Seven years of living with a dead heart…
And all it took was seven minutes with the right woman for it to start beating again.
“I am to understand your relations did not treat you kindly?” Red tinted the edges of his vision as he imagined anyone being cruel to Calliope, especially those who had been charged with protecting her. Mistreating the shy wallflower would be the equivalent of kicking a small, defenseless puppy. A puppy with the sweetest amber eyes he’d ever seen.
“They were not unkind. Well, yes, yes they were,” she amended. “Not my uncle. He was always just…indifferent.”
“Indifference can be an unkindness in and of itself,” Leo noted. “What about your aunt and cousin?”
Calliope sighed. “They both have their moments, but Beatrice is undoubtedly the worst. When we were children, I used to think she was simply jealous of the attention I was receiving.” A wry smile flitted across her lips. “Until I realized I wasn’t receiving any attention to be jealous of. I really shouldn’t complain. I was never beaten, or went to bed hungry. They could have put me in an orphanage and no one would have been the wiser. Instead they raised me, and clothed me, and always made sure I had enough to eat. But…”
“A soul needs more than food to survive,” Leo said quietly.
“Yes,” she said, glancing up at him in surprise. “Exactly. You understand, then.”
“More than I wish I did.” He knew exactly what it felt like to starve from the inside out. To crave affection more than air. To want to hold someone he loved so much his arms ached from the emptiness.
“Helena told me you were a widower. I’m very sorry for your loss.”
How many others had said the exact same thing? I’m very sorry for your loss. Six little words he’d come to despise with every fiber of his being. And yet, when Calliope used them, they hadn’t sounded artificial or contrived. She’d meant what she said. She really was sorry. And her somber authenticity struck a chord deep inside of him.
“Thank you,” he said gruffly. “I lost them seven years ago.”
“Them?” she questioned, her brow creasing.
Once the very mention of Heather and Henry would have dropped him to his knees. Now he felt their loss as a dull ache. Something never to be forgotten, but something he could – he would – learn to live with. “My wife and son.”
“You lost your son as well?” Genuine horror flashed in Calliope’s eyes. “I didn’t…that is to say…I had no idea. I’m so terribly sorry. A wife is awful enough, but a child…I’m sorry,” she repeated, and she started to withdraw, but with a ragged breath he pulled her back against his chest because when she was with him his arms didn’t feel quite so empty.
“A fever took them. There was nothing I could do. Nothing anyone could do. I’ve been–” But he was abruptly cut off when two gentlemen, swaying with drink and wearing lopsided grins, stumbled out onto the terrace and spied Calliope and Leo huddled together in the shadows.
“Enjoying a little slap and tickle, are we?” the taller one called out cheerfully. “Good on you, Winchester. You as well…” He squinted at Calliope. “Whoever you are.”
“I think that’s Lady Smythe. Ain’t it?” his companion asked.
“No, no. Lady Smythe has black hair. This one’s got blonde.”
“Pretty chit, whatever ‘er name is. New in town, are you?”
“Bugger off,” Leo snarled. Sweeping Calliope behind him, he advanced towards the drunkards with his hand raised in a menacing fist. He wasn’t a naturally violent man, but given the right provocation he could strike hard and fast. Muscles coiling, he prepared to do just that…until he felt a small, insistent tugging on the back of his jacket.
“Let them be.” Calliope rolled her eyes at the dandies whose attention had already shifted to a trio of young women inside the ballroom. “They don’t mean any harm. I should be going, anyways. It’s half past midnight.”
Half past midnight? Baffled, Leo shook his head. That couldn’t be right. It would mean he’d been at the ball for nearly two hours, far longer than he’d ever intended to stay. But then that was before he’d danced with Calliope.
Before he’d felt the silkiness of her hair.
Before he’d imagined tasting her temping mouth.
Before he’d learned some of her painful secrets, and shared his as well.
Leo frowned. No, he certainly hadn’t planned to stay this long.
But he was glad that he had.
