Chapter 37
Calliope glanced at the large clock behind her and swallowed.
It was nearing midnight. The dance would be ending soon, having started much earlier than the various London soirees and high-society functions Calliope usually attended, out of respect for the farmers who would be up with the dawn to feed and care for their livestock.
Everyone would begin making their way back to their homes shortly to sleep off their merriment, but Calliope would not be able to sleep if she did not find time to speak with Edward first.
However, every time he caught her eye across the crowded meeting hall, she found herself looking away, unable to do what she knew she must. It was really the only logical path forward, and yet she couldn’t stop replaying their time together in her head and all the ways she’d felt drawn to him over the past few weeks.
Even when they were early in their acquaintance, when she was loath to find anything good or admirable in him, sparring with him had been the most fun she’d had in the entirety of her time across the pond.
Perhaps even more fun than all of the adventures she typically got into with Tommy, Charlie, and Lenore, because that was the sort of mischievous fun friends fell into together just to pass the time, while with Edward, every moment was shot through with a myriad of other feelings.
Butterflies that fluttered in her stomach followed by electric pulses whenever his arm brushed hers or he took her hand in his.
And the kisses they’d shared—no one had ever made her feel so wanted, so cherished, so desired, and she doubted anyone ever would again.
The memories made her heart break every time she looked at him, so that she kept putting off the inevitable, choosing to focus on Tommy instead.
Good, safe, reliable Tommy. A man she loved with all her heart, even if it was not a romantic love.
A man she could build a good life with, one that would look very much like the life she’d led up until her journey to England and had planned on living until the day she died.
Before she met Edward, that is.
Tommy was the safe choice. He would never inspire the same heart-pounding, gravity-altering, soul-shifting feelings within her that Edward did, but at the same time, nothing about being with Tommy frightened her, other than the fact that to choose him would mean she would never see Edward again.
Which was why she stayed rooted to the spot, unable to initiate the meeting she knew she must have with him, because saying goodbye would be too painful and a part of her hoped she could steal away unnoticed and avoid it entirely.
“—so then Charlie said he highly doubted I could actually manage to swap the kettle full of tea for the one I filled with tomato sauce, to which I replied he had astoundingly little faith for someone who had seen me perform much more difficult pranks under much trickier circumstances,” Tommy said, continuing a story Calliope had only been half-listening to, suddenly no longer starving as much for news from home as she’d been when she’d first seen him.
Truth be told, all of his stories sounded the same after a while. Had she ever noticed that before? That their lives back in New York were so predictable? So repetitive?
He also hadn’t asked her a single question about how she was really doing.
He hadn’t asked about her writing or how she’d been spending her days.
Instead, he assumed she was miserable and couldn’t wait to get back to New York, which of course was true to the sentiments in her last letter, but so much had changed since then.
It was beginning to annoy her, how much he assumed without inquiring, and how every conversation seemed to always turn back to him.
Tommy went on with his tale as Calliope’s eyes swept the hall once more.
She smiled as they landed on Uncle Aesop, dressed in his kilt and showing off his sword dancing capabilities.
He looked thirty years younger as he deftly moved across the four small squares created by a pair of crossed broadswords on the floor.
Bethilda clapped for him, although her gaze was fixed on a pillar to his right that she only thought was moving because her head was bobbing in time to the music.
Tilly stood next to her, too busy reading a small book she’d stowed away in her reticule to notice a young man only a year or two older than her who kept glancing her way.
Calliope remembered how embarrassed Edward had been of his family when they’d first arrived.
How terrified he’d seemed that they would do something to cause her to doubt his proposal.
But far from scaring her off, his eccentric family had charmed her.
Even Uncle Aesop, who could be sharp and demanding, had stolen her heart in the moments when he thought no one was paying attention to him—when she caught him performing little, simple gestures of love, such as tenderly placing Bethilda’s shawl back on her shoulders when it slipped, or squeezing Tilly’s hand whenever she seemed embarrassed or uncertain of herself.
