Page 50 of Making of a Scandal
The man in question was bent over the pistols with David, the two laughing and nudging one another while reloading, so he didn’t overhear. However, Benedict cut his eyes at Aubrey with a slight frown. Nick hadn’t been so preoccupied with his own affairs that he hadn’t noticed the changes in their friend. The oldest of them, he had a family and a business to care for, and Nick had never thought his tenure as a courtesan would last. It wasn’t a matter ofifAubrey would ever leave them to settle down, but when.
“You know the rules about complications,” Benedict ground out. “Whatever romantic notions you have concerning Miss Barrington, I suggest you disabuse yourself of them immediately.”
As much as he wanted to shove a fist down Benedict’s throat for that, Nick held back for two reasons. Firstly, his friend was a champion bare-knuckle brawler with lethal fists and a quick temper. He’d lay Nick out flat without breaking a sweat.
Secondly, Benedict was right. It was foolish of him to think he could ever be anything to Calliope but a means to an end.
However, deep down, that didn’t stop him from wanting her to be more. Nor did it prevent him wishing he stood a chance.
The uneasein Calliope’s stomach faded as the carriage rolled through the wrought iron gates of her father’s rural property in Surrey. With the sprawling acreage and spacious architecture one couldn’t find in a London residence, it lacked the vast intimidation of the viscount’s massive country estate. Her father preferred it here, close enough to London that he could sojourn there when necessary and retreat here when he wished for peace and quiet. He had once confided to Calliope that the country seat he’d inherited after the death of his brother made him feel as if he lived in the shadows of ghosts. He hadn’t been born to become the viscount, and resented his title as much as he did the circumstances that had forced him to accept it.
The place was just as she remembered it, and being able to arrive a full day before any of the guests settled a sense of peace over her. She had only been here a few months ago for a visit, but felt as if a lifetime had passed since then—as if a different person entered these gates than the one who had left through them. Tomorrow, the house party would commence, and she would go back to feeling worn thin and stretched in a dozen different directions. For today, she would enjoy the serenity of being near her father and her aunts—who, though they often taxed her patience, she loved dearly.
Her spirits lifted even more at the sight of the man standing at the foot of the front steps of the three-story Palladian house, the breeze tousling a head of hair that seemed to grow more silvery with each passing month. Calliope was the first out of the carriage, not bothering to wait for a footman to place the steps before she had jumped down and dashed into her father’s waiting arms.
“Papa!”
Aside from several more gray hairs and a few additional age lines around his eyes, the viscount was just as she’d last seen him—healthy and bright-eyed, his grip as strong and sure as ever as he lifted her off the ground and twirled her just as he had when she’d been a little girl. He wasn’t much larger than she was, but he had always seemed like the strongest man in the world to Calliope. His wiry form was now accentuated by a slight paunch that spoke of his love of curries and pies. His eyes, blue like Diana’s, crinkled at the corners with smile lines.
“Anni, my dear, how was the journey from London? Not too taxing I hope?”
She winced as he set her away from him, glancing back at Diana, who descended from the carriage with the help of her husband. Hastings murmured words of comfort to his wife, who had demanded the carriage be pulled over several times for the sake of her stomach. The poor thing had cast up everything she’d eaten this morning, and she looked pale and wan.
“Not for me, but poor Diana found it disagreeable. I daresay she doesn’t want to see the inside of a carriage again until it is time to go home.”
Her father’s eyes twinkled with affection as Diana approached, smiling despite her current state.
“I am sorry to hear you have suffered so, but delight in the reason for it,” he said, reaching out to take her into one arm while still holding on to Calliope. “Your mother had the same hardship when she carried you, but it passed, and she was in good health up until your birth. If it makes you feel any better, you look wonderful. Practically glowing, isn’t she, Anni?”
Before Calliope could verbalize her agreement, Diana snorted.
“Thatglowis nothing more than a sheen of sweat from the exertions of trying and failing to retain anything other than tea.”
Hastings reached for his wife, concern wrinkling his brow. “Let me help you to bed, darling. Then I can—”
“You,” Diana snapped, glaring at her husband, “have done quite enough, thank you.”
Their father tried to choke back a laugh and failed, while Calliope nudged him in the ribs and whispered to him to take care. They were safe as long as Diana was annoyed with Hastings and not them. Despite Diana’s insistence that Hastings not make a fuss over her, he took her arm and guided her up the front stairs with mincing steps. Heads pressed close together, the two murmured to one another as they ascended. Calliope smiled at their backs, even as a pit of longing opened within her gut, yawning wider when she thought of the man who would arrive here tomorrow intent on earning her father’s favor. While she was of age and did not need her father’s permission to wed, it was important to her that the viscount at least approve of Martin.
For some reason, that line of thought only led to her wondering what her father would think of Dominick, which was ridiculous. It did not matter what he thought of her courtesan, as her involvement with him would end before she returned to London. All she had to do was endure the next fortnight, and she would never have to suffer his presence, or the confusion of emotions he stoked within her.
“Come, sweet,” her father urged, tucking her arm through his. “We have much to talk about, do we not?”
She nodded her agreement but said nothing as they entered the house, a sudden trepidation washing over her. Her father and sister had planned this gathering for one purpose, so it shouldn’t surprise her that he’d want to discuss her suitors. However, she was not so eager to think or talk about the two men demanding her attention. It would seem her father wished to get straight to the point, so he would be prepared to inspect her prospective bridegroom tomorrow.
He ushered her through the entrance hall, where a trio of maids worked to dust and polish in preparation for guest arrivals, while footmen came and went carrying freshly laundered linen and gleaming china.
Once upstairs, they first stopped into one of two private family drawing rooms so Calliope could greet her great aunts. Upon first entering the room she had to stop and blink to ensure her eyes didn’t deceive her. Aunts Louisa and Doris looked as if they had not moved from their twin armchairs since the last time Calliope had visited, and for a moment she expected to find a layer of dust covering them both in a fine powder.
Louisa peered at her over a pair of round spectacles, a riot of unruly white curls peeking out from beneath a mobcap. In her lap sat the ancient pug that had been her constant companion for as long as Calliope had been living. Horatio had begun to go gray about the snout and was so fat it was a wonder his little legs could support his weight—not that it was necessary when Louisa insisted on carrying him about.
Doris was rail thin and severe, in direct contrast to her sister’s corpulent frame and plump jowls, her own gray hair pulled into a knot so tight it was a wonder she could blink. A book rested in her lap, likely some dry treatise on proper decorum or household management, as Aunt Doris thought the reading of novels a waste of time, and especially disapproved of them in the hands of young ladies.
“Look who has just arrived,” her father announced, pride swelling his chest as he presented her.
“Aunt Doris, Aunt Louisa,” Calliope said, gracing each of them with a smile while internally bracing herself for the inevitable criticisms. “You are both looking well.”
“Oh, hello, child,” Louis murmured, pushing her spectacles further up her nose. “You are too thin. Hasn’t she become so thin, Doris?”
