The Secret Wallflower Society - Jillian Eaton Page 0,12
unbearable when her uncle was alive, it was nothing compared to how they’d behaved since his death. In a word, they were horrible. And she was giving serious reconsideration to taking Helena’s advice and burning the entire house to the ground.
Preferably with Beatrice and Lady Shillington inside of it.
“Don’t worry about an invitation,” Helena said matter-of-factly. “Worry about what you’re going to wear. Do you have time for a trip to the dressmakers? There’s a new little shop on Terrace Street in Mayfair. I’ve been dying to go.”
Calliope glanced around the parlor. The very empty parlor. Beatrice and Lady Shillington had stepped out to run errands, leaving Calliope alone in blessed peace and quiet. Until Helena had come knocking on her door speaking nonsense about an elite ball Calliope had absolutely no hope of attending.
She’d heard of Lady Galveston’s annual autumn ball, of course. Everyone had heard of it. The high class affair marked the unofficial beginning of the new Season, and invitations were as coveted as gold – and just as rare. Short of some unforeseen miracle, Calliope had no chance of securing one. Honestly, she wasn’t sure she’d want to attend even if she did have an invitation.
Dances had never been her cup of tea. While she could climb to the top of a tree without a single misstep, the deliberate elegance of the waltz had always escaped her. Unfortunately, word had gotten out long ago that if a man wanted to leave a ball with all ten toes intact he’d best avoid Miss Calliope Haversham at all costs.
“Well?” Helena demanded. “Do you have time or not?”
“All I have is time. It’s not as if suitors are knocking down the door,” Calliope said with a wry twist of her lips. Which was ironic, of course, because she didn’t really have time. At least, not where it counted most.
She was already down to sixteen days to find a husband. In the grand scheme of things, it might as well have been sixteen years because she’d no doubt the outcome would be the same either way.
No one had wanted to marry her before her inheritance and no one was going to want to marry her after it. She was a shy, bookish wallflower who liked to sit in trees. The only thing worse than that was a shy, bookish spinster. And in sixteen days, that’s precisely what she would be.
Perhaps it was just better to accept her fate and start preparing for the inevitable instead of planning for the impossible. Calliope wasn’t one to give up, she neither was she impractical. She knew the chances of meeting the terms of her uncle’s will were all but nonexistent. Which was why she was hesitant to spend money on a ball gown when she wasn’t going to a ball. But when she said as much to Helena, her friend just rolled her eyes.
“Not with that demeanor you’re not. Chin up, my darling buttercup. As I said, leave the invitation to me. All you need to worry about is what you’re wearing.”
Calliope followed Helena reluctantly out the door, and the two women struck out towards Mayfair. It would have been quicker to hire a hackney, but for once it wasn’t raining and Calliope wanted to stretch her legs. They cut through a small park, and as they passed by a cluster of blackthorns whose leaves were begin to yellow with the changing of the seasons, Calliope revealed what she’d thought of late last night when she’d been unable to sleep.
“I believe the best thing to do is donate my inheritance to the St. James Orphanage.”
Helena stopped so quickly she nearly tripped over an exposed root twisting up through the stone path. “Why the devil would you do that?” she said, clearly aghast.
Calliope had expected resistance, and she was prepared with an explanation. “Because the orphans are desperately in need. If my uncle hadn’t stepped in, I might have been raised at St. James. I’ve donated my time, but what they’re truly in need of is more cots and new clothes and fresh food. I’d like to see the money go to a good cause.”
“You’re a good cause and heaven knows you need new clothes.” Helena’s nose wrinkled as her gaze traveled down Calliope’s frumpy beige dress where the lace hem had been sewn and then resewn again. “That potato sack does nothing for your figure. With a new silhouette and some color to bring out your eyes, you’ll be positively ravishing. Winchester won’t