I want you to remain with us as long as you wish. I know how little you love living with Father and the aunts.”
Calliope groaned. “How can two such old, miserable crones still be alive? It defies all reason.”
“That they are so miserable is what keeps them with us. Tormenting the people around them gives the old hags something to live for.”
They leaned into one another and laughed, perhaps a bit too loudly, for they turned several heads. But it made Calliope feel better to jest and laugh with her sister. In the shadowy corners of her mind, she was aware that it could not last forever. Diana had been married to the Earl of Hastings for six months now, and suspected she was with child. Even if her instincts were proven wrong this time, children were inevitable. Diana had her own home, her own life, and would soon have a growing family demanding her time and energy.
Could Calliope continue living on the fringes of her sister’s existence, longing for the things she wanted but did not have?
She couldn’t even feign disappointment over Rufus Gordon, as she hadn’t even liked the man. But she would have tolerated him for the chance at a child, or perhaps two. Someone to love and call her own, even if that love was not romantic or passionate—was that so impossible?
“I refuse to allow you to give up,” Diana said, squaring her shoulders and raising her chin as if prepared to do battle on Calliope’s behalf. “Let’s see. Who can we pursue next?”
“Diana,” Calliope groaned. “Please. I am crying off. I do not like the feeling of desperation. For the love of God, I was ready to accept a proposal from Rufus Gordon.”
Diana shuddered. “It’s all right, dear, we all have lapses in judgment. What about Mr. Lambley?”
“Already betrothed. The wedding will be just after the start of the Season.”
“Drat. Oh, what of Baron Hornsby? He’s gone a bit gray at the temples, but he’s still handsome. He’s been out of mourning for a year now, I think.”
Calliope frowned at the mention of the baron whose wife had died and left him with four unruly children. They were rumored to be so terrible that no woman would consider his suit.
“I think not.”
“Well … oh, my … what about him?”
Calliope’s skin prickled at the way Diana said ‘him’, for there was only one man who elicited such a reaction. Her hands became clammy inside her gloves and her pulse fluttered as she followed Diana’s gaze.
A group of young men walked in their direction, steps light and jaunty, youth and vitality dripping from their every pore. There were five of them, all of varying heights and coloring—some handsome but none as beautiful as him.
The Honourable Mr. Martin Lewes, one of the ton’s most sought-after bachelors. Set to inherit a viscountcy on his father’s death, the man was everything a mama could want for her unwed daughter. Ridiculously handsome, charming and polite to a fault, a fabulous dancer, and eligible. It didn’t hurt matters that along with a title, Mr. Lewes was set to inherit a grand fortune as well as a flourishing country holding that had been passed down through generations. He was a favorite among men and women of high society alike, and there wasn’t a hostess in London who didn’t covet his presence at their dinner parties and balls. He partnered the young women on the dance floor with gallantry, charmed the matrons until they were blushing and tittering like young girls, and was a superb card player.
While there were many of the ton who treated Calliope with cool, forced civility—or ignored her altogether—Mr. Lewes often went out of his way to be kind to her. He’d brought her champagne at a few balls, and had danced with her often. Of course, he partnered dozens of other young ladies as well, and seemed to simply enjoy dancing. It had meant nothing, and she’d never let herself think otherwise.
“He’s so … well, handsome seems like a rather mild word, doesn’t it?” Diana whispered.
Calliope’s stomach churned as the men slowed, Mr. Lewes coming to a halt when he recognized them. He was a golden god of a man, blond-haired and blue eyed, a study in classical perfection. Full, alluring lips parted in a blinding smile, and it was all she could do not to swoon on the spot.
“Lady Hastings, Miss Barrington,” he said, offering a bow. “Good afternoon.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Lewes,” Diana chirped, seeming oblivious to Calliope’s