabriel’s guilt sharpened.

A tea tray sat on the table, where two cups waited beside untouched cakes and a folded shawl lay over the back of the opposite chair.

More guilt sliced through Gabriel. It was all for Lord Ketterham.

Miss Montfort rose when he entered. “Mr. Ashby.”

The brightness in her voice lasted a moment before she saw his face. Her smile faltered. “Lord Montague replied,” she said solemnly.

“Yes.”

“Not generously,” she guessed.

“No.”

She reached for the back of the chair, then seemed to notice the gesture and let her hand fall. “What did he write?”

“He refuses the extension. He means to take possession at the week’s end.”

Miss Montfort closed her eyes.

Only briefly.

When she opened them again, the smile returned. He hated that smile. He hated the skill of it, the bravery of it, the way it gave every other person permission not to feel what she must.

“I see,” she said. “Then Algernon is nothing if not consistent.”

“Miss Montfort?—”

“No, truly. One must admire a young gentleman who chooses a character and keeps to it. Snuff. Curtains. No mercy.”

Gabriel did not laugh.

She looked toward the door. “Does Mama know?”

“I believe she suspects.”

“That is almost worse. Mama’s suspicions become dramatic stories if left unattended.”

“I am sorry.”