Chapter Thirteen
By the time Gabriel returned to the Montfort town house with a curricle, he had identified no fewer than six reasons why offering to drive Poppy in the park had been unwise.
The first was propriety.
The second was professional judgment.
The remaining four were merely variations upon the first two, but Gabriel considered repetition useful when a man’s common sense had shown signs of desertion.
He still wore the dark coat and gray waistcoat from the office, though he had exchanged his indoor severity for gloves, hat, and an expression grim enough to suggest that proper clothing might somehow make an impulsive offer respectable.
He had acted impulsively. There was no denying it. He had seen Poppy sitting beside a tray of untouched cakes prepared for another man, her disappointment hidden beneath that valiant smile, and had spoken before prudence could intervene.
A drive in the park.
He had offered a client’s daughter a drive in the park because a prospective suitor had disappointed her.
Worse, because Gabriel himself had helped disappoint her.
He could tell himself that the outing was harmless.
Hyde Park was public. The curricle was open.
He had instructed his groom to attend them.
Any number of respectable gentlemen conveyed respectable young ladies through the park without proposing marriage, committing scandal, or making fools of themselves.
There was no reason Gabriel could not do the same.
There was also no reason his thoughts should return, with aggravating persistence, to the open doorway and the ribbon beneath Poppy’s chin.
He drew the curricle to a halt before the Montfort town house and handed the reins to his groom.
The front door opened before he could knock.
Freddie bounded onto the step, his ears flying wide, and a length of blue ribbon trailing from his mouth.
“Freddie,” Poppy called from somewhere behind him. “No.”
The puppy descended the first step with determined enthusiasm that suggested he intended to launch himself directly beneath one of the carriage wheels.
Gabriel caught him beneath the forelegs and lifted him out of danger.
Freddie wriggled furiously, then appeared to reconsider his objections and licked Gabriel’s glove.
“You have poor judgment,” Gabriel informed him.
“Freddie considers judgment a needless impediment to happiness,” Poppy said.
Gabriel looked up.
She stood in the doorway wearing a pale blue pelisse over a white muslin gown, her bonnet ribbons tied beneath her chin and her red curls already threatening rebellion at her temples.
The blue brought out her eyes so vividly that for one inconvenient moment Gabriel forgot the careful speech he had prepared about the outing being nothing more than an attempt to improve her spirits.
She looked hopeful…and cautious…as if some part of her had expected him to stay away. As if she’d expected another rejection.
Something tightened beneath his ribs.
“Miss Montfort,” he said, though she was already Poppy to him.
“Mr. Ashby.”
Lady Viva appeared behind her in a wrapper the color of apricots and a quantity of lace that might have clothed a smaller woman entirely.
“Darling,” she said to Gabriel, “you came back. How reliable of you. I confess I was not certain. Men often say promising things in morning rooms and then leave, only to be afflicted by reason.”
Gabriel frowned. “I said I would return within the hour.”
“Yes, sweetie, and now you have. Delightful. Do take Freddie.”
Poppy turned. “Mama.”
“He requires air.”
“He requires discipline,” Poppy said.
“Then take him twice around the park and explain discipline to him as you go. Perhaps one of you will find the subject improving.”
Freddie barked from Gabriel’s arms.
Lady Viva pointed at the puppy. “You see? He agrees.”
“I do not think that was agreement,” Poppy said.
“Dogs are mysterious,” Lady Viva said, waving a hand in the air.
“Much like men, but with better tempers,” Lady Stone offered from the sofa in the drawing room.
Gabriel lowered Freddie to the ground and retained a grip on his ribbon. “If Freddie wishes to come, I see no objection.”
Poppy looked at him. “The ducks—”
Gabriel bit his lip to hide his smile. “I have been warned.”
“That is not the same as being prepared.”
“Miss Montfort, I have spent the better part of three days acquainting myself with your household. I no longer expect preparation to be possible.”
Her mouth curved, and right then he decided her smile was worth the entire ill-judged expedition. That recognition should have troubled him more than it did.
Lady Viva waved her hand again. “Go, darling. Take the air. Smile at people. Allow the gossips to infer something agreeable. If you encounter Lord Crampton, tell him I am considering Hampshire with cautious enthusiasm.”
“You are not considering Hampshire,” Poppy said, scowling.
“I am considering the idea of considering Hampshire.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“No, sweetie. It is much less tiring.”
Gabriel offered Poppy his hand. She looked at it for the briefest moment before placing her gloved fingers in his.