“I’ll escort you out,” he said, offering his arm. She took it, tucking her small hand into the crook of his elbow, and they returned inside. By the time they’d found Helena and the women had gathered their belongings, a light rain had started to fall again. Leo offered his coat to Calliope as they stepped out into the dismal weather, but again she refused.
“Our carriage is right there,” she said, pointing to the bottom of the steps where a black chaise was waiting. “I like the cold, remember?”
“Well I don’t,” Helena announced before she drew up the hood of her cloak and hurried down the marble staircase made slick with rain, leaving Leo and Calliope alone at the top of it.
“Here, let me help you,” he said when she tried to lift her own hood and it caught on the edge of her coiffure.
“Thank you.” Emerald green fabric trimmed in black silk formed a halo around Calliope’s face once the cloak was in place. The dark color accentuated the delicate paleness of her skin and the sheen of pink in her lips. Lips he very, very much wanted to kiss.
Folding his arms behind his back to avoid doing something he would later regret, Leo gave a formal inclination of his head. “I enjoyed speaking with you, Miss Haversham. I wish you luck with your guardians, and hope they soon realize what a special jewel they have in their midst.”
Calliope looked at the ground. She seemed to be wrestling with something, and when she lifted her chin he saw a gleam of determination in her gaze, as if she’d finally made up her mind and was committing herself to a decision. “Would I be able to call on you tomorrow, Lord Winchester? There is a…unique matter…I’d like to discuss.”
Leo did not hesitate. “Yes, of course.”
She curtsied, then dashed out into the rain. Leo’s heart leapt into his threat when he saw her slip on the last step, but she managed to catch her balance before continuing on to Helena’s carriage. The door opened, and she started to step inside.
“Miss Haversham!” he yelled out.
“Yes?” With one foot poised on the edge of the hackney Calliope glanced back at him over her shoulder. The torches illuminating the front of the manor had all but sputtered out from the rain, casting a long rippling shadow across the entire drive and obscuring her countenance. But then Leo didn’t need to see Calliope to feel her. He knew she was there, the same as he knew the touch of a breeze or the warmth of sun.
“If you’re going to learn all my secrets, you might as well call me Leo.” He cupped his hands around his mouth to ensure his voice carried all the way to its intended target. He knew it had reached its mark when he saw the shadows stir.
She didn’t say anything. But he saw the flash of her white teeth as she smiled before she climbed into the carriage and closed the door.
Chapter Eight
“Well?” Helena demanded before Calliope had even sat down. “What happened? What did he say? What did you say? Was it a success? Tell me everything.”
Chuckling under her breath at her friend’s excitement, Calliope made herself comfortable before peeling off her damp gloves and pulling down her hood. Then she leaned back, closed her eyes, and sighed.
“It felt like a dream.”
“A dream?” Helena pounced. “What sort of dream?”
“The sort you never want to wake up from.” She opened her eyes. “He was everything you said and more.”
So much more.
Speaking with Leo had almost been like speaking to herself. He’d understood everything about her. More importantly, he’
d seemed to understand everything inside of her. All of her suppressed hurts. All of her pain. All of the little nicks and cuts she tried her best to hide from the world. And he hadn’t cared that she wasn’t some perfect, shiny new thing. Because he knew what it was like to hurt as well. He had flaws, just as she did. Chips and cracks that had been forged with time and tragedy. But together, by some miracle she couldn’t explain, their two broken halves made a whole.
“Why didn’t you tell me how kind and sweet he was?” she asked.
Helena blinked. “Are we talking about the same person, or did you go sneak off with someone else when you went out to the terrace?”
Yanking out the sharp metal pins Helena’s lady’s maid had jabbed against her skull with the ruthless precision of a torturer from the Spanish Inquisition, Calliope groaned with relief when her hair tumbled free. “Of course not,” she said, massaging her scalp. “Don’t be silly, I – stop the carriage!”
“Stop the what?” Helena said blankly.
“The carriage! Stop the carriage!” Twisting in her seat, Calliope pounded her fist against the thin panel separating them from the driver and the hackney immediately cut over to the side of the street and lurched to a halt.
