by Eva Devon
Calliope considered making a deliberate cake of herself.
It would be great fun, sitting next to Captain Eversleigh, sipping her soup, splattering about, making crumbs, using the wrong fork, possibly holding it incorrectly in her hand, and licking her knife.
Oh, it would have been such a delicious, tempting challenge to lean over her plate and gobble it all up. Perhaps, she’d tuck her napkin into her shirt, just like men of old used to, which is why of course, the cravat had been developed in the first place.
But she didn’t wish to absolutely horrify Adam and Alexander. To do so would have been a terrible unkindness to them since this was the first time she was meeting their wives.
She supposed she should at least try to behave. Just a trifle.
While it was true Alexander had suggested that any misbehavior on her part could be a present, she had a funny feeling that making an absolute horror of herself would, in the end, not be the best thing.
So, she sat with proper posture, as she always did, ate accordingly, and remembered to turn in the right direction, as one was supposed to at these stuffy parties, and speak to the person to her right or to her left.
Still, one did what one must, and she simply got on with it.
Lockhart Eversleigh sat next to her, stiff as a board.
He might as well have been a dead man.
She wondered if she was truly that horrifying of a companion. He seemed to think so, but then. . . Then, she would catch him glancing at her from the corner of his gaze, and there was something truly hot about those green eyes.
They smoldered with an emerald fire as he took her in, and she absolutely adored it. Even if he drove her to distraction with all his starch. She couldn’t help feeling the fire he kept banked inside him would be absolutely wild if he let it take rein.
Her skin tingled at the very feel of his gaze. At such a near distance, she could take in his crisp male scent. It was the most delicious thing.
It reminded one of rushing rivers and lemons somehow.
She had a funny feeling that Captain Lockhart Eversleigh, like herself, did not like to spend much of his time inside.
He was a man of action, much like she was, though from his ability to handle his discourse, she was fairly certain he spent some time reading, thank God.
She couldn’t tolerate a man who didn’t know his way around a book.
Too many men were good with swords, horses, and pistols. That was the summation of their knowledge. They gloried in those things but did little with the mass between their ears, which was, of course, the most important male organ, though some of them would argue differently.
“My dear, you must tell us about your travels,” Adam’s wife said.
Calliope contemplated Lady Beatrix, whose future son would become the Earl of Westport, and wondered if she should truly give a frank answer.
Such requests were quite normal whenever she went visiting in society houses. They all wanted to hear tales of her wild exploits, and she did have such tales and wild exploits, but she didn’t wish to absolutely shock the company.
And sometimes, the truth was quite boring. Tales of being stuck in the doldrums, which in all honesty, was the vast majority of a sailor’s life, weren’t entertaining in the slightest.
The rest was largely getting on with day-to-day tasks: sailing a ship, looking at the horizon, and fighting with the wind, or lack thereof.
Still, Lady Beatrix, Calliope could tell, was a feisty, kind soul, and someone she would like, indeed. Lady Beatrix had also known a great deal of hardship, made evident by the fact that she limped.
Beautiful beyond all belief, she had been wounded drastically in a coaching accident, or so Calliope was told. The accident had killed her whole family, and Calliope couldn’t help but feel for her.
She’d only ever lost her mother, and the ache was quite remarkable, and her mother had succumbed from a fever and had not been young. No, her mother, Anne Donnelly, had died having lived a ripe, bold life.
Her mother’s only regret seemed to have been the loss of Calliope’s father.
She gazed at Lady Beatrix, trying to think of what to say.
“My goodness, a simple question has stolen your ability to speak,” Captain Lockhart drawled. “Perhaps you need some sort of incendiary commentary. If you would like such a thing, I would be happy to prompt you.”
“Lock,” said Gemma. “Don’t be so rude.”
Gemma being Alexander’s wife and sister of Lockhart.
Given the feisty set down by the dark-haired female version of Lock, Calliope found herself admiring the young woman a good deal. Luckily, she was capable of handling the army captain herself.
“I am not being rude. I am merely stating a fact,” Lock said, as he forked up a pea. “Captain Calliope Duke likes a good bandy of words.”
Calliope laughed. “Oh, he’s absolutely correct. I do rise to a challenge with immediacy. Such temperate questions, such as the one Lady Beatrix put forth, require far more delicacy and a good deal more forethought.”
“Do you mean to tell me that you attack without thinking?” Captain Eversleigh queried with exaggerated innocence.
“I mean to say that to be en garde is my nature, as is to riposte.”
“Hmm.” He popped the pea into his mouth then eyed her. “I quite like parrying myself.”
“Glad to hear it,” she said. “What would a fight be without a bit of parrying and a bit of riposte?”
“And a bit of thrust,” he returned, a roll of the r in the word adding extra drama.
There was a pause about the table as his comment went round. Luckily, she realized this was no calm crowd, and the reason for the pause was because every single one of them was aware of the potentially naughty ramifications of what Lock had said.
He, on the other hand, seemed quite oblivious, as if he’d said something that was completely normal.
She was very tempted to tease him about the scandalous possibilities of thrusting, to insinuate something from what he’d said, but she was at a table of aristocrats, and her brothers’ wives, and once again, she did not wish to make an absolute and total cake of herself.
