of his love of curries and pies. His eyes, blue like Diana’s, crinkled at the corners with smile lines.
“Anni, my dear, how was the journey from London? Not too taxing I hope?”
She winced as he set her away from him, glancing back at Diana, who descended from the carriage with the help of her husband. Hastings murmured words of comfort to his wife, who had demanded the carriage be pulled over several times for the sake of her stomach. The poor thing had cast up everything she’d eaten this morning, and she looked pale and wan.
“Not for me, but poor Diana found it disagreeable. I daresay she doesn’t want to see the inside of a carriage again until it is time to go home.”
Her father’s eyes twinkled with affection as Diana approached, smiling despite her current state.
“I am sorry to hear you have suffered so, but delight in the reason for it,” he said, reaching out to take her into one arm while still holding on to Calliope. “Your mother had the same hardship when she carried you, but it passed, and she was in good health up until your birth. If it makes you feel any better, you look wonderful. Practically glowing, isn’t she, Anni?”
Before Calliope could verbalize her agreement, Diana snorted.
“That glow is nothing more than a sheen of sweat from the exertions of trying and failing to retain anything other than tea.”
Hastings reached for his wife, concern wrinkling his brow. “Let me help you to bed, darling. Then I can—”
“You,” Diana snapped, glaring at her husband, “have done quite enough, thank you.”
Their father tried to choke back a laugh and failed, while Calliope nudged him in the ribs and whispered to him to take care. They were safe as long as Diana was annoyed with Hastings and not them. Despite Diana’s insistence that Hastings not make a fuss over her, he took her arm and guided her up the front stairs with mincing steps. Heads pressed close together, the two murmured to one another as they ascended. Calliope smiled at their backs, even as a pit of longing opened within her gut, yawning wider when she thought of the man who would arrive here tomorrow intent on earning her father’s favor. While she was of age and did not need her father’s permission to wed, it was important to her that the viscount at least approve of Martin.
For some reason, that line of thought only led to her wondering what her father would think of Dominick, which was ridiculous. It did not matter what he thought of her courtesan, as her involvement with him would end before she returned to London. All she had to do was endure the next fortnight, and she would never have to suffer his presence, or the confusion of emotions he stoked within her.
“Come, sweet,” her father urged, tucking her arm through his. “We have much to talk about, do we not?”
She nodded her agreement but said nothing as they entered the house, a sudden trepidation washing over her. Her father and sister had planned this gathering for one purpose, so it shouldn’t surprise her that he’d want to discuss her suitors. However, she was not so eager to think or talk about the two men demanding her attention. It would seem her father wished to get straight to the point, so he would be prepared to inspect her prospective bridegroom tomorrow.
He ushered her through the entrance hall, where a trio of maids worked to dust and polish in preparation for guest arrivals, while footmen came and went carrying freshly laundered linen and gleaming china.
Once upstairs, they first stopped into one of two private family drawing rooms so Calliope could greet her great aunts. Upon first entering the room she had to stop and blink to ensure her eyes didn’t deceive her. Aunts Louisa and Doris looked as if they had not moved from their twin armchairs since the last time Calliope had visited, and for a moment she expected to find a layer of dust covering them both in a fine powder.
Louisa peered at her over a pair of round spectacles, a riot of unruly white curls peeking out from beneath a mobcap. In her lap sat the ancient pug that had been her constant companion for as long as Calliope had been living. Horatio had begun to go gray about the snout and was so fat it was a wonder his little legs could support his weight—not that it was