“Calliope, what are you doing?” Helena exclaimed when Calliope shoved the door open. The rain had intensified from a drizzle to a pounding, making it difficult to make out anything. But she was almost positive she’d seen…
“There!” she cried, pointing. “I thought I saw a woman, and I was right. She’s huddled there, in the alley.”
Were they in St. Giles or even the west edge of Mayfair, a woman huddled in an alley would have been a common occurrence and no reason to stop a carriage. But in Grosvenor Square it was quite an unusual sight. Especially since the woman in question was – Calliope squinted to make sure – wearing a ball gown.
“Do you think she’s hurt?” Helena asked, nudging Calliope aside so she could take a look.
“I don’t know why else she’d be out in this weather.”
“Well we can’t just leave her there.”
“Agreed.”
Without stopping to consider the dangers that might await them – they were in Grosvenor Square, after all – Calliope and Helena sprinted through the drenching rain to the woman Calliope had spied by pure happenstance out the window.
“Hello,” she called out as they neared the alley, not wanting to startle the poor thing into flight. “Do you – do you require any assistance?”
“Dear God.” Helena inhaled sharply when they finally reached the woman, and although Calliope bit her tongue her tongue she echoed her friend’s sentiments exactly.
Despite the wet and the cold, the poor girl – she could have hardly been older than seventeen, perhaps eighteen at the most – was wearing a short sleeved dress that had already been soaked through to the undergarments. Her shoulders were hunched and trembling. Long black hair was plastered to her skull. And her face…
“Who did this to you?” Heedless of her own gown, Calliope crouched down on the wet, muddy ground, drew off her cloak, and wrapped it around the girl like a blanket. She flinched as if she’d been struck, her left eye – the right was grotesquely swollen shut – glassy with terror.
“Who are you?” she gasped, her gaze darting between Calliope and Helena with the speed of a frightened rabbit. A rabbit that had been torn apart by a fox and barely lived to tell the tale.
“I’m Helena.” Kneeling beside the girl, Helena gently took her bone white hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “This is Calliope. Do you see our carriage over there, across the street?”
The girl nodded slowly.
“If you can walk, we’ll take you to it. My house is only a few blocks away. I live there alone, with more than enough bedrooms to spare. We’ll see you warm, and dry, and get some food in your belly. Then you can tell us what happened. How does that sound?”
The tears that filled the girl’s eyes made Calliope’s own eyes water.
“You’d do that for me?” she said hoarsely, and Helena and Calliope exchanged a significant glance when they both saw the finger shaped bruises wrapped around the girl’s throat. There were more bruises on the side of her face, and a cut dripping blood above the eye that was swollen shut. It was clear the poor thing had been beaten, and beaten badly. It was also clear she was desperately in need of a soft, safe landing.
“Of course, darling,” Helena said in a brisk, no-nonsense tone. “Do you think anything is broken?”
“My nose, maybe.” The girl touched it, then winced. “But it’s been broken before. It will mend itself.”
Calliope and Helena looked at each other again.
“What’s your name?” Calliope asked gently as they helped the girl to her feet. Once she was standing she swayed for a moment, making Calliope fear she was going to faint, but then she squared her skinny shoulders – they were too thin to be described as slender – and lifted her chin. Never in all her life had Calliope seen such frailty and courage at the same time.
“Persephone Stillwater,” she rasped. “But my friends call me Percy.”
The name sounded familiar. Or at least the surname did. If the shadow that passed across Helena’s countenance was any indication she recognized it as well, but it was a discussion that would have to be saved for another time.
“Then that’s what we’ll call you. Mind your step, Percy,” Helena instructed as they helped her into the carriage. The wheels started to turn with a light squeaking sound, and they headed towards Helena’s townhouse at a quick trot. Within minutes, if not seconds, Percy had fallen into an exhausted slumber, her breathing heavy and deep.