“My goodness,” she said. “I think swordplay analogies are most interesting, but extremely dangerous.”
His eyes widened as he suddenly realized what he had said.
He coughed, choking on another pea.
She reached around and banged on his back. “Cough it up. Cough it up, Captain.”
“Not necessary,” he choked, clearly alarmed by her boldness. “Not necessary.”
She ceased and rested her hand on his scarlet coat. “But, Captain Lockhart, I should hate to have you expire on my account.”
“Never on your account,” he said, patting his mouth with a napkin, clearly flummoxed.
“Well,” she smiled broadly, adoring the way the whole table was now studying herself and Captain Eversleigh as if they were an exhibit in a museum. “Now that we have that in the clear, let me simply say that, yes, Lady Beatrix, I have traveled a good deal and enjoyed it. You should try it too.”
“I like ships,” Lady Beatrix said. “But I confess it is a trifle difficult keeping my footing. My legs are not what they once were.”
“She’s grand seat upon a horse, though,” Adam said proudly.
“I’d wager she is,” said Calliope, wishing to encourage her sister-in-law. “I imagine that Lady Beatrix is actually quite good at anything she puts her mind to.”
Lady Beatrix beamed at that. “You have the right of that. I am a determined soul.”
“She had to be,” said Adam, taking his wife’s hand, “to survive around this lot.”
Aston let out a laugh. “Too true, too true, we are all forces of nature here. Not a single one of us will bend with the wind.”
“Ah, that is not a good thing,” Calliope warned as she set down her fork. “If one does not bend with the wind, one will be cracked by it.”
Lockhart gave her
a hard look then. “Is that truly what you think? That we must bend with the wind?”
“Yes,” she said easily, angling towards him. “For if we do not give way in small degrees, we shall not survive.”
“I think we must stand resolute,” he returned, his voice oddly deep and serious.
“Resolute?” she whispered. “How interesting. Resolute, like a wall where we shall be chipped away until there is nothing left by wind or water and weather over time?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Have you not seen Hadrian’s Wall?” he asked, undeterred by her. “Two thousand years hence, it still stands.”
“I have not seen this wall,” she said, dabbing her mouth with her linen napkin. “You shall have to show it to me.”
“I would be glad to, Captain Calliope Duke,” Lock said, his eyes deep and full of some emotion she couldn’t understand. “If it would convince you that to be resolute is the greatest thing.”
The Duke at Aston boomed a laugh. “Ah, Hadrian’s Wall, the good old Romans who did not last the course of history.”
“They simply had to conquer everything,” Calliope said before she winked. “Much like another empire that I can think of.”
“What is it that you dislike about the British so very much?” Captain Eversleigh asked, his voice full of frustration.
She gave him a gamine smile, countering, “What is it that you dislike about Americans so very much?”
“Touché,” he said. “We both dislike each other.”
“You keep saying that, and I don’t think it’s at all true,” the Duke of Aston said. “I’m not entirely sure you two countenance what dislike means. For you two do keep bandying about like grand old friends. True dislike would mean that you sat, backs to each other, and you’d converse with someone else.”
Aston gave them a delighted stare. “But you keep coming back around to each other.”
As if he had said the last word on the subject, the Duke of Aston smiled merrily as he drank his wine.
His wife, with fiery red curls and who was a good deal shorter, patted his hand. “Och, now, dear, now. Just allow them to fight in any way they please. Fighting, after all, is very similar to—”
“My dear, my dear,” the Duke of Aston cut in, pretending to be scandalized. “We mustn’t have any naughty talk at the table.”
Rosamond laughed. “You, my love, have the worst of minds.”
“You mean the best?” Aston teased, leaning into her.
“Yes, my darling. I do adore it, even if it is absolutely terribly inconvenient and worthy of a novel.”
“Of course it’s worthy of a novel,” Aston said. “That’s absolutely why you adore it.”
And with that, Rosamond grinned at him and tilted her head to the side, clearly expecting a kiss, which Aston gave, planting it soundly and seductively upon her mouth.
At the dinner table.
Calliope stared at the two, completely transfixed.
Was this a typical evening in the house?
It seemed mad to her that it was.
The Duke of Aston was not even family, and yet, here he was, acting as if he was as close as anything.
And, as if the kiss was contagious, suddenly Alexander was leaning over and kissing Lady Gemma, then Adam was leaning over and kissing his wife, Lady Beatrix.
“My goodness,” she said. “Has everyone caught the plague?”
“Indeed, they have,” the dowager duchess said, bridging her beautiful hands. “It seems as if you two are the only ones who have not. I guarantee if Charles and his wife were here, they would be doing the same. The same with Jack and his wife.”
“May I ask where they are?” Calliope asked.
The dowager, who hardly appeared old enough to be the mother of a full-grown duke, cleared her throat. “They are upstairs, making merry.”
Calliope gaped. “I beg your pardon?”
“They’re still upstairs,” the dowager confessed without shame. “They have yet to come down. Both of them have been parted for some time. Cordelia does love to travel. And apparently, they were unwilling to part with each other so soon.”
