Chapter 18
Looking over their previously decided lineup of House of Worth gowns for the week, Mrs. Hart found herself second-guessing everything now that Edward would be joining them in their opera box.
She wanted Calliope to wear the ivory satin with the robin’s-egg-blue sash in order to put bridal thoughts into Edward’s mind, as well as into the minds of the rest of the gentlemen who would be in attendance (never mind the majority of marriageable bachelors did not ever actually have bridal thoughts, if they could help it), but Calliope managed to convince her that the midnight blue silk covered in tiny silver crystals so that it shone like the night sky beneath the lamplight was more suitable for the occasion.
She did not tell her mother that she wanted to wear the silk because it reminded her of Edward’s eyes, or that she hoped, upon seeing her in it, he would think she looked like a star herself.
A bright, shining beacon from which he could not look away, because for reasons she could not explain, she really liked it when his gaze met hers, something that had been happening much too infrequently the past few days.
Calliope was certain that if she did tell her mother this, she wouldn’t have fought her on it at all, but she didn’t want her mother making a thing of it. Besides, this strange desire to please a man, to make him see her and nothing else, was new to Calliope. A secret she wanted to keep to herself.
So instead, Calliope convinced her mother that the ivory gown would be better suited for an evening in the country and should thus be saved for their trip to Whitefawn the following week.
Now Calliope stood in the grand foyer of the Royal Opera House, off to the side with Mina, Rose, and Daphne as Calliope’s mother circulated the crowd.
Rose wore a soft pink satin gown, her ivory gloves a perfect match for the strand of delicate pearls decorating her neck, looking every bit the poised debutante: spine straight, smile unwavering.
Daphne was wrapped in a pale gold brocade that shimmered in the lamplight like champagne, her curls piled atop her head in such a fashion that if one or two ringlets fell, it would look as if that had been the intention all along.
But unlike Rose, Daphne was fidgeting, her hand continuously going to her hair and then dropping as she remembered her aunt’s strict orders not to touch it.
And so she fidgeted with her gloves instead, pulling at them as if they were in danger of falling below her elbows at any moment.
Still, Mina was behaving in a far worse manner, leaning against a column, the emerald silk gloves that matched her gown clutched in one hand as she complained of the heat.
The three girls were bickering about something, but Calliope barely heard them as she scanned the crowd, searching for a man who was a full head and shoulders taller than herself, with dark hair and a too-stiff posture and a crooked smile that spoke of restrained mischief in the rare but glorious times he flashed it her way.
“Calliope!” Rose exclaimed.
Calliope blinked. “Yes?”
“Do tell Mina to put her gloves back on before she ruins all of our chances at finding husbands.”
Mina scoffed. “As long as our fathers don’t go bankrupt, nothing will ruin our chances.” There was a tinge of disappointment in her words, as if this were a conclusion she’d only come to after trying very hard to prove otherwise.
Calliope eyed Mina. The girl was like a bramble that anyone could cut themselves upon at any moment. Nothing Calliope could say would convince her to put her gloves back on if she didn’t want them there.
“It’s all right, Rose,” Calliope told her. “We’re constantly falling short of English standards anyway. We might as well let our hair down a little.”
Daphne sighed. “If only.”
But Rose would not be swayed. “That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try. If anything, we should try harder, so that perhaps American girls looking for English husbands in the future will not have as difficult a time as we are having.”
“Quite the trailblazer, you are,” Mina muttered.
Daphne picked at the fabric over her stomach, pinching the boning of her stays between thumb and forefinger. “Let’s not fight about it.”
“Honestly.” Rose huffed. “Am I the only one who cares about any of this?”
But her lips twitched into a small, amused smile, and she rolled her eyes as she spoke, belying her deep affection for them all.
“Careful,” Mina teased. “Eye rolling is not becoming of a lady.”
“Yes, yes,” Rose allowed. “But what is the saying? If you can’t beat them, join them?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Mina replied. “I’ve always beaten them.”
Calliope scanned the crowd once more, seeking Edward amidst the men in their tuxedos and tails. Footmen wove through the gilded throng carrying champagne flutes, but Calliope had learned her lesson at Whitefawn. If she never had another glass of that fizzy concoction again, it would be too soon.
Her gaze caught on her mother talking to the Dowager Duchess of Tanley.