“The poor girl,” Helena whispered, reaching across the divide to touch Percy’s knee. The young woman startled in her sleep, her face contorting into a pained grimace, and Helena made a small, sympathetic murmur before she sat back in her seat. “I’ve heard of men who beat their wives, but I’ve never witnessed the aftermath first hand. Certainly nothing to this extent, at least.”
“How do you know it was her husband?” Calliope asked, seeking and finding her friend’s gaze in the dark interior of the hackney.
Helena’s eyes flashed.
“Because I’ve met him. She isn’t just Persephone Stillwater. She’s Her Grace Persephone Stillwater, and her husband is the Duke of Glastonbury. Tiny little weasel of a man,” the countess spat. “He was a bully when he tried to force a kiss upon me five years ago, and he’s a bully now. I had heard he’d gotten married, but I never thought anything else of it until now. I do know one thing for certain.”
“What’s that?” Calliope wanted so badly to reach a comforting arm around Percy’s tiny frame, but she knew that touch – any touch – would be unwelcome, and she kept her hands tucked beneath her thighs.
Helena’s smiled grimly. “She’s never going back to that bastard again.”
Once Percy was settled in one of the guest bedchambers, Calliope and Helena met downstairs for a much needed glass of wine. Exhausted both mentally and physically, they collapsed onto a comfortable sofa in front of the roaring fire and sipped their drinks in silence.
“You never told me how things ended between you and Leo,” said Helena after a while. Standing, she poured herself a second glass of wine from the liquor cabinet in the corner of the library while Calliope continued to nurse her first.
“My problems seem inconsequential now in comparison to Percy’s.” Calliope didn’t know if she’d ever forget the look in the duchess’ eyes when she’d realized she was safe. The gratefulness, followed by the fear…because she knew as well as Calliope and Helena did, she wasn’t really safe. British law declared her a piece of her husband’s property. But if the Duke of Glastonbury came looking for his missing wife…well, suffice it to say he’d have to get past the dragon at the gate first.
And Helena made a very formidable dragon.
“One woman’s problems, however vast they may be, do not diminish another’s.” Havi
ng filled her glass to the brim, Helena returned to the settee and sat down carefully so as not to spill wine onto her lap. “Percy can remain here for as long as she likes. Unless her bastard of a husband goes knocking from door to door, there is no way he will find her. At least not for a considerable amount of time. She can heal, and get her feet back under her again, and when she’s ready she can share what happened. Until then, our focus remains on you. More specifically, you and Leo. So tell me.” Helena tapped her fingernail against the stem of her wineglass and gave Calliope a stern glance over its curved brim. “Are you going to marry him or not?”
“I…I don’t know if I’m going to marry him. We only just met tonight! Well, this afternoon.” Her brow creased. “But I don’t know if I want to count that, seeing as I did fall on him.”
“I think your falling on him is romantic. Not to mention a sign that you’re meant to be together.” Helena sipped her wine. “Did you tell him?”
“About the terms of the inheritance?” Calliope shook her head, then bit her lip. “Not yet. I asked if I could call on him tomorrow which, given the hour, I suppose is technically today. But with Percy here–”
“Percy will be fine,” Helena said firmly. “You’re the one with a giant clock ticking down over your head. Go see him. Woo him. Then propose to him. Or have him propose to you. Whichever way it happens, just make sure it’s done quickly.”
“You make it all seem so easy,” said Calliope, her voice tinged with exasperation.
Helena shrugged. “Sometimes love is hard. And sometimes it isn’t. You and Leo have both had a hard time of it, darling. Perhaps you both deserve a little easy.”
“Maybe,” she said pensively as she stared into the fire and wondered what on earth she was going to say to Leo.
‘Hello, I know we’ve only just met, but I need to get married in the next fifteen days and you seem very nice and well, what do you think about being my husband?’ didn’t quite seem to hit the mark. But that was the gist of it, wasn’t it? And surely it was better than ‘Hello, I know we’ve only just met, but I think I’ve fallen in love with you, will you marry me?’. She made a face. This was impossible. Leo was going to laugh her out of his house, then slam the door in her face. She knew it. And yet, she still had to try. After all, what did she have to lose?
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