Her brow furrowed as if that confounded her, but she merely went on staring at the card, her thumb smoothing over one of the hearts.
“I am flattered, but you are the exception to my little problem, not the rule. Do you want to know what most men see when they look at me? A conquest, that’s what. The half-breed heathen daughter of a viscount who only became one by chance. A bit of skirt perfect for warming their beds and sating their lascivious needs. A lady in name, but not one they would marry or sire legitimate sons on. I have received over a dozen proposals since my coming out, you know … one of them even from a duke. But, not one of them was for marriage.”
Nick’s hands faltered and his cards went flying, spilling over his legs and down to the floor. He couldn’t think of a time he’d been more stunned—save, perhaps, for the moment Benedict had told him why Calliope wanted to hire him.
“I don’t understand. You are as much a lady as any other. Your father is a viscount, your sister is a countess—”
“And my mother was a Bengali whore who worshiped heathen gods and latched onto an officer of the East India Company, turning him into a scandalous defector.”
“You cannot truly mean that about your mother. I’ve heard the story of your parents, and it sounds to me as if they were very much in love.”
“Of course I don’t believe those things. But, it’s what everyone thinks. And I am her offspring—too Indian to be considered English, and too English to be considered Indian. I’ve never really belonged anywhere, though I have tried my best.”
A strange ache blossomed in his chest in reaction to her words, but he stopped him just short of reaching for her. “Calliope—”
“Do you have any idea how it felt to reach my third Season and realize all my years of schooling and lessons would amount to nothing? To have Diana come out that same year and gain a proposal from Hastings … to stand up at her wedding and realize I might never have my own? My father meant well when he brought me here, ensuring I had the best of everything, and that I was given the same opportunities and advantages as the other young girls. While it was enough to make them accept me, it wasn’t quite enough to erase my lineage. I could be friends with their daughters, but never marry their sons.”
Nick swallowed, his throat burning with acidic bile. Her words stoked something in him, something ugly and primal and dark. It made him want to do bodily harm to anyone who had ever tried to make her feel shame for something she had no control over.
“I can see now how difficult it has been for you,” he ventured, wanting to kick himself for such a gross understatement. “But, I cannot imagine any man wanting you and not being willing to do whatever it took to have you. I find it hard to believe that in all the years since your coming out there hasn’t been a single proposal of marriage.”
Calliope laughed, the sound harsh and humorless. “Oh, there were a few overtures, but directed only at my father and not at me. Mostly from fortune-hunters who’d heard rumors of a dowry. No one knew the amount, but they were willing to take the chance in order to find out. My father sent them all away, content to allow me to choose my own husband. Only … well, until now I had given up hope that I’d ever get to make such a choice.”
Her expression softened as she stared at the flowers filling a table near the door … the largest bouquet in the bunch looming over the rest.
“Lewes is different, then?”
The corner of her mouth twitched in the beginnings of a smile, and for the first time Nick noticed that her upper lip was slightly plumper than the lower. It was more obvious in profile, and quite the most mesmerizing thing he’d ever seen.
“He is kind, and has never once given me a lascivious glance, or masked innuendo with flowery speech. We have become friends of a sort, and I think that is what I would want in a husband. Someone I actually like.”
“And you like him very much.”
“I do.”
“Then you will have him. With my help, he’ll be begging you to marry him in no time.”