Chapter 26
Sara arrived shortly after eight o’clock and helped Calliope dress in a gown fashioned from the most delicate ivory lace, with a pink silk ribbon tied around the middle and lace gloves to match.
She then swept Calliope’s hair into a Gibson girl bun with tendrils peeking out from around her ears and temples.
When Sara wasn’t looking, Calliope bit her lips and pinched her cheeks, bringing a bit of color to her pale complexion. Not that Sara had never seen her do this, but Calliope did not want her maid to know just how much she cared what Edward thought of her appearance.
The dowager countess and Mrs. Hart had chosen to take their breakfast in their rooms, as expected, but for the first time since arriving in England, it seemed Calliope would not be dining at the breakfast table alone.
Edward was already seated at the head of the table, a newspaper in one hand, a piece of toast in the other, while outside, early morning sunlight streamed across the sunbaked lawns, dotted here and there by the undulating shade of towering, windswept oaks.
Edward glanced up at her approach.
“Good morning,” he said, smiling and putting down his paper at the sight of her.
“Good morning, Your Lordship,” she replied, grabbing a plate and loading it with kippers, bacon, sausage, eggs, fried potatoes, and toast from the heated dishes gracing the sideboard. A small bowl of fruit had already been set on the table for her, along with personal jars of honey and marmalade.
A group of workmen in the south field caught her eye through the window. Curiosity piqued, she asked, “What are they doing?”
Edward’s brow furrowed until Calliope nodded toward the window. He glanced over his shoulder. “Ah. Installing a second irrigation system.”
Her brows rose as she sliced into her kippers. “Forgive me for saying so, my lord, but for an estate of this size, that could not have been inexpensive.”
“It cost nearly everything we had left, but it needed to be done lest we take an even bigger hit come harvest. It’s a measure to keep us afloat, but”—his eyes met hers—“it won’t solve our bigger problems.”
“Will it even work,” she asked, “with the drought as bad as it is?”
“I wondered the same thing, but I had to try. For Whitefawn.”
She nodded, understanding. “For Whitefawn.”
A footman appeared at her side to pour her coffee, drawing her attention momentarily away. He offered her cream and sugar, but she declined.
“You are a fan of strong coffee as well, I see,” Edward remarked before taking a sip of his own.
“Only when I don’t sleep well.”
His brow arched. “I hope there was nothing wrong with your accommodations.”
“Oh no, my bedroom is quite comfortable.” She gave him a half-smirk. “In truth, I have not slept well for several weeks.”
He held her gaze. “That makes two of us.”
She tried to focus on her toast, picking it up and reaching for the marmalade, but she could feel his eyes on her like hot coals. She slathered the marmalade onto her toast and, in an unfortunate oversight, across the tips of her fingers as well.
Edward cleared his throat. She had the distinct feeling he was trying not to laugh.
“I thought,” he said, hiding his grin behind his napkin, “perhaps you would enjoy a tour of the grounds this morning. Unless, of course, it is already too warm outside for your liking.”
She narrowed her eyes as she tried her best to stealthily wipe the marmalade from her hands, but she could not stop the smile from tugging at her lips. “I think it should be fine.”
“Are you certain? We could always reschedule for tomorrow morning. Say around . . . six?”
She wasn’t in her right mind. She couldn’t have been, or else she would not have torn a piece of her toast and thrown it at the earl in the same manner she used to throw food at Charlie and Tommy whenever they said something equally impertinent.
But she did, and her aim was true. The torn piece of toast smacked Edward across the face.
The footman flinched.
The butler’s mouth dropped.
Edward’s eyes widened.
Calliope bit her lip.
Was this it? Was this the moment she got kicked out of England for being so uncouth? So . . . American?
But then Edward threw back his head and laughed. Laughed! A rich booming sound, which echoed out into the hall.
Calliope exhaled.
He picked up his own toast and waved it in the air, his eyes bright. “Careful, madam. You do not wish to start a war you cannot win.”
“Oh, please.” She scoffed, feigning confidence. “You’re much too English to throw food at the breakfast table.”