It would be harder than she’d expected to leave them as well.
But what other choice did she have?
You could marry him, a gentle voice whispered in the back of her mind. You could take a chance on love and end up happier than you ever dreamed possible.
“Calliope?”
She jumped. Edward was standing right behind her, his fingers gently, hesitantly, brushing the back of her arm to get her attention.
Steeling herself, she slowly turned, her heart in her throat. “Your Lordship.”
He frowned at the use of his title but extended his hand all the same. “May I have this dance?”
She looked out at the crowd, reeling and jigging to a spirited melody. “I’m afraid I don’t know the steps.”
“I actually had something else in mind.” He glanced at Tommy, who kept darting his gaze their way but had been engaged in conversation by Calliope’s mother, preventing him from interrupting. “Would you humor me?”
This was it. Now or never.
Taking a deep breath, she placed her hand in his and did not question him as he led her away from the crowd, toward the doors that led onto a small, lamplit portico. He closed the doors behind him, cutting off the music and the chattering of the crowds emanating from within.
“Edward?”
He took a step toward her, slowly lacing his fingers through hers. “I thought we could make our own music.”
He watched her, waiting for permission. She nodded, and then she was in his arms again, just as she’d been the first night they’d met.
His strong frame held her perfectly as they waltzed.
For a moment, the only sound was that of her heels clicking against the marble tiles, but then Edward began to hum.
“Do you recognize the song?” he asked her.
She shook her head. “Should I?”
“It’s the first song we ever danced to.”
Calliope blinked up at him. “You remember it?”
“I’ll never forget it.”
He swept her through another turn across the portico before commenting, “Mr. Daily is in love with you.”
Calliope swallowed. “How can you tell?”
“Because I know the signs.”
Calliope glanced away, unable to take the softness in his gaze as he stared down at her.
“And, I must confess, I followed you to the garden last night,” he added.
Calliope stopped. “You did what?”
“I’m sorry,” he said, remorse lacing his tone. “I know it was wrong, but I couldn’t help it. I had to know where he stood with you.”
“And you couldn’t wait for me to tell you myself?” she asked, her indignation rising.
He dropped his gaze to the floor, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down his throat as he swallowed. “Forgive me, but I wasn’t certain you would. You have not been very forthcoming with your feelings as of late.”
Calliope’s ire deflated. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
She held her arms out to him, asking him to resume their dance with a tilt of her head. He acquiesced, taking her once more into his embrace.
“Have you accepted him?” Edward asked.
“Not yet,” Calliope said, forcing the words out even as everything inside of her screamed she was making a mistake. “But I intend to.”
Edward stiffened. “Is there anything I can say to change your mind?”
Her throat suddenly felt thick and hot. Not trusting herself to speak, she shook her head.
Edward pressed his forehead to hers as they danced and inhaled a shaky breath. When he spoke again, his voice was rough, as if forcing out words he did not want to say. “If you think being with him will make you happy, I will not try to stop you. I only beseech you to answer one question for me.”
Calliope felt the wetness of her tears slip over her lashes as she pulled back, meeting his gaze. “What’s that?”
“Why him?” Edward asked.
For a moment, the question Calliope had been circling for days—even before Tommy showed up—hovered in the air, and suddenly the answer that had been eluding her became crystal clear.
“Because,” she replied, “he doesn’t need me like you do.”
Edward’s brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.”
“He doesn’t need my money. He has a fortune of his own that will see him and his children and his children’s children comfortably through their lives, a fortune that is consistently growing due to his family’s company as well as his own business ventures.
He doesn’t love me for what I can give him, but simply for who I am. ”
Edward paused. “And you don’t think I love you for the same reason?”
“How can I,” she asked, “when the only reason you ever looked at me was because you needed an American heiress to save Whitefawn? It doesn’t matter who I am or what I want. All that matters is the money I’ll bring with me.”
“It has always mattered, Calliope. You have always mattered.”
