The Secret Wallflower Society - Jillian Eaton Page 0,7

a shilling to her name.

After some plotting and planning they decided Helena would come to live with Calliope as a long lost relative, but before they could enact their scheme (which had been most likely doomed for failure from the start) Helena found herself the recipient of an anonymous – and very generous – benefactor.

Almost two years later and Helena still hadn’t the faintest idea who her patron was. All she knew was that he’d provided her the house she was currently living, a small staff, a monthly allowance, and – the strangest of all – a bouquet of yellow roses that arrived on the first Monday of every month no matter the season.

All attempts to discover the identity of the benefactor had failed, and eventually she’d given up trying. Still the question lingered, and at least once a year it became a topic of discussion. Unless, of course, something more pressing arose – like finding a husband in a matter of eighteen days.

“We cannot burn the house down. No,” Calliope said sternly when Helena started to argue. “Regardless of what happens, I do not wish any ill will towards Beatrice. And I certainly wouldn’t want her or my aunt to perish in a fire.”

Helena rolled her eyes. “It wouldn’t be a big fire. Just large enough to destroy their most prized possessions.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Fine,” Helena grumbled. “But you’ll be singing a different tune when they throw you out. Which they’re going to do, you know. At the very first opportunity.”

Calliope smoothed a wrinkle on her skirt and sighed. “I know.”

“You can always live here, of course. That goes without question. I’ve several spare rooms. You can take your pick. But just the idea of Beatrice and Lady Shillington getting their hands on what is rightfully yours is unbearable.” Helena made a face. “You’re truly a better person than I for not wishing the pox upon them.”

A tiny smile captured the corners of Calliope’s mouth as she allowed herself to imagine Beatrice’s face covered in red dots. Then she banished the image with a shake of her head as guilt flickered at the edge of her conscience.

She knew her cousin and aunt had treated her unkindly. ‘Unkindly’ being the kindest word she could use. But she’d been thrust upon them without warning. A shy, sheltered child who cried herself to sleep for weeks on end. They could have turned her away ages ago. Sent her to the nearest orphanage and been done with it. Because they hadn’t – or rather, her uncle hadn’t – there was a part of her that would always be grateful even as another part did want them to catch the pox.

It was a feeling that had plagued Calliope for most of her life. Belonging to a family, but not really belonging. Wanting to love them, but not really loving them. Desperate to fit in, but not really fitting in.

Not with the Shillingtons.

Not with High Society.

Not even with herself.

“Being a better person isn’t going to find me a husband,” she murmured, picking at a loose thread on her skirt.

“No,” Helena agreed with hesitation. “Probably not.”

Reaching for a ginger biscuit, Calliope dipped it in her tea to soften the hard dough before shoving the entire sweet in her mouth. But self-pity soured the sugar, and after she’d finished chewing she forced her upper lip to stiffen.

No matter how bad things seemed, she could not allow herself to dwell in sorrow or stuff her face with biscuits. She’d done it once before, and she never wanted to go back to that dark place again. Which was why, when the sharp, all-consuming grief of losing her parents had finally begun to fade, she’d made herself a promise. A promise that no matter what happened, she’d never let herself be consumed by the shadows. Instead she would turn to the light and to hopefulness, even if her situation appeared hopeless.

Especially if it appeared hopeless.

“There must be someone out there who is looking for a wife,” she said with dogged optimism. “Preferably a man who isn’t too old, or too young, and is intelligent and kind.”

Helena lifted a brow. “That’s a rather tall order.”

Calliope blinked. “What part?”

“All of it. But never fear,” Helena said, raising a finger when Calliope’s face fell. “You’ve come to the right place. Or rather, the right person. We’ll find you a husband. A good husband, who will treat you as you should be treated and won’t gamble away your inheritance or spend more nights at the brothel