Mariana groaned in anguish as Callie dissolved into laughter.
This was going to be an extraordinarily entertaining season.
This was going to be the most painful season of her life.
Callie stood at the corner of the sitting room, where, after dinner and postmeal rituals of cigars for men and gossip for women, the entire family had resumed showering Mariana and her duke with well-wishes. Dozens of candles cast a lovely soft glow over the room’s inhabitants, transforming the space into an intimate scene. Ordinarily, Callie adored events that could fit into the sitting room, for they were typically cozy, happy occasions that made for warm memories.
Not so, tonight, however. Tonight, Callie was ruing the moment that afternoon when she had suggested a small, intimate dinner. Tonight, even the ancestors watching from the portraits lining the sitting-room walls seemed to be mocking her.
She swallowed a sigh and forced a smile as her aunt Beatrice approached her, beaming. Callie knew exactly what was coming…knew, too, that it was unavoidable.
“Isn’t it wonderful? Such a happy couple! Such a fine match.”
“Indeed it is, Aunt,” Callie intoned, turning her head to gaze upon the happy couple in question. She had discovered over the course of the interminable evening that looking at an elated Mariana and Rivington made stomaching this particular conversation slightly easier. Very slightly easier. “It is a treat to see Mariana so very happy.”
Her elderly aunt rested a wrinkled hand on Callie’s arm. Here it comes, Callie thought to herself, gritting her teeth. “I’m sure your mother is happy finally to have a wedding to plan!” the old woman cackled with amusement as she spoke. “After all, between you and Benedick, there was little guarantee that she’d ever see the day!”
Callie forced a laugh that came out a little too loud as she cast a desperate eye around the room in search of someone, anyone, to save her from a seemingly endless string of rude and impertinent family members. In the three hours since the guests had arrived for dinner, Callie had had some variation of this conversation with twelve different people. Dinner had been particularly difficult, considering she’d been sandwiched between Rivington’s opinionated grandmother and a particularly callous cousin, both of whom seemed to believe that Callie’s unmarried state was well within the bounds of proper conversation. She was beginning to believe that there was not a single person in either the Rivington or Allendale families with even a modicum of tact. Did they really believe that she would take no offense to being consistently reminded that she was a dusty old spinster set firmly upon the shelf? It was really too much.
Seeing no salvation in her future, she settled for waving down a footman with a tray of sherry. Selecting a glass for herself, she turned to her aunt, asking, “May I offer you a refreshment, Aunt Beatrice?”
“Dear me, no! I cannot stomach the stuff,” the elderly woman spoke, a note of indignation in her tone. “You know, Calpurnia, drinking wine in company is liable to damage your reputation.”
“Yes, well, I should think there’s no need for me to worry about that this evening, don’t you agree?”
“No, I suppose your reputation is not at risk, Calpurnia.” Aunt Beatrice patted her arm with unconscious condescension. “It is a tragedy, that, isn’t it? You couldn’t have predicted it. With your dowry, no one would have expected you never to marry.”
The implication that only her dowry served to recommend Callie as a wife clouded her consciousness with shock and anger. Before she could respond, Aunt Beatrice had pressed on.
“And now, at your age, we should simply give up hope. It’s virtually impossible to imagine someone offering for you. Unless, of course, it was an older gentleman seeking companionship as he shuffles off this mortal coil. Perhaps that could happen.”
A vision flashed through Callie’s mind, a pleasing fantasy that ended with Aunt Beatrice doused in sweet red wine. Shaking herself from her reverie, she carefully set down her glass and returned her focus to her aunt, who was still speculating on Callie’s spinsterhood.
“Of course, it does not help that your figure is—well—rather less than desirable? After all, we are long past the days of Rubens, Calpurnia.”
Callie was struck mute. She could not have possibly heard the odious woman correctly.
“Have you considered a diet of boiled eggs and cabbage? I hear it works wonders. Then you would be less…well, more!” Aunt Beatrice cackled, entirely amused by and thoroughly oblivious to her own rudeness. “And then, perhaps we could find you a husband!”
Callie had to escape before she did serious damage either to a member of the family or to her own sanity. Without meeting Beatrice’s eyes—she could not guarantee that she wouldn’t say something thoroughly nasty to the horrible woman—Callie made her excuses, “Pardon me, Aunt, I think I should see to the…kitchens.” She didn’t care that the explanation made little sense, what with dinner long over; she simply had to flee.
Holding back tears, Callie escaped to her brother’s study—the nearest room where she knew wayward guests would not disturb her. Guided by the moonlight spilling in through the enormous windows that lined one wall of the study, she made her way to the sideboard and retrieved a glass and a bottle of sherry before moving to a large chair in the far corner of the room that had long been a sanctuary for Allendale men.
It will have to serve the purpose for an Allendale female tonight, she thought, letting out a long, slow breath as she poured herself a glass of sherry, set the heavy crystal decanter down on the floor, and threw her legs over one arm of the chair, making herself comfortable.
“What has you sighing, sister mine?”
Callie gave a little start, turning in the direction of the imposing mahogany desk at the other side of the room. She saw the shadowed figure behind it and smiled broadly into the darkness. “You startled me.”
“Yes, well, forgive me if I don’t apologize. You entered my lair.” Benedick Hartwell, Earl of Allendale, rose and moved across the room to seat himself in the chair opposite Callie. “I hope you have a good reason, or I shall have to send you back.”
“Oh? I should be interested in seeing how you accomplish that, as you cannot reveal my escape without calling attention to your own,” she teased.
“Too true.” Benedick’s white teeth flashed. “Well, then, you can stay.”
“Thank you.” She toasted him with her glass of sherry. “You are too kind.”
Benedick swirled a glass of scotch lazily as Callie drank deeply and relaxed in the chair with her eyes closed, enjoying their companionable silence. After several minutes, he spoke. “And so, what sent you fleeing the familial rite?”
Callie did not open her eyes. “Aunt Beatrice.”
“What did the old bird do now?”
“Benedick!”
“Are you about to tell me that you don’t think of her in a remarkably similar way?”
“Thinking of her in such a manner is one thing. Saying it aloud is quite another.”
Benedick laughed. “You are too well behaved for your own good. So what did our dear, revered, valued aunt do to send you fleeing to a darkened room?”
She sighed, refilling her glass. “She did nothing that no other member of the two families represented in that room failed to do. She simply did it more rudely.”