Page 81 of Making of a Scandal
“It is the lady’s prerogative to change her mind. Think about it, Nick.”
He sat back and stared at the door, the flat gone silent and still. He’d given Thorpe the night off, thinking it better for him to be left alone with his grief. Now that he had his coveted solitude, he realized just how alone he was. In a matter of days, he would leave London without a look back—without Calliope, without his friends, without anyone who cared about him at all.
Had hedone everything within his power to convince Calliope to choose him? He’d been in such despair, returning to London to his dying uncle only to later learn that she’d betrothed herself to Lewes. He’d sank into a pit of misery, telling himself he had been wrong to even try, that she was better off without a worthless castoff whore like him.
But, he wasn’t a whore anymore. He was a man slowly learning to have faith in himself the way Paul had, and make a new life for himself. That new life might have included Calliope had he not mucked everything up.
God, the things he’d said to her that day at the foundling home. He had been hurting, miserable at having her so close yet so far out of his reach. He’d seen the pain in her eyes, the turmoil she felt at facing him. That had been his chance to try again, and he’d bungled it.
If he went to her now, would she even want him? Or had he destroyed his final chance at redemption?
Aubrey’s words echoed in his mind as he asked himself a final question, one that haunted him through the night and well into the next morning.
Was he willing to take the risk of finding out?
Chapter 15
“Dearest readers, I am absolutely agog. Agog, I tell you! The spectacle I bore witness to yesterday morning will go down as the most entertaining, outrageous, extraordinary thing you may ever see written about in this column. Read on for a full account, and prepare yourself to be thoroughly scandalized!”
The London Gossip,November 21, 1819
Calliope stared at herself in the mirror as Ekta circled her—snipping a loose thread here or there, fluffing her skirts, and fussing with the loose curls of her coiffure. She wanted to push the maid’s busy hands away and ask to be left alone, but she did not. Calliope craved silence and solitude, for if she remained cloistered away until it came time to depart, she might keep hold of her fortitude. Ekta seemed of an opposite mind from her, needing motion and occupation to distract her from what would occur in the next few hours.
Her wedding day had seemed so far off when Martin had first proposed to her, but now that it had arrived, Calliope couldn’t help but feel as if this had all happened far too quickly. Her mind did battle with her heart, one part of her arguing that she wasn’t ready and might never be, while logic told her there was no reason to delay.
There were three other ceremonies happening across London today, but none would be more talked about or highly-attended than hers. Martin had insisted on a large service with a sizeable portion of thetonin attendance, citing that allowing them to witness the wedding would help put the last of the talk about her to rest. Calliope could hardly argue with that reasoning, even as she despised having to endure getting married before an audience of people who didn’t truly know her.
Her bridal ensemble had been the subject of much disagreement between herself, Ekta, and the dressmaker. She had been content to simply wear her best gown, while Ekta had argued she needed something new. Themodistehad cringed at the notion of including any garment that called attention to her Bengali heritage, but Diana and her maid had reminded her the importance of honoring Calliope’s mother on such a day. A compromise had been reached, with grudging agreement between Ekta and the dressmaker that her gown should be at the height of the current fashion, and her jewelry would be pieces from among the treasure trove passed down by Vedah. There was also a redsariembroidered in gold thread that her mother had worn when marrying her father. It was pinned to one shoulder, falling down one side in an artful drape without obscuring the beaded bodice and gossamer skirts of the pale-yellow gown beneath.
Topaz stones in a gold setting sparkled at her throat and atop her head, the chain of hertikarunning through the center part of her hair to allow a pendant to rest over her forehead.
Calliope had imagined dressing for her wedding with excitement and anticipation, smiling and preening before the mirror as she imagined the look on her groom’s face when he first laid eyes on her. Now, she could only envision her walk down the aisle with dread and an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.
“Bridal nerves are normal,” Ekta murmured, going still as she realized there was nothing left to do. “Your mother could hardly keep her breakfast down on the day she wed your father. But, she told me that all became clear to her when she saw your father waiting for her. She knew it was right.”
Calliope lowered her eyes, afraid to let Ekta see her fear. Would the sight of Martin bolster her in any way? Would the notion that she was marrying for practical reasons reassure her?
It might have done, before Dominick.
Swallowing, she raised her head and met Ekta’s gaze. Her maid smiled, eyes watery and filled with affection. Her slender fingers cupped Calliope’s face.
“Hold your head high today. You are Calliope Barrington … but you are also Anni Manha, daughter of Vedah, a lady with the blood of nobles from both sides of her lineage. Let them all see you as you are. Be proud.”
It came easy to smile at the woman who had raised her, and Calliope drew her into a tight embrace.
“Thank you, Ekta … for all you have done for me.”
The woman clutched her for a moment, shoulders trembling. Then, she was herself again, pushing Calliope back and running both hands over her skirts and sari.
“Enough. You’ll wrinkle your gown.”
A knock on the door broke through the lingering haze of emotion, and Diana entered. Her sister’s gown had been altered twice to accommodate the swelling of her bosom and conceal the slight roundness curving her belly.
“Oh, Callie,” she whispered, one hand coming over her mouth. “You look so beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
Diana took her hands, squeezing them as she peered into Calliope’s eyes. “Are you ready?”
