“Don’t be ridiculous, there is nothing ‘dusty’ about you. That he has reached his thirtieth year without being seriously linked with any woman tells me he has discerning taste. Maybe he has no interest in insipid debutantes. Maybe what he wants is a lady of experience.”
“Experience is simply a nice way of saying I’m old. I appreciate your desire to help, but I think it best if I give up the husband hunt. It has become too much of a chore and there doesn’t seem to be a single eligible man in this city worth having.”
Diana flashed a sly smile. “Except for Mr. Lewes. You find him utterly distracting. I’ve seen the way you look at him. Just now you nearly swooned when he smiled at you.”
Calliope bit her lip, annoyed that someone else had noticed. It was foolish of her to dream about being the object of his attention when she was well past the age of such flights of fancy.
“Of course I admire him,” she said, avoiding Diana’s gaze. “That doesn’t mean I would ever be foolish enough to think he’d want me—at least not for marriage. Have you any idea how much it would hurt to come to know him only to realize he will treat me like all the others? No, Diana … it is out of the question.”
“I suppose I cannot blame you for such caution. But won’t you at least try? Mr. Lewes may be the one to surprise you, but you’ll never know if you will not give him a chance.”
Calliope mulled that over in silence, something akin to hope burgeoning deep within her. No matter how ruthlessly she’d tried to snuff it out, a small glimmer of it lived on. It told her that Diana was right. Her experiences had made her jaded, but somewhere inside, the young girl who had made her debut four years ago longed for more. Mr. Lewes seemed like the kind of man she could respect, and there was the added boon of her strong attraction to him. What did she have to lose by simply trying to cultivate his interest? If nothing came of it, she would be none the worse for wear. However, if there was a chance it could lead to something more …
“Very well,” she blurted before she could turn craven. “I’ll do it.”
Diana gave her a wide grin, blue eyes twinkling with excitement. “You will not regret this. He’ll be the one, I can feel it.”
Calliope couldn’t feel quite so optimistic just yet, but she supposed her sister had enough confidence for the both of them.
This will be the last time, she thought as Diana prattled on. If this one turns out to have no interest in me, or the wrong sort of interest, I will never put myself through this again.
By the end of the week, Calliope had completely changed her tune—going from being adamantly against pursuing Mr. Lewes as a potential husband, to staring off into space and imagining a future with him in it. She’d done this often over the years, unraveling the imaginings of her desired family life and neatly inserting this man or that into the empty space where a husband should be. At times, the exercise left her feeling hopeless. If a man did not seem like someone she could respect as well as love, then wedging him into such a dream distorted the entire thing. But Martin Lewes was utterly perfect.
He had called upon them following their meeting in the park, sharing tea with Calliope, Diana, and Hastings. The two men had regaled the ladies with amusing stories of their years at university, and Mr. Lewes seemed to go out of his way to engage Calliope in conversation. His smiles were wide and genuine, his expression intent when she spoke, as if he were actually listening instead of waiting for her to finish so he could dominate the discourse. He complimented her morning gown, and once Diana had mentioned Calliope’s talent for charcoal sketching, he had expressed an interest in seeing her work. A maid had been sent to fetch her sketchbook, and he had settled next to her on a settee to inspect the drawings.
It had been nearly impossible to keep from gawking at him as he flipped the pages, taking the time to inspect each one. The sun streaming through the windows had set his hair aglow, and his matching brows had furrowed with concentration as