Chapter 32
Calliope lay awake the entire night thinking of Edward’s amended proposal.
“I think I’m falling in love with you.”
Those were his exact words, and her own desire to return the sentiment had been so sudden and so unexpected in its intensity, it had frightened her.
What was she doing? None of this—falling in love with the earl, with his estate, even with his outlandish and yet positively endearing family—had been part of the plan.
Her acquiescence to the earl’s proposition in Hyde Park had only been to garner herself a week’s worth of sightseeing followed by a week’s worth of country living, not to buy herself a one-way ticket to becoming the lady of this great estate and turning her back on her work, her friends, and all she adored about her life in New York.
And yet here she was, staring once again at her ceiling, sleep a distant thing that no longer seemed to have any interest in her, and all she wanted to do was find Edward’s room, wake him from his slumber, and declare her own love back to him.
How had she let this happen?
It was all Edward’s fault; him and his Tiffany lamp eyes and his roguish smile that appeared whenever she teased or challenged him, and his heroic heart that would do anything to help those less fortunate than himself.
He was not supposed to be so charming. He was supposed to be an ogre she would put up with for two weeks and then never have to see again.
Falling in love with him was the stupidest thing she could have ever done.
And what if he wasn’t being honest? What if this was all a part of his plan to get her to agree to marry him, only to show his true colors the moment his ring was on her finger and his last name taken for her own?
Now you’re just grasping at straws, a voice whispered in the back of her mind. Everyone who knows him confirms that he is a perfect gentleman. If he says he’s fallen in love with you, it’s because he has.
Even so, was love enough of a reason to upend one’s life?
Living in England, being a countess of all things, was not a life to be taken on lightly.
She would be entering the lion’s den every time she hosted a member of the peerage, attended a ball, or visited Edward’s friends.
She would be scrutinized and ridiculed for being so American no matter how hard she tried to rise to their expectations.
And what of her work? Even if she could continue her writing career here, on a distant shore from where it began, would she be as fulfilled writing about England as she was about New York?
And would she have the same opportunities to write under her own name?
The world wasn’t full of Charlie Drummonds.
Most publishers required male authors, at least in name if not in reality.
How would it feel to never be publicly recognized for her work?
Would she even want to pick up her pen again?
Finally, what of her friends? How often would she get to see Tommy, Charlie, or Lenore?
Even on the rare occasions that they crossed the Atlantic to see her, or that she did the same for them, would they be as close once they no longer populated each other’s worlds?
Of course, with Lenore set to seek a husband in England the following Season, it was possible they could still see each other, but a lot could happen between now and then.
Lenore could find a husband among the Manhattan set and remain three thousand miles away.
Nothing was guaranteed, but New York held a higher chance of her life continuing on as it always had, whereas agreeing to marry Edward meant giving up every vision she’d ever had for her future.
It would be like crossing an even greater ocean than the Atlantic, requiring her to become an entirely different person in order to survive the voyage, and she was not certain she wanted to undertake such a transformation for the love of one person (albeit one incredibly attractive, generous, and considerate person, the likes of which she doubted she’d ever find again).
As she watched the first glimpse of dawn line the horizon, Calliope did the only thing she could think to do.
She wrote a letter to Daphne, Rose, and Mina, explaining the situation and begging their advice. With any luck, it would be delivered quickly, and a response would come before the week was up.
Once her task was finished, Calliope dressed herself in a skirt and blouse, tied her hair back in a simple braid, pulled on her walking boots, and dropped off her letter in the mail basket before heading out to walk the grounds, arms crossed over her chest, her mind whirling.
The rising sun painted the sky in wide, brilliant swathes of orange and pink, with fiery red rivulets streaking toward the west, where a curtain of night held onto its last, dying vestiges.
Already the humidity was cloying, as if someone were patting warm, damp towels against her skin.
The heat had not gone anywhere either, choosing instead to roost over the earth like a mother hen over its chicks.
Perhaps that was why her feet took her to the shade of the trees, while her mind wrestled over what her future should look like.
If she could fall in love with Edward over the course of only a few weeks, then she could probably fall in love with anyone, couldn’t she?
Who was to say there wasn’t some dashing gentleman awaiting her in Manhattan?
Someone who would make her heart race even faster than the Earl of Hayward?
Although she already feared her heart would leap out of her chest every time she was around Edward, so she doubted she would survive it going any faster even if such a man existed.
A stick broke beneath her foot, causing a crack that resounded with all the force of a gunshot in the early morning silence.
“Hello?” a familiar voice called out.
Oh no. She’d somehow managed to march to the edge of the lake, the sunlight glittering like diamonds along its surface, with Edward standing right in front of it.
“Calliope?” His brow furrowed. “What are you doing here?”
Afraid he would somehow know all the thoughts that had been swirling through her head since their previous meeting, her tone came out agitated and defensive. “I felt like a walk. Is that all right with you?”
His brows arched at her unexpected venom. “I take it you had a hard time sleeping again?”
“I slept fine, thank you very much,” she replied coolly. “What are you doing here?”
He held up his hands as if it should be obvious, and indeed it should have been if she’d been paying any attention, but her gaze had been fixed on his face, and she had entirely missed the fishing rod in his hands.
I’m going to find a husband who enjoys fishing, or I won’t marry at all.
She swallowed, her anger abating. “I didn’t know you liked to fish.”
He turned back to the lake and recast his line. “My father used to bring me here whenever he needed a moment away. It became a place of refuge for us both.”
She stepped up next to him, watching the bobber float along the surface. The tranquil sight of the small ripples it created eased the tension from her muscles. “I imagine it spoke to the adventurer inside of you, as well?”
A small laugh escaped him. “Indeed. I often imagined we were rafting through the , trying to catch our dinner while keeping our eyes out for predators.”
Calliope could see him then, standing in this same spot as a young boy, his father next to him, just as hers had been in Tuxedo Park.
“We are so much more alike than I could have ever thought possible,” she observed, the thought vaulting from her lips before she could steal it back.
He turned to her, surprised. “Surely you don’t like to fish as well?”
She nodded, in it now. “It was also one of my father’s and my favorite pastimes, whenever we could manage to sneak away from my mother.”
Smirking, Edward held out the reel. “Prove it.”
A deep longing for the familiar pastime overtaking her, she grabbed the reel from him before she could think of all the reasons she shouldn’t.
She could tell he was impressed by the simple fact that she did not squirm at the thought of doing so, as most ladies of her station would, but he became even more so when, a few minutes later, she caught a nice, midsized trout.
Edward applauded her. “Well done!”
“Will you keep it?” she asked. “Or throw it back?”
“Normally, I would throw it back,” he replied, “but there are a few families who have not been eating as well in the village from this drought, and I thought I’d try my hand at catching some for their suppers. What do you say?”
Calliope couldn’t help herself. She smiled. “I think it sounds like the perfect use of a summer morning.”
Edward’s eyes sparkled down at her. “I quite agree.”
They took turns with the rod over the course of the next several hours, enjoying a companionable silence broken only by the occasional excitement of reeling in another fish and tying it off on a line in the water, to keep it fresh before adding their haul to the basket at the morning’s close.
It would have been a perfectly peaceful way to pass the time had Edward not professed his love for her the evening before and had Calliope not known he must be eager for a response, even though he had not yet pushed for one.
Still, she kept noticing his gaze drifting to her when he thought she wasn’t looking.
It also did not help that they were standing so close to one another that the sleeve of her blouse kept brushing his forearm.