Chapter 9
Hyde Park
London, England
The sun shone amber gold on the wilting lawn of Hyde Park.
Thin wisps of early morning fog sat on the air as a few stubborn dew drops clung to the grass, the only water source currently keeping the lawn somewhat preserved in the midst of what the newspapers were expecting to be a months-long drought.
The flowers which had been blooming when Calliope and her mother had first arrived in the spring had been the first victims of the summer’s lack of rain and unbearable heat, and now the shrubbery was beginning to brown as well.
Even whilst it was still fairly early in the morning, the suffocating heat seemed to be rising from the ground up.
Calliope’s parasol, while efficient in blocking out the sun, did little to prevent the dampness collecting in the creases of her elbows.
Really, where was all the rain and cool weather she’d been promised when she’d arrived in England? It was as if nature itself were colluding against her, making sure she had as miserable of a time as possible, lest her mother not do a good enough job of it on her own.
There weren’t many others in the park, only a handful of ladies with their maids and a few men sitting on benches, reading newspapers.
One paper in particular caught Calliope’s eye, as it bore a photograph of a medieval cathedral undergoing preservation efforts on the front page.
It made her heart squeeze, thinking of her own unfinished foray into journalism.
She could not help feeling that her readers’ interest would wane without consistent publication.
Closing her eyes and inhaling slowly to steady her nerves, Calliope walked on, her maid keeping pace a good twenty feet behind her so as not to intrude on her and the earl’s conversation.
As for the earl, he seemed to be the only soul in the park looking entirely unruffled by the heat, despite wearing a three-piece suit.
Not even a single drop of sweat shone on his brow.
He must have been a mind reader, for there was no other explanation for why he would suddenly turn an exasperating grin her way and remark, “Beautiful day, don’t you think?”
She harrumphed. “It would have been cooler had you arrived on time.”
“It would have been cooler still at six, but as I recall, someone was not too pleased with that suggestion.”
“Well, you’ve managed to get me out here either way, my lord,” she told him as they passed a nanny spreading out a picnic for her young charges. “So what is it you hope to gain from this endeavor?”
“That is one thing I admire about you Americans,” he replied. “You always get straight to the point.”
“Only one thing, my lord? Certainly we possess more admirable qualities than that.”
“Perhaps I would know them,” he said, “if an American such as yourself would only demonstrate them.”
Her brow arched. “Touché. Although you must admit, you have given me plenty of reasons to be rather caustic toward you.”
He kept his gaze on the path stretching in front of them. “And here I thought you’d forgiven me my transgression.”
“Forgiveness does not mean the transgression is forgotten.”
His brow furrowed. “Of course it does.”
“You may forgive the transgression,” she explained, “but you cannot forget how the person made you feel, otherwise you allow them the opportunity to take advantage of your good nature once again.”
They entered a copse of trees lining the path, encompassing them in a gloriously heavy patch of shade. She sighed as the cool air washed over her.
The earl stopped.
Calliope glanced back at him, surprised to see his brows drawn together, his gaze focused on her as if seeing her for the first time.
“You speak from experience,” he said.
Sarcasm dripped from her tone as she pointedly replied, “Not every gentleman is as courteous to a girl on the marriage mart as yourself, my lord.”
He dipped his head, looking up at her from beneath dark lashes. “I’m sorry to hear that. I acted boorishly that night, and to think someone may have treated you worse than I . . .”
He paused, unable to find the words to properly convey the regret lingering in his gaze.
A flutter of something that felt annoyingly like guilt nestled in her stomach. She had not expected to see genuine remorse from him.
“Yes, well,” she stammered. “Shall we continue?”
He nodded and offered his arm. She breathed in the shade’s crisp, cool air as they walked, her lace glove rustling faintly against the sleeve of his coat.
The park was a symphony of sounds: the swishing of the leaves overhead as the breeze kicked by; the birds chirping from their nests; the steady drum of Edward’s boots; the soft hush of her slippers against the path.
It all created a lilting melody that eased the tension in her muscles and made her feel free in a way she hadn’t felt since arriving in London.
