Chapter Twenty #3
She managed a smile. “You are quite direct, my lord.”
He nodded once. “I hope I have not offended you.”
“No.” She meant it. “You have not.”
He bowed over her hand with polished care. “Then I shall hope for the privilege of calling tomorrow.”
Poppy walked beside him back toward the drawing room, her mind full of some relief, much alarm, a bit of possibility, and a stubborn ache that had nothing to do with the man at her side.
Gabriel was standing near the windows when they entered. He had been watching the garden. Poppy knew it before their eyes met.
For one suspended moment, no one else in the room mattered: Bea, alert and hopeful upon the sofa; Mama, still flirting cheerfully with the ridiculous count; Mr. Loxley, who had recovered sufficiently to request yet another slice of cake.
Only Gabriel.
His expression remained composed. His hat rested in one hand. The cottage particulars lay folded beneath the other.
Poppy wondered whether he saw the answer in her face.
Perhaps he did.
Something closed behind his eyes.
Lord Caldermere turned to Bea. “Lady Vanover, you have my thanks for the introduction.”
Bea’s gaze moved swiftly from him to Poppy. “I am glad of it.”
Caldermere bowed to Lady Viva and took his leave of everyone else, including the count, who remained behind. Unfortunately.
The moment the front door closed, Bea crossed the room. “Well?”
Poppy looked at her friend. “He intends to call again tomorrow.”
Bea’s eyes brightened.
“And,” Poppy continued, “if the conversation goes well, he wishes to speak with Mama formally.”
For once, Bea had no immediate reply.
Then she caught both Poppy’s hands. “Poppy.”
The relief in her face made Poppy’s throat tighten.
“This could solve everything,” Bea said.
“Yes.”
It was true.
Across the room, Gabriel picked up his hat but did not immediately put it on.
Poppy looked toward him. His attention moved from Caldermere to her, and some decision passed across his face too quickly for anyone else to catch.
“Leaving already, darling?” Mama asked.
“In a moment.” His voice was mild. His attention remained on Poppy. “Miss Montfort, may I speak with you?”
Poppy’s breath hitched. Surprise fluttered through her, followed by a quick, secret spark of pleasure. “Of course.”
He crossed to her, drawing her far enough away that Bea could not hear him.
His formality was perfect. The look in his eyes was troubled.
“I would ask you to give Lord Caldermere no answer until tomorrow,” he said.
Poppy’s brows drew together. “Why?”
“Because every gentleman with that much to offer ought to be examined twice.”
Her frown deepened. “You are investigating him?”
“I intend to make inquiries.”
“On my behalf?”
“Yes.”
The word settled between them with inconvenient force.
Poppy searched his face. “Is this professional caution, Mr. Ashby?”
His mouth tightened. “Some of it.”
She watched him closely. For one suspended second, the room seemed to recede: Mama and Bea, the count and his velvet coat, the cottage list, the clock pressing them all forward. There was only Gabriel, standing before her with too much restraint and too much feeling trapped beneath it.
“What is the rest?” she asked softly.
His gaze held hers. “The rest has no right to advise you.”
That answer hurt more than denial would have.
“Then why say anything?”
“Because Caldermere may be exactly what he appears to be,” Gabriel said. “If so, you should know that. If he is not, you should know that too.”
His voice lowered to a whisper. “And because I cannot give you what he can, but I can make certain you do not choose him in ignorance.”
Poppy swallowed. That was not enough. But she couldn’t bring herself to argue the point. Not here in front of Mama and Bea and Count Bellarosa. She needed time to think.
“Very well,” she agreed. “Tomorrow.” She didn’t bother pointing out that Caldermere had not officially offered yet. She expected it wouldn’t change Gabriel’s decision.
He bowed. “Thank you.”
Then he turned to Mama and Bea with perfect courtesy. “Lady Montague. Lady Vanover.”
“Do come back tomorrow,” Bea said. “Poppy may need you for the marriage contract.”
“I shall help in whatever way Miss Montfort requires,” Gabriel replied stoically.
His eyes returned to Poppy one last time. Public room. Public farewell. Formal address. “Good day, Miss Montfort.”
Then he left.
The door closed behind him.
The worst part was that she still felt him everywhere—in the room, in the silence he left behind, on her skin, in every place his mouth had touched and his hands had made her feel wanted before he remembered all the reasons wanting could never be simple.
Poppy stood in the drawing room with Bea still holding her hands and the possibility of a marquess’s proposal only one day away.
She should have been relieved. She should have been grateful. She should have been imagining Caldermere Park, the London house, and a dower house large enough for Mama to find objectionable.
Instead, she could think only of Gabriel leaving with purpose in every line of his body. And regret in his eyes.