Chapter Twenty-Four #2
Poppy drew one breath. “Shall we follow?”
Gabriel inclined his head. “Yes.”
They ascended together, Lady Viva trailing behind them with commentary.
By the time they arrived at the top of the staircase, Algernon had reached the blue bedchamber. He stood in the doorway with his hands clasped behind his back, examining the curtains with grave dissatisfaction. “They are too heavy.”
Poppy looked at the curtains. “They have always been there.”
“Yes. That is the difficulty. They appear tired.”
Mama leaned toward Poppy and whispered, “Darling, imagine being judged by Algernon for looking tired.”
Poppy bit the inside of her cheek.
Gabriel looked toward the window and narrowed his eyes before his composure failed him.
Algernon walked into the room and drew one curtain aside. “The light is not properly filtered.”
“It is morning,” Gabriel pointed out. “The light will behave differently later.”
Algernon looked at him, clearly startled to discover solicitors were permitted humor.
Poppy was not certain whether Gabriel had intended the remark as humor, which made it even better.
Mr. Pritchard made another note. “Curtains to be examined.”
“The blue counterpane may remain,” Algernon said. “For now.”
“How generous,” Mama murmured. “The counterpane will be relieved.”
Poppy turned away under the pretense of checking a trunk. She would not laugh. She would not cry. Both impulses seemed equally possible.
They proceeded through the rooms Algernon had decided required immediate review.
The library, already stripped of many books, nearly broke her.
Empty spaces marked the shelves where Papa’s personal volumes had stood.
Outside the study, the covered portrait leaned against the doorframe, waiting for the wagon.
Algernon pointed to it. “That belongs on the north wall.”
Poppy kept her face blank. “We are taking it with us.”
Algernon stamped his foot. “It will remain in the house.”
“No,” Gabriel said, stepping nearer. His tone was quiet, but it left no room for argument. “That is Lady Montague’s personal portrait, and it will be going with her.”
Algernon’s mouth tightened.
Poppy kept her shoulders straight, though warmth moved through her.
In the morning room, Algernon objected to the rose chintz, the placement of a small table, and a vase of daisies he claimed interfered with thought.
Mama suggested he attempt thoughts in another room.
Mr. Pritchard pretended not to hear. Gabriel corrected Algernon twice more when he implied certain pieces belonged to the estate without proof, and each time his voice remained so calm Poppy wanted to kiss him and strike Algernon with a curtain pole.
Eventually, Algernon returned to the foyer to give instructions to his servants about trunks, carpet, and the newest snuff cabinet.
Poppy found herself, for one brief moment, beside Gabriel who stood near Papa’s wrapped portrait. Freddie had escaped Jenkins and now sat on one corner of the cloth like a loyal sentry.
Gabriel lowered his voice. “I have arranged for the wagon to leave within the hour. The larger pieces may go to storage until you decide whether to take the cottage.”
“You do not approve of the cottage.”
He looked at her. “You know I don’t.”
She wanted to ask what came next for them, beyond the trunks, beyond the cottage, beyond the crisis that had carried them to dawn.
He had held her until the light crept into the room.
He had asked her to marry him with such tortured honor that her heart still ached from refusing the question rather than the man.
Yet morning had brought crates, hired men, and Algernon’s invasion. Practical necessity had swallowed every question before either of them could speak it aloud.
Had he spent the morning regretting the offer? Improving it? Persuading himself that Poppy had been right to ask for more than his duty?
She did not know.
A knock sounded before she could gather the courage to ask.
Jenkins returned to the door. A servant stood outside holding a silver salver.
“For Miss Montfort,” Jenkins said.
Poppy recognized the seal.
Caldermere.
Her stomach tightened.
Jenkins accepted the note and brought it to her.
Gabriel’s expression did not alter, but his stillness told her he knew precisely who had sent it.
Poppy broke the seal.
The message was brief.
Miss Montfort,
I hope you will forgive the directness of this note. I understand Lord Montague has arrived sooner than expected and that your circumstances require immediate clarity.
I remain prepared to offer the arrangement we discussed. My name, my protection, and my household are at your disposal. Lady Montague will be provided for with every comfort. I ask only that we proceed with the understanding already established between us.
I will call this afternoon to receive your answer.
Caldermere
Poppy read it twice.
She had expected the whole day to consider what came next. Instead, every decision seemed to demand another before she had finished making the first.
Lord Caldermere offered certainty. His name, his fortune, his protection. Mama would never want for comfort, and no one would ever dare look down upon them again.
The price was plain enough. A courteous husband whose heart belonged elsewhere, and a marriage built upon mutual convenience rather than love.
Gabriel offered something altogether different.
Love.
She didn’t doubt that.
But he still believed that loving him required her to surrender too much.
He would spend their marriage trying to repay sacrifices she did not regret making, forever fearing he had taken more from her than he deserved.
He loved her with his whole heart, yet still could not quite trust her to choose him with hers.
Then there was the cottage.
The smallest future of the three. Mama. Freddie. A roof they could afford, quiet mornings, honest work, and the satisfaction of knowing no gentleman had determined her course. She suspected she could build a respectable life there.
Whether she could build a happy one was another question entirely.
Poppy folded Caldermere’s note slowly.
Gabriel’s gaze held hers. “What does he want?”
Her voice remained calm. “An answer.”
“When?”
“This afternoon.”
The clock upon the mantel had just begun striking noon.
Gabriel’s jaw worked once. “I would like to tell you to refuse him.”
Poppy’s breath caught.
“I would like,” he continued, voice low, “to take that note from your hand, toss it into the fire, and say no man who offers you a place in only the public portion of his life deserves even an hour of your consideration.”
She stared at him.
He looked down at the floor, then back at her. “But I made you a poor offer last night because I confused honor with love. I will not repeat the mistake by turning my jealousy into a command.”
Her hand tightened around Caldermere’s note.
“So I will say only this,” Gabriel continued. “I dread your answer. I dread it more than I have dreaded anything in years. And I will respect it.”
Poppy felt the words move through her, tender and painful and devastatingly honest.
The world seemed to narrow to the note in her hand, the man before her, and the boxes already packed for the cottage.
By this afternoon, she must decide whether to bind herself to Lord Caldermere, trust Gabriel despite all that still stood between them, or leave London altogether and make a quiet life for herself, Mama, and Freddie in the country.
But perhaps the choice was not truly between two gentlemen and a cottage.
Perhaps it was between merely surviving and allowing herself to hope for something larger. The cottage promised independence. Caldermere promised security. Gabriel offered neither with certainty.
He offered love.
Poppy looked down at the note in her hand.
For the first time in her life, the safest path no longer seemed the wisest one. And she had only a few hours left to discover whether she possessed the courage to choose it.