The Secret
Wallflower Society
Winning the Earl of Winchester
Courting the Countess of Cambridge
Desiring the Devil of Duncraven
By Jillian Eaton
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Books by Jillian Eaton
Secret Wallflower Society
Winning the Earl of Winchester
Courting the Countess of Cambridge
Desiring the Devil of Duncraven
Bow Street Brides
A Dangerous Seduction
A Dangerous Proposal
A Dangerous Affair
A Dangerous Passion
A Dangerous Temptation
Duke for All Seasons
The Winter Duke
The Spring Duke
The Summer Duke
The Autumn Duke
Duchess for All Seasons
The Winter Duchess
The Spring Duchess
The Summer Duchess
The Autumn Duchess
London Ladies
Runaway Duchess
Spinster and the Duke
Forgotten Fiancée
Lady Harper
Wedded Women Quartet
A Brooding Beauty
A Ravishing Redhead
A Lascivious Lady
A Gentle Grace
Swan Sisters
For the Love of Lynette
Taming Temperance
Annabel’s Christmas Rake
Christmas Novellas
A Rake in Winter
The Winter Wish
The Risqué Resolution
Natalie’s Christmas Rogue
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
© 2019 by Jillian Eaton
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All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form is forbidden without the written permission of the author.
Table of Contents
Description
Books by Jillian Eaton
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
The Secret Wallflower Society
About the Author
Courting the Countess of Cambridge
Description
Miss Calliope Haversham has eighteen days.
Eighteen days before she turns twenty-two and becomes a spinster.
Eighteen days before her inheritance is passed on to her loathsome cousin Beatrice.
Eighteen days before she must marry a stranger… or lose everything she has.
But Calliope isn’t worried. She has a plan. One that involves a bit of luck, the help of three new friends, and the curmudgeonly (albeit very handsome) Earl of Winchester. All she needs to do is secure an invitation to London’s most elite ball (something which she has no hope of getting), convince the earl to dance (something he never does), and have him propose before the night is over (something he has vowed never to do).
How hard can it possibly be?
Prologue
“Is the priest ready?” Calliope whispered, her gaze flicking nervously to the church doors. Lady Helena Darby, her maid of honor, nodded with unguarded enthusiasm.
“Any moment,” she said brightly. “They’ll let us know when it’s time.”
Beyond the tall church tower with its large bronze bell, the sun was slowly sinking into a pink and orange sky. Soon night would fall, and when it did Calliope would emerge through those doors not as an orphan or a wallflower or a spinster, titles that had followed her through her entire life, but as a wife.
A wife.
She could hardly believe it, and a tremulous smile curved her lips as she waited for them to be called inside the church. A gust of wind stirred, catching on the train of her gown and pulling at the plain blue shawl she had wrapped around her shoulders. She trembled, and Helena noted the tiny, involuntary motion with an arched russet brow.
“Are you nervous?” she asked.
“Yes,” Calliope admitted, for she was. Nervous and excited and happy and afraid. The emotions were all jumbled up inside of her, each one fighting for dominance as her heart began to race and her palms began to perspire inside of her white satin gloves.
“That’s normal, I suppose. But there’s really nothing to be nervous about. We’re still several hours before the deadline.” Helena patted her hand. “It’s all worked out splendidly, hasn’t it? You and him. Not that I ever doubted it would.”
“Splendidly,” Calliope echoed.
But if that were completely true, why was she suddenly filled with the urge to turn on her heel and bolt in the opposite direction?
Pre-wedding jitters, she told herself as one of the doors slowly creaked open and a servant whom she recognized as her future husband’s valet gestured them inside. It’s just pre-wedding jitters.
“Calliope,” her maid of honor hissed in her ear.
“What?”
“It’s time to go inside now.” Helena looked at her oddly, and too late Calliope realized she’d been standing and staring at the church for the better part of a minute.
“Of course. I was just…gathering my thoughts.”
“I know I just said we have hours, but it’s really best not to push things. Here, let me take your shawl.” Removing the garment, Helena passed it off to one of the footmen standing by the carriage that would ferry the newly wedded couple off to their country estate and then fixed Calliope with an encouraging smile. “Are you ready, darling?”
“I’m ready.” And she was. Because she did love the man waiting for her inside the church.
Of that, if nothing else, she was absolutely certain.
Lifting her chin, she started to put on foot in front of the other and before she knew it she was inside the church and poised in front of the man who was about to be her husband. Her heart warmed at the sight of him, and when he reached out to take her hand at the direction of the priest all of her doubts faded away.
Then his eyes met hers, and her stomach knotted.
“Wait,” she gasped just as the priest cleared his throat and prepared to begin the ceremony.