She looked away. “May I remind Your Lordship that the first time we spoke, you plainly told me your intentions of marrying me based solely on my inheritance?”
Edward rolled his eyes. “I’ve begged your forgiveness for that.
I acted like an idiot. I was frustrated at the position I found myself in and it came out in the way I spoke to you, but it was not directed toward you.
” He dropped his stance to take his hands in hers.
“Calliope, do you want to know what I thought the first time I laid eyes on you?”
She winced. “Edward, please—”
“I thought I’d never seen anyone so beautiful in all my life.
It was as if there was this golden light shining all around you, a lamp to my path, signaling you out as the woman I was meant to spend the rest of my life with.
It had nothing to do with your money. There were dozens of other heiresses in attendance that night that could have saved Whitefawn, but I wanted you. ”
“I’m sorry, my lord,” she replied, her tears coming hot and fast now, “but I cannot help feeling that if I were a peasant girl you passed by on the street, you would not have seen that same light.”
Edward shook his head. “You’re wrong.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because I’ve never experienced anything like that before, Calliope, and I know I never will again. The earth stopped the moment I saw you. It was as if my whole life had been leading me to that moment, knitting everything together just so I could finally find the one my soul was longing for.”
Calliope squeezed her eyes shut. “But you cannot deny that, were I not an heiress, you wouldn’t have looked at me twice, because I would not have served your purpose.”
“That’s not true—”
“Edward, you’ve said it yourself: You’d do anything to save the legacy that’s been passed down to you and the people who rely on it for their survival. You would have never given all of that up and endangered their livelihoods just to be with me.”
“Is that really what’s holding you back?” he asked. “The belief that I wouldn’t have looked at you twice if you were not an heiress? That I’m only saying these things for Whitefawn’s sake?”
She glanced up at him from beneath her lashes, knowing the words she spoke next would be the death knell of everything they could have been, everything they could have had, had they met under different circumstances. “How can I believe anything different?”
And in that moment, Calliope saw her own heartbreak reflected in Edward’s gaze.
He reached for her as if she were a figment of his imagination, a dream fading away before his eyes.
His hand gently cupped the back of her neck, pulling her toward him as he rested his brow against hers and breathed her in.
“Then I rescind my proposal.”
Calliope’s lashes fluttered as she looked up at him. “What?”
“I love you, Calliope. With all of my heart. But you’ll never believe it because of how our story started. I cannot change the fact that I need an heiress to save Whitefawn, but I am not lying when I say I desperately wanted it to be you. Probably more than you’ll ever know.”
“But . . .” She shook her head. “What will happen to Whitefawn?”
He swallowed. “I don’t know. I can’t imagine marrying someone else.
Not when my heart will always belong to you.
” He laughed, but there was no joy in the sound.
“Perhaps I’ll try my hand at my own business ventures and dig Whitefawn out of debt that way.
After all, you’ve reminded me of something. A part of me I’d forgotten long ago.”
“What’s that?”
“That I am an adventurer at heart, and adventurers never take the easy way out.” A tear slipped down his own cheek.
He shut his eyes and pressed his lips to her brow.
“I wish you every happiness, Calliope. You deserve a lifetime of deepest love and joy. My only regret is that I will not be the one to give it to you.”
And with that, he walked away from her.
Calliope watched him go, feeling her own knees begin to buckle as cold air rushed into the space he’d just occupied, as if he’d taken all of summer’s heat with him.
She’d never felt so alone.
“Of course, if the right man comes along, it will be easy for a debutante to accept him, as he will give her no reason to doubt his loyalty to her nor his desire to see to her every happiness. Not every marriage can be a love match, and oftentimes a woman must be practical when it comes to which proposal she accepts and which she rejects, but those marriages that are fortunate enough to be built on something stronger than mere necessity or social standing will enjoy a lifetime of happiness, so long as the debutante and the suitor in question never forget what it was they saw in one another that made them fall in love in the first place.”
—Mrs. Marcell’s Book of Proper Etiquette, Second Edition