It was rumored that on his death bed, the dowager had convinced her husband to write an addendum into his will proclaiming that if his heir did not marry by his thirtieth birthday, the estate and all of its capital would be given to his cousin.
This made the current list of American debutantes searching for English husbands very lucky indeed, for the duke’s thirtieth birthday was reported to be the day after Christmas, meaning he would be forced to choose a bride this year.
She was always keeping her options open, Calliope’s mother.
“Is he here yet?” Daphne whispered in her ear.
Calliope jumped. “Who?”
“We’re not blind, you know. You’re obviously looking for someone, and since you’ve spent every day this week with the Earl of Hayward, it isn’t hard to guess who.” Daphne smirked. “You like him, don’t you?”
Calliope bit the inside of her cheek. “Of course not. Why would you say that?”
Daphne reached up for her hair once more, grazing her earlobe instead and pulling her hand back down. “It’s written all over your face.”
Calliope shook her head. “It couldn’t possibly be. I do find him a tad more interesting than when I first met him, but I still count him as the most maddening man I’ve ever met.”
“How so?”
“For one thing, I never know when he’s going to be charming or distant.”
“Isn’t that the English way?” Daphne quipped.
Calliope glanced at Mina and Rose, expecting them to join in the conversation, but they were continuing their argument in hushed tones and paying them no attention. “That’s the other problem with him. He’s too English.”
Daphne sucked in her lips to keep from laughing. “Isn’t that the point?”
“Not when someone has decided they’ll marry an Englishman over their own dead body.”
“Don’t worry, Callie,” Daphne told her, a gleam in her eyes. “I can keep your secret.”
“Daph, there isn’t a secret to keep—”
“Oh, there he is now!” Daphne exclaimed.
Calliope whipped her head around and asked, “Where?” before remembering Daphne had never actually met Edward and would have no idea what he looked like.
“Oh yes.” Her friend giggled. “Your distaste for the earl is palpable.”
But Calliope wasn’t listening, because the crowd had parted, and then he was there, making his way toward her, his eyes never leaving hers.
His tuxedo was fitted to perfection, showcasing the long lines of his broad, athletic build, and although she usually disliked the stiffness of his posture, it suited him here, amidst the champagne and crushed velvet curtains and gold filigreed sconces.
In fact, his movements reminded her of water.
Smooth. Unhurried. Certain.
It was incredibly attractive.
Which made it incredibly frustrating.
Edward came to a stop in front of her, brushing his lips across her gloved knuckles once more. “Good evening, Miss Hart.”
A spark flitted up her arm at his touch. She fought to remain still.
“Good evening, Edw—” Calliope felt Daphne’s gaze on her and shook her head. “Lord Hayward.”
Edward’s lips twitched into a frown.
“May I introduce my friend,” she asked, “Miss Daphne North?”
He turned to greet her. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss North.”
Daphne bowed her head, a ringlet popping loose and cascading over her left eye. “The pleasure is all mine, Your Lordship.”
“And the two women fighting over a pair of gloves behind us are Miss Philomina March and Miss Rose Carrington,” Calliope added.
The ladies in question stopped at the sound of their names and looked up. Rose let go of the glove she’d been trying to wrangle onto Mina’s arm. Mina lost her balance and fell back against the column with an “Oof.”
Calliope’s brows arched. “May I introduce Lord Hayward?”
Rose stepped forward and curtseyed. “My lord.”
Righting herself, Mina strode forward and stuck out her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Edward’s brow arched, but he shook her hand anyway. “And you, as well.” He turned back to Calliope. “Your mother is looking for you. The performance is about to begin.”
“Oh, right. Well then, I’ll show you to our box.”
Edward bowed his head in farewell to her friends. “Ladies.”
Their expressions remained calm until Calliope looked back at them over her shoulder as she and Edward approached the staircase.
All three of them were doubled over, giggling like schoolgirls.
Dearest Calliope,
Nothing is the same in New York without you.
The trees have lost all color, the birds no longer sing, and my pranks on Charlie are uninspired without your brilliant imagination to guide me.
You were always the thinker and I was always the doer, and I can’t help but wonder what will become of us, you with all your brilliant thoughts and no one to help you execute them, and me with all my daring and no brilliant plan to enact.
I feel very adamantly that we would both be better off if you knocked off this quest for an English husband, came home, and married me.
Think about it, will you?
Your Devoted Friend,
Tommy Daily
(Postmarked April 21st, 1908)