“You’ll just have to do it, Addie. We can’t have all of London chortling at our unknowing daughter. Half of ’em seem to think she’s a fortune hunter who doesn’t care that the man is a … a limp rag, and the other half are laughing at her. I won’t have it, do you hear?” He was alarmingly red in the face. “Do you know how many people have had the infernal impertinence to ask me how I feel, having my daughter courted by a floppy poppy?”

“A floppy poppy,” Adelaide repeated, fascinated despite herself. “That’s quite good—a floppy poppy.”

“Lord! Don’t repeat that, Addie. It’s not at all proper,” her husband groaned. “Do you see what I mean, though? People are simply vying to create new nicknames for the man. Don’t think I’m not sympathetic. I quite like him personally. He made a remarkably decent speech in Lords the other day, about the possibility of corn riots in Suffolk. No one whispered about his incapabilities then! But the fact is, he’s not a man that a father would want courting his daughter. No children, Adelaide. Have you thought of that?” He glared at his wife accusingly.

“Marcel,” she protested, “I’m not suggesting that Charlotte marry the man; I simply don’t want to broach the subject with her. After all, she shows no signs of favoring him over any of her other suitors. Why not let it be for the moment?”

“Because at any second he might win her over! You should have seen him in the House, Addie. The man has a silver tongue. And he’s damned good-looking, I’ll give him that. No one would think to look at him that there was anything wrong. Barring his problem, I’d say he was perfect for Charlotte.”

“I see,” said Adelaide. “You’re afraid she’ll fall in love with him.”

“If she does, we’re in trouble. You know how stubborn she is, Addie. Why, we couldn’t even stop Winifred from marrying that American, and she was the most biddable of all our children. If Charlotte gets it in her head to marry him, she’ll do it. And she won’t pay any attention to whether he’s capable or not.”

He sat down heavily. “Except she won’t be happy, Addie. She can paint all day long in that studio of hers, but it won’t make her happy.” Marcel reached up and pulled his wife down to sit on the bed beside him. “It wouldn’t be right.”