The contact was perfectly proper. A gentleman might offer such assistance a dozen times without consequence. Yet the slight weight of her hand in his sent heat through him all the same, quiet and immediate, his body ignoring every sensible command from his mind.
He assisted her into the curricle, handed Freddie up after her, and took his place beside her. His groom climbed onto the small seat at the rear. Gabriel gathered the reins, directed the horse into the street, and reminded himself that the entire arrangement was public and harmless.
For the first few minutes, Poppy said little. Freddie settled between them and sighed contentedly, clearly convinced the entire excursion had been arranged for his benefit.
London moved around them beneath a pale sky, carts, carriages, riders, pedestrians, errand boys darting across streets with no regard for longevity. Gabriel guided the horse westward, alert to traffic and acutely aware of the young lady seated beside him.
He had driven women before.
Not many. His acquaintances did not include young ladies who expected frivolous attentions, and his work allowed little time for social diversions. Still, he had conveyed his neighbor, his cousins, and once the daughter of a barrister who had spoken for twenty minutes on the subject of watercolors.
None of those occasions had made him so conscious of the space occupied by a woman’s sleeve.
Freddie’s head bobbed as he watched the passing world.
Poppy laid one hand lightly against the puppy’s back. “You are taking a great risk.”
Gabriel lifted his brows. “With the dog?”
“With your reputation.”
Gabriel glanced at her. “I was not aware Freddie’s conduct reflected upon me.”
Her smile made his heart pound. “He is in your curricle. Society will assume you approve of him.”
Gabriel turned the curricle through the park gate.
It was not yet the fashionable hour, though a respectable number of carriages already moved along the broad avenue. Riders passed on Rotten Row. The trees had thickened into summer green, and the Serpentine flashed silver between them when the road curved.
Poppy drew in a breath. Not the careful breath she took when steadying herself against disaster. A fuller one. Her shoulders eased, and Gabriel felt far more satisfaction than any sensible man ought to have taken from it.
“Better?” he asked.
She looked at him. “Is that a professional inquiry?”
“No.”
“A legal one?”
“No.”
“Then I scarcely know how to answer.”
“You might attempt the truth.”
“Bold advice, Mr. Ashby, considering what the truth accomplished this morning.”
The words were spoken quietly, but they were clear. He had known the subject would return. He had not known he would feel relief when it did.
“You are angry with me,” he said.
Poppy looked ahead. “I am trying not to be.”
“I would rather you did not try.”
That brought her gaze back to him. “You would prefer I be angry?”
“I would prefer you say what you mean.”
“That is easy for you. You have made an entire religion of saying what you mean.”
Gabriel adjusted the reins as a phaeton passed them. “Not a religion.”
“A creed then.”
He cleared his throat. “I do not apologize for candor.”
“I did not ask you to apologize.”
“No,” he said. “You merely thanked me with enough courtesy to make displeasure perfectly plain.”
A reluctant flicker of amusement touched her mouth. “Perhaps I have learned subtlety from Mama.”
“I doubt Lady Montague has ever practiced subtlety long enough to teach it.”
“No,” Poppy admitted. “She finds it fatiguing.”
Freddie lifted his head abruptly as a pair of ducks waddled near the edge of the road. Poppy caught his ribbon before he could leap. “Do not even contemplate it,” she told him.
Freddie trembled with thwarted ambition.
Gabriel slowed the horse. Ahead, the avenue narrowed where several carriages had gathered, their occupants exchanging greetings, clearly delighted to be seen enjoying the weather. He guided the curricle onto a quieter lane beside the Serpentine.
Poppy kept hold of Freddie’s ribbon.
For a little while, the only sound between them was the soft beat of the horse’s hooves and the distant calls of the waterfowl Freddie had been denied the opportunity to terrorize.
At last, she said, “You might have told Lord Ketterham it was not your place to comment.”
Gabriel had expected the charge. But it did not make it easier to answer. “He asked whether the rumors concerning Lady Montague were exaggerated.”
“And you told him they were not.”
“Yes.”
Poppy swallowed. “Why would you do that?”
The question held more hurt than anger.
Gabriel kept his gaze on the road. “Because they are not exaggerated.”
Her fingers tightened around Freddie’s ribbon. “You could have declined to answer.”
“I had already declined to discuss confidential matters.”
“That was not the same question.”
“No.”
“You knew why he was asking,” she pressed.
“Yes.”
“You knew what your answer would do.”