The Secret Wallflower Society - Jillian Eaton Page 0,3
to do in life: have the last word with his miserable wife and daughter.
“You said there were conditions,” Lady Shillington bit out. “What sort of conditions?”
“Ah, yes.” Shuffling his stack of papers, Mr. Highwater-Cleary pulled one from the middle and, without meeting Calliope’s gaze, began to silently read. After a few moments he lifted his head and the guilt in his intelligent brown eyes slowly caused her smile to fade. “I am afraid, Miss Haversham,” he began, addressing her directly, “that your inheritance is contingent upon marriage.”
“Marriage?” she whispered as a weight settled in the middle of her chest.
“Indeed.” The solicitor cleared his throat again. “I warned the earl his terms were rather…unusual, but he was insistent. It seems, Miss Haversham, that you have two failed Seasons–”
“Four,” Beatrice smirked. “She has four failed Seasons.”
Which means you have three, you mean, spoiled, selfish brat, Calliope thought, but of course she didn’t say the words aloud. She never did. It wasn’t worth the trouble, nor would she ever give Beatrice the satisfaction of knowing that her little barbs and insults hurt Calliope far more than she ever let on.
“It’s true,” she said in a loud, clear voice. “I haven’t yet found a husband, but I fail to see why that would affect the will.” Truth be told, whenever Calliope had envisioned herself sitting in her cozy little cottage high on a hill with a dog at her feet and a book on her lap, the chair beside hers had been filled with a cat, or more books, or a plate full of crumpets still warm from the oven.
In all of her imaginings, the only thing not in the chair?
A husband.
“As I said, the terms are unusual. Come to think of it, in all my thirty years of service I do not believe I’ve ever written such a clause into a will before. But your uncle was clear, Miss Haversham. Quite clear.”
Calliope held her breath.
“If you are not legally married by your twenty-first day of birth, your inheritance shall hence forth be given, in its entirety, to your cousin, Lady Beatrice.”
Calliope’s breath expelled in a loud whoosh of air while Lady Shillington cackled with glee.
“But this is wonderful news!” her aunt cried, clapping her hands together.
“You – you’re pleased?” said Mr. Highwater-Cleary, visibly taken aback by the countess’ reaction.
“But of course.” She looked at Calliope and her smile was as sharp as the edge of a knife. “Best not get too comfortable with your new set of circumstances, Niece. I wouldn’t want the disappointment to be too much when my daughter gets what is rightfully hers.”
The solicitor frowned. “I am afraid I do not understand. Miss Haversham will receive her inheritance as described.”
“But she won’t keep it for long,” Beatrice said in a sing-song voice. She glanced at her mother, and they shared a giggle while Calliope’s dreams of supporting herself and living a quiet, idyllic life in the countryside sank like a stone.
“My birthday is in eighteen days,” she explained to Mr. Highwater-Cleary, who still looked confused. “My twenty-first birthday, as it so happens.”
His eyes widened. “I do apologize, Miss Haversham. I hadn’t realized what an unreasonable deadline this would place upon you. When the will was contrived you were only sixteen. I assume your uncle believed you would be married, or at the very least engaged, by now.”
Beatrice guffawed. “Calliope, engaged? I should think not. The poor thing has never even had a single suitor come calling.”
That wasn’t completely true, but Calliope didn’t bother to correct her cousin. She was too busy thinking of how she was going to find someone to marry her in eighteen days when she hadn’t entertained a serious offer for her hand in eighteen months. And even then she had a feeling Lord Ascot had just been playing with her emotions. Another cruel prank, courtesy of the lovely Beatrice. Her jaw tightened.
“It’s quite all right, Mr. Highwater-Cleary,” she said softly. “You couldn’t have known.”
“Indeed.” Yet the solicitor still looked uncomfortable. “The earl and I had an appointment scheduled for next week. We were set to review his will, and I am almost certain he would have changed the date upon which he set your…conditions. Perhaps if I make an appeal to the court on your behalf–”
“I believe we already agreed they wouldn’t change anything,” Lady Shillington interrupted. “My husband was of sound mind when he made the will. You said so yourself, Mr. Highwater-Cleary.”
“Yes, however I do not believe it was your husband’s intention–”