The Secret Wallflower Society - Jillian Eaton Page 0,5
Miss Haversham. I wish you all the luck over the next few weeks, and if there is anything you need – anything at all – please do not hesitate to reach out.” Then, in a louder tone, he said, “I will show myself to the door. Should you have any questions or concerns regarding the will, my office is always open to you.”
“Farewell, Mr. Highwater-Cleary. Thank you for your service.” Waiting until the front door had closed and the solicitor’s carriage had pulled away, Lady Shillington met Calliope’s gaze. Her lips curved in a smile that fell far short of her eyes. “Shall we begin the countdown, my dear?”
Calliope’s brow creased. “What countdown?”
“Why to your birthday of course, you silly little thing.” She fluttered a hand in the air. “Of all the ones you’ve had, I do believe this is going to be my favorite.”
Beatrice snickered.
“How many days, again?” Lady Shillington continued. “Oh, that’s right.” She snapped her fingers and the sharp sound sent a chill racing down Calliope’s spine. “Eighteen. I know they’re just going to fly by. Don’t you, darling?”
“I suppose we’ll see,” Calliope said stiffly.
“Yes we will, won’t we?” Lady Shillington held her gaze a second longer than necessary, then glanced at her daughter. “Come along, Beatrice. We need to change before luncheon.”
Calliope watched them quit the room without speaking. As soon as they’d left the oxygen seemed to return, and she drew a deep breath as she went to the window and stared out at the tree-lined street beyond.
A light autumn drizzle had begun to fall, causing those who walked by to unfold their umbrellas and quicken their step. Over the past few weeks a damp chill had taken hold of the nights, leaving the grasses tipped with silver in the morning and turning the leaves from green to gold. In three days the Season would begin, accompanied by the sitting of Parliament. Usually the impending balls and luncheons and plays filled Calliope with dread, but this time she had something greater to fear than forced socialization with her peers.
“Eighteen days,” she whispered, warm breath fogging the glass as her belly tightened and then rolled unpleasantly, a feeling usually brought on when her carriage traveled too quickly down a steep hill. Apropos, perhaps, as she felt as if she were suddenly dashing madly down a mountainside with nothing to catch her at the bottom.
Drumming her fingers along the windowsill, Calliope stepped back. It could be worse, she supposed. Eighteen days was better than seventeen. Or sixteen. Or six. And history proved that far more insurmountable tasks had been accomplished with much less time. When it came down to it all she needed to do was find a man she didn’t loathe and convince him to propose within a fortnight. Then they’d have to run away to Gretna Green – there was no time for marriage contracts or a license to be drawn up or bans to be read in England – and marry before midnight on her twenty-first birthday.
Really, how difficult could it possibly be?
Chapter Two
As it turned out, finding a husband in such a short amount of time (or any amount of time, for that matter) was rather difficult. Something Calliope came to learn when she woke up the next morning and realized she had absolutely no idea where to start.
When someone wanted to purchase a horse they went to Tattershall’s.
When they wanted a new gown they went to the dressmaker’s.
When they wanted a slab of bacon they went to the butcher’s.
But where did one go when they were in need of a husband?
Calliope really didn’t know, which was why she turned to her dearest friend and confidant, Lady Helena Darby.
“I told Emmie to ready the tea as soon as I heard the news,” Helena announced by way of salutation as she ushered Calliope into her modest townhouse on the outskirts of Berkley Square. A widow with an ear for gossip, Helena always seemed to know things almost before they happened, which was why Calliope wasn’t surprised to learn she already knew of her unique situation. It certainly saved her having to explain it all over again, and she accepted her cup of tea with a grateful smile.
“Is that a new hat?” she asked, noting the silk turban wrapped around Helena’s fiery red hair. Unlike Calliope, who possessed a very modest taste in fashion, Helena was always pushing the boundaries with daring necklines and new silhouettes and one-of-a-kind accessories.