Page 9 of Making of a Scandal
“Not at all. In fact, they’re quite the best I’ve seen from someone who can only claim to pursue art as a hobby. What a talent you have.”
By the end of the afternoon, she had completely shrugged off her reservations and decided that Martin Lewes would make a most wonderful husband. In fact, when considering the other possible candidates, he was the only one that stoked any sort of excitement or interest.
Diana had been thrilled with this news, and had set about conspiring with Hastings to put Calliope in the man’s company as often as possible. Her brother-in-law was not a man typically concerned with such intrigues, but he was still basking in the first months of newly-wedded bliss. He would have done anything to please Diana, and apparently, it seemed nothing would delight her more than her sister making a match with the future viscount.
As a result, Calliope had spent more time in Mr. Lewes’s company in one week than she ever had in the few years of their acquaintance. There had been a carriage ride in the park with Hastings and Diana for chaperones, a night at Vauxhall during which she and Mr. Lewes had danced a waltz, and another afternoon tea that had led to a dinner invitation.
Hastings and Diana were not subtle in their manipulations, so the man could hardly fail to notice what they were about, which suited Calliope just fine. She was beyond coyness and pretending to be anything other than an unmarried woman with a prospective suitor in her sights.
There was only one problem.
Martin Lewes was as charming and affable as ever, but made no overtures of his own, nor did he give any indication that he was interested in her beyond their newly-formed friendship.
While she had few people she could call true friends, and should be delighted to count Mr. Lewes among them, Calliope couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed.
As she dressed for a night at the opera—with Hastings and Mr. Lewes set to escort her and Diana—Calliope expressed her frustration to both her sister and her lady’s maid.
“Perhaps I am being a bit impatient,” she admitted, staring at her reflection in the cheval mirror as her gown was fastened up the back. “But it seems the need for you and Hastings to go on orchestrating our encounters should be at an end by now. If the man were truly interested, he would make it known on his own accord.”
“I agree,” Diana said from where she sat at Calliope’s vanity table, shuffling through a collection of pots and vials. “You are impatient. Mr. Lewes is a bachelor and has a reputation for avoiding romantic entanglements. A fellow like that needs time to have his mind changed. We are nudging him in the right direction. Give it time, Callie.”
“You young people have no notion what you truly want,” mumbled Ekta, who produced a pair of shears from the pocket of her apron and snipped at a loose thread on Calliope’s bodice. “That is why, in Bengal, parents arrange the marriages of their children. That way, a girl and boy grow up already knowing what the future holds. There is no need for these games and intrigues.”
Calliope smiled indulgently at the woman who had always been a motherly figure of sorts. She’d served in the household of her father during his years of service in Bengal, and had been selected as Calliope’sayahupon her birth. It was Ekta who had nurtured and reared her, becoming much more than a nurse once Vedah Barrington had died giving birth to her second child. The babe, a boy, had died along with her, leaving Calliope and her father with no one but each other. The recent loss of his brother the viscount, who’d had no son of his own, had forced her father to resign his post and return to England with Calliope, Ekta, and a retinue of Bengali servants in tow.
Now that she was a woman grown, Calliope had no need for a nurse, but neither she nor her father could imagine life without Ekta. The life of anayahwithout children to care for could often be cruel, leading to abject poverty on the fringes of a society that cared little for the foreign women. And so, Ekta had become her Abigail.
“How simple all this would be if we still lived in Bengal,” Calliope remarked. “But, we do not … and while the English do arrange the occasional marriage, it is quitethe thingto allow young people to make their own matches whether they be practical or romantic.”
“How could the man not love you?” Ekta grumbled, crossing her arms over her narrow chest, wrinkled face scrunching in disdain. “Is he blind or simple-headed? What man would not want my Anni for a wife?”
Calliope laughed, affection flooding her for her old nurse—one of the few people who still called her by the Bengali name she’d been given at birth. Only Ekta and her father ever called her Anni, a reminder of the woman who had birthed her and the land from which she had been taken at the young age of four years.
“He will,” Diana insisted, taking up a bottle of perfume and dabbing it on her wrists. “We shall simply have to adjust our strategy. Do you know what you need? Another suitor!”
Calliope whirled to face her sister. “I don’t want another suitor, I want Mr. Lewes.”
“Of course you do,” Diana said, wiggling her eyebrows. “And the best way to get a man’s attention is to pretend you’re interested in someone else. Nothing stirs a man’s possessiveness like realizing he faces competition.”
“Such foolish games,” Ekta muttered as she lifted Calliope’s discarded dressing gown and slippers. “You should simply write your father and tell him you wish to wed this man. He will ensure Mr. Lewes is made aware of how wise he would be to offer for you.”
Ignoring Ekta, Diana stood, her eyes twinkling with mischievous inspiration. “Like most men, Mr. Lewes is in no hurry to wed. Perhaps because you are not so young and still unattached, he supposes he has all the time in the world to consider you. But … if he thinks another man might steal you from under him …”
Calliope frowned as she digested Diana’s words. Like Ekta, she was opposed to the way the courtship game was played in high society. She much preferred honesty but realized that Diana had a point. Her sister had garnered Hastings’s interest early in the Season, but the man had dragged his feet asking for her hand. Then, two others had begun paying her marked attention, and Hastings had made his intentions known forthwith.
“Perhaps you are right.”
“It is a terrible idea,” Ekta said, shaking her head as she bustled about the chamber, cleaning up behind their evening toilette. “Better for you to be patient if you are not going to allow your father to coordinate the match for you.”
“Ekta, this is the way things are done,” Diana argued.
“Perhaps,” Calliope said. “But I don’t like the idea of leading one man on to snare another. I have been made to believe a man’s interest in me was honorable, and I know all too well how it feels when that turns out not to be the case.”
Diana bit her lip, her gaze darting as her mind seemed to race toward a solution. Calliope could practically hear the creak of the wheels turning in her sister’s head. Once Diana got an idea, she could never be content with allowing it to die when someone proved it to be a bad one. She simply adjusted course and found a way to bring her notions to life.
“I’ve got it,” she said suddenly, clapping her hands as if overcome with excitement. “I cannot believe I didn’t think of it before. What if you didn’t have to lead anyone on? What if you could get some gentleman to agree topretendto court you? He could be made aware that nothing will come of your association, and his only job is to make you seem as attractive to Mr. Lewes as a bridal candidate as possible.”
Ekta made a sound of disapproval but said nothing. Calliope blinked, uncertain she had heard her sister correctly.