Her groom frowned. “Calliope, what is the–”
“I’m sorry. I – I can’t do this. I’m sorry!” she cried, yanking her hand free. Her gaze darted wildly from side to side, she began to back down the aisle, nearly tripped on the hem of her gown, and then spun around.
“Calliope, wait. Calliope, stop!”
Closing her ears to his shouted commands, she raced past a shocked Helena and burst out of the church as if bloodthirsty hounds were nipping at her heels. She could hear the floor rumbling as her husband-to-be gave chase. He was considerably larger than her. Faster, too. With nowhere else to run she jumped into the waiting carriage and slammed the door shut behind her, then quickly turned the lock.
“Go!” she yelled at the driver, who hastily picked up the reins and slapped them on the horse’s rump. With a snort, the gelding lunged forward
and the carriage clattered down the cobblestone street, leaving her spurned fiancé standing in its wake…
Hell burning in his eyes.
Chapter One
Eighteen Days Ago
When Miss Calliope Haversham was six years of age she came to live with her uncle, the Marquess of Shillington. He was a married man with one child, and he welcomed his orphaned niece into his family with the nonchalance of a duck not bothering to notice when another duckling started following along.
Lady Shillington and her daughter were considerably less keen to have a fourth duckling in their midst, particularly one that spoke with a stutter and preferred books to people. As the years passed they made it quite clear that while they were swans, elegant and beautiful and highly regarded by Society, poor Calliope would always be a duckling, awkward and bumbling and largely ignored.
For the most part, Calliope didn’t mind being a duckling. Especially since she’d never had very much in common with her cousin or her aunt. They were fond of gossip and parties and the latest fashion trends from Paris, while she enjoyed reading and climbing trees.
There was one tree in particular, an old oak right outside her bedroom window, she liked the best. The bark was worn smooth from all the hours she’d sat in it, gazing longingly across the London skyline and dreaming of what her life might have been like if her parents’ boat hadn’t sunk to the bottom of the ocean.
All she remembered of that night was being roused from her bed when it was still too dark to see. Her governess was crying. The maids as well. She was ushered downstairs into the parlor where a man she vaguely recognized was waiting for her, hat in his hands. He did not smile when she approached, but rather gave a clipped nod and then walked briskly out the door.
“Go on then,” her governess said, giving her a gentle push. “That’s your uncle, Lord Shillington. You’re to live with him now. Your belongings will be sent over in the morning.”
“Are Mama and Papa going on a trip?” she’d asked, confused – but not overly alarmed – by the strangeness of it all. She was still innocent then, in those few precious moments before the enormity of what had happened began to sink in.
She wasn’t innocent any longer.
“Calliope! Calliope, come down here at once.”
Wincing as Lady Shillington’s shrill voice ricocheted through the house like a gunshot, Calliope swung her legs through her bedroom window and slid gracefully to the ground. After checking her hair to make sure there weren’t any leaves or twigs hiding in the golden curls, she hurried downstairs to the formal parlor where her aunt and cousin were waiting impatiently.
“Are you ready?” Lady Shillington snapped.
“We’ve been here forever,” Beatrice added, rolling her eyes.
Only a year younger than Calliope, Beatrice had inherited her mother’s gleaming black hair, narrow face, and withering stare. She hadn’t been interested in having a sister when Calliope was thrust upon her doorstep fourteen years ago and she wasn’t interested in having one now, something which she never failed to make readily apparent no matter the circumstance.
“I’m sorry,” Calliope said breathlessly as she flicked a glance at the family solicitor standing in the middle of the room looking oh-so-important with his portfolio of papers and neatly trimmed moustache. “I was reading and lost track of the time.”
“Of course you did.” With a disdainful sniff, Lady Shillington turned her attention to the solicitor, Mr. Highwater-Cleary. “You may begin. While it ‘tis evident my niece could care less about her uncle’s passing, I should very much like to learn the terms of his will and estate.”
“Very much,” Beatrice repeated. A single tear rolled gently down her cheek, hovered artfully on the edge of her chin, and then was dashed away with a black lace glove while Calliope bit her lip in an effort to remain silent.
When she had learned of Lord Shillington’s death seven days ago, she’d been overcome by an uncomfortably familiar sense of loss. He was another family member taken far too soon. The last blood connection (aside from Beatrice, which, all things considered, really didn’t count) to a mother whose face faded more and more with each passing year.
While Beatrice and Lady Shillington had wailed and sobbed and carried on downstairs as if the world were ending (as they leaned on the sympathetic shoulders of their peers, of course) Calliope had quietly mourned her uncle’s passing in the privacy of her own bedchamber.
