The Secret Wallflower Society - Jillian Eaton Page 0,27
icy brusqueness. She’d witnessed it firsthand when they’d danced. It would have been easy for him to cast her aside. To mock her. To make her feel little and small. That’s what others had done.
But not the Earl of Winchester.
With a small act of compassion, he’d made her feel important. And she could think of no greater kindness than that. Which was why she wanted to ensure he was not acting out of sympathy or pity or some other misplaced emotion cultivated by the knowledge of the unique situation she found herself trapped by. In short, she wanted to make sure that if he liked her – which she very much hoped he did – it wasn’t because he felt sorry for her.
“No. Should she have?” Leo’s head canted to the side, a frown tightening the edges of his mouth. Then his gaze fell to her stomach, and his eyes widened. “Are you…that is to say, in the family…er…in the family way?”
“What? No!” Calliope’s hand splayed self-consciously across her belly. She knew she wasn’t as slender as Helena. Few women were. But she didn’t think those extra crumpets she’d eaten after breakfast had been enough to make her look pregnant. “Do I look as if I am in the family way?”
Leo flushed. “Of course not. I just assumed…”
“Do you know when it is the correct time to assume a woman is expecting, my lord?” she asked, her eyes flashing with indignation on behalf of pregnant women everywhere.
“I feel as though this may be one of those trick questions,” he said cautiously. “I don’t think I want to answer.”
“Never,” she said. “The answer is never.”
“Sound advice, Miss Haversham.” He cleared his throat. “I shall take care to heed it.”
She managed to keep her glare for another two seconds before her gaze softened and a tiny smile gave her away. “Please see that you do, Lord Winchester.”
They were quiet for a moment. It wasn’t the stiff, uncomfortable silence of strangers, but rather a cozy respite of two friends taking the time to gather their thoughts. In the glow of the moonlight they were apart but together, two hurt, lonely souls taking refuge beneath the shelter of a starry sky. Then Leo looked at her, and she could see the question in his eyes before he spoke it out loud. A question that she’d have to answer, and once she did whatever peace and tranquility that existed between them would disappear with the snap of a finger.
She just hoped that having found this place once, they could soon return to it again.
“The circumstances you mentioned…” He trailed off, obviously unwilling to step in the muck a second time. Good for him. It showed he learned from his mistakes, and quickly too. A worthy trait in any person, but particularly valuable when coming from a member of the opposite sex.
“Yes.” Her fingers curled around the railing as tension rippled down her arms. “I suppose I should start at the beginning. Unless tragic family histories bore you, in which case I’d think your best course of action would be to leave now.”
Instead of leaving, he slid a step closer. “I’m not going anywhere, Miss Haversham.”
“If you’re going to learn all my secrets, you might as well call me Calliope.” It was something Helena would have said, and she was pleased, if a bit shocked, but her own bravado.
“Calliope, then.” His velvety baritone wrapped around her like a warm cloak on a cold winter’s day and a tiny thrill shot through her.
Was this what the poets meant when they spun sonnets about courtship and falling in love? She’d always found the flowery lyrics a tad exaggerated, but now she wasn’t so sure. Especially when Leo’s hand slid over the top of hers and it felt as if a thousand butterflies had taken flight inside of her belly all at once.
“When I was very young my parents passed unexpectedly and I became a ward of my uncle, the Marquess of Shillington. He already had a wife, and a daughter my age. Beatrice.” She paused to take a breath as old, familiar pain washed over her in an unexpected wave. Her cousin’s mocking laughter as she found amusement at Calliope’s expense. The humiliation of wearing cast-off gowns that Beatrice didn’t hesitate to tell anyone who would listen they’d once belonged to her. Wanting so desperately to be loved first, but always, always falling a distant second.
“Here,” Leo murmured, offering her a white handkerchief.