Chapter 15
L’Académie Culturelle de la Grande-Bretagne
Mayfair, England
“He kissed you?” Rose exclaimed.
All three girls sat on the edges of their rather uncomfortable seats as Calliope recounted her morning excursion to the Tower. Even Mina, who was not usually interested in anything resembling gossip, sat with her mouth agape, her eyes alight as she asked, “Did you hit him?”
“We almost kissed,” Calliope clarified. “And no, I didn’t hit him.”
Mina slouched back in her chair, unimpressed.
Daphne wove her finger around a ringlet that had escaped her coiffure. “What do you mean, ‘almost?’”
“Well, he leaned forward and titled my chin in his hand, and I could have sworn he was going to kiss me, but then the oddest thing happened.”
“What?” Rose asked.
“He growled.”
Mina sat up. “Now, that is interesting.”
Daphne tugged on the curl, straightening it all the way down to her shoulder before letting it bounce back to her ear like a spring. “What do you mean he growled?”
“He pulled away from me, growled, and said he better get me back home. That was it.”
Rose shifted in her seat. “Did you do something wrong?”
“How am I supposed to know? I’ve never kissed a man before.
” Except Tommy, of course, but that didn’t count, seeing as it felt akin to kissing a brother.
She knew Tommy felt the same about kissing her, for he had never tried it again, although she still wondered what had possessed him to do it in the first place.
In truth, she’d pondered Rose’s question herself on the awkward trip home to Mayfair, as well as when Edward said goodbye to her at her doorstep, barely sparing her a second glance before taking his leave.
She replayed the moment over and over in her mind as she ate a small luncheon in the conservatory, her mother prattling on in the background about the latest gossip she’d heard from back home, but she couldn’t think of a thing she’d done wrong.
She’d stood perfectly still. He was the one who had leaned closer. The only thing she’d done was tilt her head back a fraction more than the prodding of his touch had actually warranted. And found herself getting lost in the depths of his ocean eyes. And parted her lips just slightly—
“Maybe you had bad breath,” Mina suggested.
Calliope’s jaw dropped. “I most certainly did not!”
Daphne glanced at Mina. “And how would you know so much about kissing, anyway?”
“Kissing isn’t as frowned upon in Philadelphia as it is here,” Mina replied.
This statement prompted an immediate inquiry as to what exactly that meant, which led to descriptions of the purposefully constructed alcoves in Philadelphia’s ballrooms and the flirtations that occurred within.
“How many gentlemen have you kissed, then?” Daphne asked, shocked, before glancing behind her, fearful her scandalous words had penetrated the closed doors of Madame Dupré’s study.
“Me?” Mina scoffed. “The last thing I want is a husband. Do you really think I’d risk a scandal that would force my hand? But other girls shared stories of gentlemen who could have benefited from chewing on a mint leaf or two before their encounters.”
Calliope felt the blood drain from her face. Had that been the problem? Her breath?
“Oh, don’t worry, Callie,” Rose assured her. “I’m certain it wasn’t anything you did.”
Calliope tapped her finger against her chin. “Perhaps it was something I didn’t do?”
The other three girls donned similar poses, deep in thought.
“We’re not going to get anywhere like this,” Mina said. “Why don’t you just ask him?”
“I couldn’t possibly,” Calliope murmured, even though she’d wanted to. Badly.
“Of course you could. You have a voice just like anyone else, and it deserves to be heard.”
“Enough of the suffragette act for one morning,” Daphne snapped, her cheeks flushing as Mina narrowed her eyes.
“And before you start in on me like I’m an enemy to the cause, may I remind you that I wanted to seek employment before my parents shipped me off to England?
The fact is, it’s really not important why he pulled away.
The real question is”—Daphne slid her gaze to Calliope’s—“did you want him to kiss you?”
Mina drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair. “That’s true. If you didn’t want him to kiss you, then it really doesn’t matter why he pulled away.”
“Of course she didn’t want him to kiss her!” Rose declared. “They aren’t even engaged. And besides, are we forgetting that this is the same man who humiliated her only a week ago?”
“Well?” Daphne asked. “Did you?”
Rose was right. Calliope shouldn’t have wanted to kiss him.
Yes, there had been a few moments during their encounters over the past few days in which she’d found her curiosity about him increasing and had even felt, on occasion, somewhat enthralled by the sensibility hiding beneath his prim and proper behavior, especially when it came to his sense of humor that trickled out here and there, as well as his grief over his father and his obvious sensitivity to the plights of others.
But none of that meant she should muddy the waters and risk ruining her reputation just to see what it would be like to kiss someone who hadn’t been her best friend for over a decade.
Still, standing there in the Tower, staring into his ocean eyes, knowing full well if she fell into them, she would sink right to the bottom and drown in their depths, she had wanted to. Very much.
She opened her mouth to speak—although what she was going to say, she had no idea—but was blessedly saved from having to answer when Madame Dupré strolled into the drawing room, cane tapping against the parquet floor.
Keeping her mind on her lessons for the rest of the afternoon was easier said than done. Outside, the world sped by—on foot, on bicycle, in carriages, and in new motor vehicles—and out there, somewhere, was the Earl of Hayward.
Was he thinking about her? Was he worrying over every little thing he’d done that morning the same as she? Wondering if he should have done something differently?
THWACK!
Calliope jumped.
“Oh, good,” Madame Dupré snarled as she withdrew her cane from the side of Calliope’s chair. “You are awake.”