necessary when Louisa insisted on carrying him about.
Doris was rail thin and severe, in direct contrast to her sister’s corpulent frame and plump jowls, her own gray hair pulled into a knot so tight it was a wonder she could blink. A book rested in her lap, likely some dry treatise on proper decorum or household management, as Aunt Doris thought the reading of novels a waste of time, and especially disapproved of them in the hands of young ladies.
“Look who has just arrived,” her father announced, pride swelling his chest as he presented her.
“Aunt Doris, Aunt Louisa,” Calliope said, gracing each of them with a smile while internally bracing herself for the inevitable criticisms. “You are both looking well.”
“Oh, hello, child,” Louis murmured, pushing her spectacles further up her nose. “You are too thin. Hasn’t she become so thin, Doris?”
“Hmm, quite,” her other aunt agreed with a frown of disapproval. “What have you done to yourself? Just because your hopes of making a match have borne no fruit does not mean you should let yourself go. Perhaps you’d snare a suitor if you were plumper.”
Calliope wanted to point out the irony of Doris’s assessment while her own figure was akin to the shape of a fireplace poker, but she knew better. Arguing with the aunts only made them ornery, and just now they seemed in good spirits. Their criticisms might be received differently from people who didn’t understand them as their family did. It was simply their way, and they did not bother to speak their minds to people they did not like. For those individuals, they chose to whisper to one another while casting disparaging glares in their direction.
“And you must remember to wear a hat when you venture out of doors,” Louisa added when Calliope did not latch onto the first bit of bait. “Your complexion is looking a bit …”
“Dark,” Doris filled in with a decisive nod. “And Louisa is right. A fair complexion is a most attractive trait in a woman.”
Calliope bit the inside of her cheek and held in a laugh, certain she did not need to remind them that her ‘dark’ complexion had nothing to do with the sun.
“I will try to keep that in mind,” she said instead, trading an amused glance with her father.
“Where is your sister?” Louisa asked, squinting as she peered past Calliope. “That husband of hers certainly likes to keep her to himself, doesn’t he?”
“She is resting,” her father replied. “The journey from London was quite taxing for her.”
“Hmm, a bad sign, to be sure,” Doris declared. “A lady with such a delicate constitution will never bear strong sons. Poor Hastings may never have his heir.”
“On the contrary,” Calliope replied. “It is a possible heir which is responsible for her condition. Diana is with child.”
“Oh, that is wonderful news,” Louisa said. “You mustn’t be too envious of her, Calliope. It is not so uncommon for a younger sister to wed and start breeding before the elder. Chin up, girl.”
Her father coughed, taking hold of Calliope’s arm and giving it a squeeze, as if sensing she’d come to the end of her patience.
“We will not disturb you,” he said with a gracious bow of his head, as if addressing two queens as opposed to his crotchety, spinster aunts. “Calliope and I have some catching up to do, and I believe it is nearly time for your afternoon naps.”
“Oh, indeed,” Doris agreed. “We shall need our rest if we are to endure the descent of your guests tomorrow.”
“Such taxing affairs, house parties,” Louisa grumbled.
“Then we will leave you to your rest,” the viscount replied, already steering Calliope from the room.
They beat a hasty retreat, waiting until they had closed the door to meet one another’s gazes and erupt into a fit of laughter.
“A bit like standing before a firing squad, is it not?” her father.
“Why we put up with them is beyond me,” she replied. “How they’ve managed to live so long boggles the mind.”
“I am of the opinion that their bitterness and unmarried state are responsible. With no men to annoy them and each other to commiserate to, they are a match made in heaven.”
“I suppose you are right. They will likely outlive us all, and die as they have always lived—together, and insulting everyone around them until their last breaths.”
“Fortunately, we will not be around to see that. Come, sweet … I’ve sent for tea, and I wish for us to talk.”
He led her into another room further