Calliope consciously kept her mouth shut.
Could the dowager be serious?
This was like no aristocratic family she’d ever met.
More like the French, and even the French loved their rules.
No, no, this was more like some hedonistic or bacchanalian paradise, and she suddenly found herself quite happy in it.
Cleo would loathe it.
Cleo herself did not like to be so free, but Calliope did.
She laughed without apology. “Well, what a merry night this is.”
Lock gave a resigned sigh. “Every night is like this,” he said. “It’s a miracle I’ve survived it.”
“Why didn’t you leave if you dislike it so?” she asked honestly.
“One can’t leave,” he said as if she’d lost her wits. “One is a prisoner of one’s family in England. Besides. I love them, even if they drive me mad.”
“It is the purpose of family,” said his mother. “To drive one mad in the best possible ways.”
Calliope looked around, studying the happy faces at the table. She was so unfamiliar with family. “Is that what you truly think?”
The dowager duchess nodded, lifting her glass of wine. “Oh, yes, my dear. We’ve been driving each other absolutely balmy for years, and we delight in it. And we find new ways to do it every day. But you see, we absolutely adore each other. There’s little time that goes by now without us spending several days with each other.”
“Truly?” she asked, amazed.
“Truly,” confirmed Lady Gemma, holding Alexander’s hand atop the table. “We absolutely love each other’s company. We all think we’re all a bit odd, but that’s a wonderful thing. You should join us more often.”
“Well, according to my brothers, I shall be joining you every day,” she said warily. “I have an invitation to stay, after all.”
“You should stay here,” the dowager duchess declared joyously. “I’m sure the Duke of Hunt would be delighted to have you here.”
“Oh, no,” she said, raising her hands. “I wish to stay with either Alexander or with Adam, and as I understand, they do not live here.”
“I understand,” the dowager duchess said, even as she gave a surprisingly effective pout. “Oh dear, how absolutely terrible. I should have liked to have had a better chance to know you, my dear. When one has to call upon someone, it always feels so formal.”
“Formal?” drawled Lock. “Mama, you would not know how to be formal calling upon another person if you were forced to it.”
“Now, dear. That’s not absolutely true,” his mother protested, her huge diamond ring flashing in the candlelight. “I know how to behave myself if I must, but when I’m visiting my sons or my daughter, or my dearest friends, of course I’m not formal. Why would I be? What a waste of time that would be.”
Then suddenly, the dowager duchess gasped and clapped her hands together. “Oh, I know what must be done,” she absolutely trilled. “We must have a party in the country.”
“A party in the country?” Calliope echoed.
“Why, yes,” the dowager duchess enthused. “We have the most glorious estate. The Duke of Hunt would absolutely love to give it an airing out, and we could all go down there for a week or so. We should invite all the Dukes. It would be absolutely marvelous, and there would be no one there for whom we would have to perform.”
Lock arched a brow. “Except each other.”
“It’s settled. We must,” the dowager said.
And Calliope knew without a doubt that it was settled, indeed. She had a feeling that the dowager often got her way, but for some reason, she didn’t mind. Not at all. For this was a family she wished to study more closely. For it was the only family she might ever have.
Chapter 7
Calliope had faced hurricanes, typhoons, squalls, droughts, doldrums, marauders, slaver
s. Basically every sort of trouble that one could think of that most sailors might face. She’d also faced financial ruin. She’d faced the death of her mother, the loss of her father, the sorrow of her sister, and such things.
She’d often struggled to maintain a crew and to make a profit whilst not hurting anyone in the process. She knew strife, but she’d never been quite as overwhelmed as she was this night. She was stunned, for she was not easily overwhelmed. But the Eversleigh family and the Duke of Aston, his wife, and son had all managed to make her feel, well, as if she was a ship turned, tossed about by the tides of fortune.
She drew in a deep breath. She needed a moment, and so while the ladies and the gentlemen all, quite scandalously, sat in one salon, having their coffee and their brandy, for they apparently did not follow such structures as a separation of sexes, she slipped out into the night.
She needed a moment to herself to collect her thoughts, to get away from the overly riotous feeling of being surrounded by such a large, boisterous family.
It was something that she did not know at all.
No.
It had just been herself, Cleo, and her mother.
She did not really like the feeling, because she hated to see what could have been if her father had just. . .
No, she would not think of it. It was impossible to wish to go back. It was impossible to wish that she had been surrounded by the bosom of a family like the Eversleigh family or even like Adam and Alexander and her other brothers, who were currently at sea. She was grateful that she’d had Cleo.
She didn’t know what she’d do if she hadn’t.
To be alone in the world, would be. . .
The most terrible thing, like being a piece of wood adrift on an ocean, tossed back and forth with no rhyme nor reason nor purpose. If she had not had Cleo, that’s how she would have felt, and what point would there have been to any of it?
Just day after day after day of life’s slog?
No. Thank God, Cleo was there.
She would not let herself feel envious of her brothers, nor of this other family she’d just met and their friends.
Envy was not something she indulged in, so she swallowed, took another step out onto the dew-touched grass, and tried to look up at the heavens and catch a glimpse of the stars.