“Just you wait,” he said, setting the toast down. “I will make you pay for your insolence when you least expect it.”
Her brow arched as she took a sip of her coffee. “I’m counting on it.”
She couldn’t be certain, but she thought she saw Edward gulp.
Gravel crunched beneath Calliope’s walking boots as Edward gave her a tour of the grounds, beginning with the garden off the ballroom.
It was nowhere near as beautiful as it had been a few weeks ago, the drought having dried and withered most of the roses, hydrangeas, and chrysanthemums, along with the shrubbery and hedgerows.
A fountain stood in the center of the garden that had spouted crystal-clear water the night of the ball, but at the moment held only brown, stagnant water sitting at its base, muddled with rotting leaves and blooming algae.
It was incredible how much had changed in so little time.
She thought of the second irrigation system Edward had installed and of the amount of money it must have cost him.
It was doubtful he would make his investment back from whatever crop his land was able to produce this harvest, but that did not seem to matter to him as much as making sure the people who relied on his land were fed and cared for come winter.
Contrary to her first assumption of him, the Earl of Hayward had proven himself a kind man, able to not only think of the needs of others but prize them above his own. It was the sort of quality she’d always wanted in a husband, the thought of which only served to make her more confused than ever.
If she returned to New York, would she be able to find a man like Edward? Or would she spend her days exactly as she’d always planned, writing her books and visiting her friends and dining at Delmonico’s, but wishing she were back here at Whitefawn instead?
The feeling that her decision at the end of the week might not be as easy as she’d first surmised haunted her. She feared choosing the wrong path.
They visited the stables next, followed by the dairy barn and livestock pens, where she met Whitefawn’s milk cows, sheep, goats, and chickens. Beyond the pens lay the forest, where Edward described memories of his father taking part in an annual foxhunt.
“Your father, but not you?” Calliope asked.
Edward shook his head. “I was too young at first, and then, when I was older, I was almost always away at school. Even when I graduated from Cambridge, I found some excuse or another not to come home unless it was absolutely necessary.”
There was regret in his voice, so deep and aching that Calliope’s own heart squeezed at the sound. “You were busy.”
“It was more than that. Every time I came home, Mother played matchmaker with the daughters of her friends. But I wasn’t ready for a wife, and it was easier to stay away.”
“Have you held a foxhunt since returning home?”
“Foxhunts require financing. Something we don’t currently have.”
“Ah,” Calliope said. “And that’s where I’m supposed to come in.”
He gave her a sidelong look. “Only if you want to.”
Calliope opened her mouth—although what she was going to say, she wasn’t sure—but their tête-à-tête was interrupted by the dowager countess calling, “Edward? Edward, are you out here?”
She appeared a moment later, sweeping around the dairy barn, holding a parasol in one hand and a fan in the other.
“There you are,” she huffed, desperately fanning away the heat. “Your aunt and uncle will be arriving at any moment.” She turned, as if that had settled things, then looked back over her shoulder when Edward made no move to follow. “Well? Aren’t you coming?”
“In a minute, Mother.”
She arched a brow. “Fine, then. I’ll wait. It isn’t as if it’s hotter than Hades out here. Please, take your time.”
Edward gave her a pointed look, to which she threw up her hands and scuffled around the dairy barn once more, muttering under her breath.
He waited until she was gone before turning back to Calliope. “You were going to say something?”
Perhaps this was the moment to ask him whether his intentions had changed since that day in the park.
There were times when he looked at her where she thought that, perhaps, he no longer wanted her only for her money, and she had to know if he was beginning to share the same, unwanted feelings that had begun stirring in her own heart.
But she could feel the dowager countess’s annoyance radiating from the manor’s front drive, so she shook her head and replied, “It isn’t the right time. We can talk later.”
He looked like he wanted to press the point, but the roar of an automobile engine approaching the house became unmistakable, so he offered her his arm and asked, “Shall we?”
She nodded. Arm in arm, they followed the dowager countess to the front of the house, where Calliope’s mother and the servants were already lined up, waiting to greet Whitefawn’s newest guests.