He was a solemn man, but he’d honored his word to his sister and he had been, if not the most loving of guardians, at least a fair and thoughtful one. Yes, perhaps he’d looked the other way more than he should have when Beatrice was teasing her unmercifully, but then Beatrice was his daughter and Calliope was not, something Lady Shillington had never let her forget.
So, contrary to what her aunt and cousin seemed to believe, Calliope had grieved her uncle. She grieved him still, although apparently not in the way Lady Shillington and Beatrice expected her to. Then again, she’d learned long ago there was nothing she could do to meet their impossibly high standards. The best thing was to remain silent and bite her tongue, which was precisely what she did as she sat down, folded her hands in her lap, and waited patiently for the solicitor to begin.
“Are we ready?” he asked, taking up a formal position in front of the fireplace. Like the rest of the house, it have been covered in black crepe and bombazine. The light silks, brought downstairs from the attic where they’d been tucked away since the earl’s mother passed, would remain on display for the better part of six months. The unspoken rules of Society dictated Lady Shillington was to remain in black for a year and one day, whereas Beatrice only had to dress in mourning for six months and Calliope, as the niece, escaped relatively unscathed with two weeks, one of which she’d already completed.
“You may begin,” said Lady Shillington with a grand inclination of her chin. She and Beatrice clutched hands as they sank down onto the edge of a pale blue sofa. Their expressions were solemn, even woeful, but a glint of morning sunlight revealed the greed that glittered in their eyes.
Greed that rapidly turned to rage when it was revealed everything not entailed – namely, the house in London and a small fortune in notes and bonds – had been willed to…
“Me?” Calliope gasped, genuinely shocked by the contents of her uncle’s last will and testament. “But…but I am just his niece.”
Mr. Highwater-Cleary, the solicitor, cleared his throat. “Lord Shillington was quite clear, Miss Haversham. His brother is to receive the entailed property along with the title, of course. Lady Shillington is to inherit a modest settlement, Lady Beatrice shall maintain her dowry, and you…well, you will receive the rest. But I must mention there are some conditions–”
“This is preposterous!” Lady Shillington exclaimed as she shot to her feet. Beside her Beatrice did the same, and both women glared at the solicitor before turning their venomous stares to Calliope.
“You did this,” her aunt hissed, taking a threatening step forward. “You scheming little leech. You somehow changed the will, didn’t you? Let me assure you, this will not stand. Do I make myself clear? I’ll take this to the courts!” She shook her finger in Calliope’s face who remained sitting, too stunned to move. “I knew the moment you arrived you’d be nothing but trouble. You will not receive a penny you treacherous, lying–”
“Lady Shillington,” the solicitor protested, the tips of his moustache quivering in self-righteous indignation. “I can assure you no one, least of all Miss Haversham, has changed, or even seen, the will. After its signing it was kept in a locked safe in my office until today. Furthermore, the earl was of clear and sound mind when he signed it, and while you are welcome to take it to the higher courts if you wish, I sincerely doubt you will have much success.”
“But Father wouldn’t have left it all to Calliope. He just wouldn’t,” Beatrice whined as she came to her feet and sought refuge beneath Lady Shillington’s arm. The two women clung to each other
as Mr. Highwater-Cleary’s gaze darted between them. His eyes narrowed.
“I must admit I was somewhat bemused by the earl’s wishes, but now I believe I understand his reasoning. It is clear he was afraid Miss Haversham would not be cared for properly in the event of his death, and it is obvious his concerns were justified.” The solicitor’s stern expression softening ever-so-slightly, he looked at Calliope. “Congratulations, Miss Haversham. You are now an heiress.”
Calliope could hardly believe it.
She was an heiress, when two minutes ago she’d been wondering how long it would take until she was tossed out onto the street. An heiress, when she was wearing Beatrice’s hand-me-down dress from two Seasons ago. An heiress, when all she wanted – all she’d ever wanted – was to live a quiet life in the country.
As a slow, incredulous smile dawned across her face, Calliope realized that she really could have that quiet life in the country now. Albeit in a much larger cottage than she’d originally planned. It was no longer a vague happily-ever-after to be dreamt late at night as she looked longingly up at the stars. Now her vision was a reality, one afforded her by an uncle who had done in death what he’d never been able to do in life: have the last word with his miserable wife and daughter.
“You said there were conditions,” Lady Shillington bit out. “What sort of conditions?”
“Ah, yes.” Shuffling his stack of papers, Mr. Highwater-Cleary pulled one from the middle and, without meeting Calliope’s gaze, began to silently read. After a few moments he lifted his head and the guilt in his intelligent brown eyes slowly caused her smile to fade. “I am afraid, Miss Haversham,” he began, addressing her directly, “that your inheritance is contingent upon marriage.”
The Secret Wallflower Society: (Books 1-3) Page 1