As if she could fly away like the birds above her, all the way back to New York.
“What I want,” the earl said after a moment’s pause, “is to offer you a proposal.”
A huff of laughter escaped her. “Another, my lord? If you’ve forgotten, the last one didn’t go so well.”
“It is not a marriage proposal. Well, not exactly.”
“What does that mean? ‘Not exactly’?”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you are here to find a husband.”
She sighed. “Not this again. And just when I was starting to enjoy myself.”
“Do not fear,” he said. “I have no intention of continuing the ungentlemanly behavior with which I degraded myself in your sight, but it is a question to which I would very much appreciate an answer.”
She paused, considering her words. “My mother is one of the most fashionable ladies in New York society. All of her friends are there, as well as her home on Fifth Avenue and her cottage in Newport, where she lives for throwing parties that will be remembered for years to come, until she throws another party that outdoes the previous one. And yet she has given all of it up for the time being to bring her unwed daughter to London. What do you think?”
“So it is your mother who wants you to marry a gentleman of the peerage? You have no interest in the prospect yourself?”
They took a turn, heading for the Serpentine.
A group of girls and boys passed by, all young enough that the chaperone accompanying them seemed more concerned with the childish antics they might get up to rather than the possibility of any of them being romantically interested in one another.
They reminded Calliope of herself, Lenore, Tommy, and Charlie at that age, especially when the group decided to walk along the water’s edge as if crossing a tightrope.
Their chaperone scolded them, but a few brave ones remained, their arms splayed out, their tiny bodies teetering as they walked.
“May I speak frankly, Your Lordship?” she asked.
He moved his hand over his mouth to hide his grin. “Considering you have done so without restraint from the moment we met, I would expect nothing less.”
This answer satisfied her to the point of her mouth twitching into an unexpected smile.
“I had no desire whatsoever to leave New York,” Calliope told him.
“My family is there, my best friends are there, and a woman could not adore the place in which she lives more than I adore Manhattan. The parks, the restaurants, the museums; they are all glittering and perfect in ways you could not imagine. And the history. I confess I love the history most of all.”
His brow furrowed as if she’d said something that had struck a chord, but he didn’t interrupt, so she continued, “I have also been forced to set aside a most beloved project in order to be here, and I am anxious to pick it back up again, but I can only do that once I return home. And finally”—she turned more fully to him now, intent on underscoring the importance of this final point—“when I do choose to marry, it will be to a man who loves me, or at the very least to a man whom I greatly admire and respect, and who feels the same way toward me.”
“And you feel as though you cannot find such a man here?”
She shook her head. “The only men who will even consider me here are those whose estates are failing and have no other option but to marry an heiress. I could be a toad for all they care, so long as I am a toad with money.”
A pained expression crossed his countenance.
“I am sorry my countrymen have made you feel this way. It is unacceptable. Please know that, contrary to how it may have appeared at Whitefawn, I do not view you as such, although I cannot deny I find myself in the same straits as the men you have mentioned. If it helps, I can assure you it isn’t easy being on the other side of the arrangement.
We do not have much choice in the matter if we wish to ensure the survival of our estates and the well-being of those who rely upon them. ”
Calliope quietly considered this. She’d never thought of it like that.
All she’d ever seen were men looking at her as if she had no place being there among them—or, if not that, as if she were a bank vault they only needed the correct key to open.
She had felt that same, familiar sentiment much too keenly at the earl’s ball, when his speech had echoed Lord Wellesby’s.
She’d thought he’d done so consciously—that he and the viscount had been in on some joke together—but what if she’d been wrong?
Clearing her throat, she asked, “How well do you know Lord Wellesby?”
“Wellesby?” Edward scoffed. “More than I would like. We were at Eton together, and a more unmannerly jackanapes I’ve never met.”
“Then why was he invited to your ball?”
“His mother is part of the same charitable organizations and societal clubs as mine. They are not friends, per se, but to snub one another by withholding invitations would lead to a social war that, frankly, neither has the time or inclination for.” His brow furrowed. “Why do you ask?”