Chapter 11 #2
Calliope tilted her head. “What sorts of odds and ends?”
Her mother stammered for a moment, thinking. Finally, she blurted out, “Polishing the silverware.”
“That is the footmen’s job.”
“Usually it is, yes, but they’ll be busy, um”—her mother glanced around as if looking for an excuse, her eyes landing on the windows overlooking the garden—“trimming the rosebushes.” She turned to Edward. “Our gardener has taken ill.”
Calliope arched a brow. “Since when?”
Edward, apparently enjoying this exchange, hid his smile behind his hand. “I’m sorry to hear it.”
It was at that moment—to her mother’s horror and Calliope’s delight—that their gardener, Mr. Schulz, strode through the entryway carrying a large vase of roses, a whistle on his lips and a jig in his step.
Calliope craned her neck as she watched him disappear into the salon. “He looks the picture of health to me.”
Her mother narrowed her gaze. “He’s putting on a brave front.”
“Will Sara be available to tour with us all the other days this week?” Calliope asked. “Or can we expect you to find further reasons to keep her here?”
“I am not keeping her here, Calliope. I cannot help that there is so much to be done,” her mother replied, shooing Calliope and the earl out the door. “Now you two should get going. You don’t want to be late.”
And with that, Mrs. Mercy Bisette Hart shoved Calliope and the Earl of Hayward onto the stoop and slammed the door in their faces.
Their eyes caught, each trying to hold in the laughter bubbling to their lips without success.
“Let me guess,” Edward began. “You told your mother of my proposal and now she’s doing everything in her power to see it come to fruition?”
“I did not tell her you are intent on marrying me,” Calliope replied, “but she inferred as much, so yes. Expect much conniving to ensue on her part.”
Edward descended the steps to the sidewalk. “Why keep your maid at home? Does she hope me to be such a scoundrel as to put you in a compromising position that will force your hand?”
Calliope took a moment to open her parasol—partly to shade her from the consistently unbearable heat, and partly to hide the blush that had crept into her cheeks at the earl’s suggestion.
“Or that enough tongues will wag seeing us alone together that you will be honor bound to propose,” she replied, “lest my reputation be ruined.”
“But I have already proposed.”
“A fact you will not convey to her if you wish me to uphold my end of the bargain. She’s bad enough when she merely suspects a proposal is forthcoming. If I tell her you’ve offered and I have yet to accept, she’ll be insufferable.”
A half smirk cut into his chiseled cheek. “You make it sound as though such a prospect would be in my favor.”
Calliope’s brow furrowed. “How do you figure?”
He knotted his hands behind his back. “Well, it seems to me that if your mother annoys you long enough, you’ll agree to marry me just to get her to stop.”
Calliope rolled her eyes, and instantly hoped her mother wasn’t watching them through the window. “More likely I’ll stow away on the next ship to New York without telling her.”
“I highly doubt you would do that to your poor mother.”
“I might,” she quipped, looking sidelong at him. “So if I were you, I would keep the particulars of our arrangement to yourself.”
Edward nodded his acquiescence as they slid into his motorcar, his chauffeur having opened the door for them. Edward offering his hand for balance, Calliope shuffled in first, with him following behind.
The quarters were tight, their shoulders touching, along with their arms, their hips, the sides of their legs. Calliope’s blush deepened. She tried to shift an inch to the left, but there was nowhere to go.
“So, your mother believes me interested, but not invested?” he asked, seemingly unaffected by their proximity.
She nodded and tried very hard to ignore the warmth of his body next to hers. “Which is why us going unchaperoned works to her advantage. She’s not trying to force my hand. She’s trying to force yours.”
Edward arched a brow as the driver started the engine and merged onto the road. “Why would she think she needs to do that?”
“Come now, Lord Hayward. I don’t believe for one second you cannot suspect the answer to that question, given the fact that you have been on the receiving end of my razor-sharp tongue several times already.”
Their motorcar lurched from a sudden dip in the road. As if by instinct, Edward’s arm reached across her body, protecting her. Their eyes met. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Edward cleared his throat and moved his arm back to his side.
Calliope tried to refocus. “My mother believes there are very few men in this world who would be willing to put up with a lady as free with her opinions as I am.”
“Lucky for her,” he said, his gaze affixed on the London scenery passing by his window. “I find it refreshing.”
Calliope scoffed. “I highly doubt that.”
“Truly,” he said, looking back at her. “Excluding my best friend and my parents, my entire life has been populated by people who agree with me at every turn simply because they think it’s what I want to hear. I enjoy being challenged, Miss Hart. Especially the way you do it.”
Calliope’s breath caught.
Straightening her spine, she asked, “What is it going to take to convince you I am not the woman you want to marry, Lord Hayward?”
“Quite a lot, I should think,” he replied. “I am not the sort of man who changes his mind easily.”
“Neither am I.”
His brows arched.
Realizing what she’d said, she huffed out a breath. “You know what I mean.”
His chuckle set her teeth on edge.
“Oh yes, I believe these next two weeks are going to be very entertaining indeed.” And then, as if speaking of some matter of great delicacy, he leaned close and murmured, “And if at any moment you should feel faint, let me know, and I shall call for the smelling salts immediately.”
Calliope took a deep, patience-seeking breath. “Has anyone ever told you that you are insufferable beyond measure, Lord Hayward?”
Edward laughed.
It aggravated her, how much she enjoyed the sound.