The Secret Wallflower Society: (Books 1-3)

by Jillian Eaton

  Or at least, that was his plan…

  Until a woman fell out of a tree, landed on top of him, and ruined everything.

  Chapter Five

  If it were left up to Helena, she and Calliope would have remained in the dress shop all day. Surrounded by an endless array of fabrics and feathers and French seamstresses, the countess was in heaven. But for Calliope, who would have happily worn the same three dresses for the rest of her life, it was a personal form of hell.

  By the time she’d tried on her eighth gown (unlike other shops which made everything from scratch, Madame Angelique’s specialized in articles of clothing that had already been created and needed only a few finishing touches before they could be worn) her patience had run its course, and when a tiny seamstresses emerged from behind the curtain holding yet another gown – one with more ruffles than any gown should rightfully have – her patience officially ran out.

  “You pick one,” she begged Helena as she stepped down off the dais in the middle of the fitting room and began to search for the clothes she’d arrived in. “Whatever you think would look best. Have it delivered to your house, and I’ll get ready there.”

  She still didn’t know how her friend was going to procure two invitations to the most exclusive ball of the Season, but she had no doubt that if anyone could manage such a task it was Helena. Finding her dress hanging up behind the door, she slipped it over her head and enlisted the help of another seamstress to fasten the buttons running down the back.

  “But you can’t just leave,” Helena said, frowning. “What about hair ribbons? And jewelry? And gloves? And–”

  “Pick them all out, and have the bill sent to me.” Calliope drew a deep breath, then wished she hadn’t. The windowless dressing room was small, hot, and smelled like Lady Shillington’s perfume. The sooner she could escape the better. After thanking the employees for their time, she gathered her reticule and draped her pelisse over her arm, then turned to Helena.

  “I’m sorry,” she said apologetically. “I’ve had a lovely time. Really. It’s just that…”

  “You’d rather be slowly roasted alive over a boiling pit of hot lava than try on another gown?” her friend asked dryly.

  “Precisely.”

  “I understand. You like dress fittings as much as much as I like reading.” Helena’s green eyes twinkled. “Just make sure to be at my house at a quarter to seven. We’ll have a light dinner, then prepare.”

  Ordinarily Calliope would get ready for the ball at her uncle’s residence – it felt strange, even now, to think of it as her own – but she didn’t want to incite Lady Shillington or Beatrice’s anger, neither of whom had been invited (or would have been able to attend even if they had, given they were still in full mourning). She hoped to circumvent all of the drama that would inevitably ensue if it were discovered she was attending Lady Galveston’s ball without them by staying with Helena for the night. With a little luck her aunt and cousin would never be any the wiser, and their daily barbs – while sharp – would not draw more blood than usual.

  “Do you really think the earl will be there?” Calliope spoke in a hushed whisper, though she wasn’t completely certain why. Perhaps because it felt a little illicit, to be attending a ball with the sole purpose of seducing a stranger to marry her. Not that she really thought she could seduce anyone. Least of all an earl. But with Helena’s tutelage she was going to give it her best shot, for what other choice did she have?

  “I’m positive. Leo is a man of his word. He’ll no doubt grumble and growl the entire time, but he’ll be there. That I can promise. As for the rest…” The countess shrugged. “That will up to you, won’t it?”

  Calliope felt an odd flutter in her belly. “I – I suppose.”

  Helena chuckled. “You needn’t look so worried, darling. Leo is going to absolutely adore you. He’s really quite sweet, once you get past all the growly bits.”

  “You said he needed behavioral modifications.”

  “Don’t all men?” Her friend said with a flippant wave of her hand. “Oh, it will be fine.” Rolling her eyes at Calliope’s worried expression, she spun her toward the door. “Go home, have a cup of tea, and rest. We’ve a big night ahead of us.”

  Yes, they did. Although Calliope was giving serious consideration to bolting the door to her bedchamber and hiding under the covers. Not that it would do much good. Once Helena had an idea in her head, she didn’t rest until she saw it come to fruition. Regardless of whether Calliope got cold feet or not, she was going to the ball.

  The countess would see to that.

  Untying the silk ribbons on her bonnet, she twisted them between her fingers as she waited for a carriage to pass and then hurried across the street. Traffic had increased tenfold over the past two days, particularly in London’s premiere shopping district where everyone was rushing around to prepare for the new Season. The only other time the city was this busy was during Christmas when carolers stood on every corner, wreaths hung from shop windows, and there was a general sense of merriment in the air.

  But as Calliope retraced her steps through the park the only thing she felt was a tingling sense of breathless anticipation mixed with anxiety. Anxiety that quickly turned to dread when she heard the unmistakable sound of her aunt’s cackling laughter from around a bend in the path.

  “Oh no,” she gasped, her hand plastering itself to her chest as her gaze darted wildly around. If Lady Shillington saw her here she would ask where she was coming from, and Calliope had never been a very good liar. If she revealed she’d been at a dress shop then her aunt would demand to know why, and she would have to tell her about the Galveston ball which would be the equivalent of throwing a bolt of lightning into the sky. Not only would Lady Shillington be furious her niece was sneaking around behind her back, she would immediately – and correctly – assume Calliope was husband-hunting.

  Calliope didn’t know if her aunt would toss her in the cellar and throw away the key…but she wouldn’t put it past her, either. Which was why, with nowhere to run, she did the only thing she could think of.

  She hid.

  If there had been bushes around, she might have jumped into those. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a bush to be seen.

  But there was a tree.

  A large oak, to be precise, with a wide trunk and a thick, low-hanging branch. Slipping off her shoes and stockings, along with her gloves and bonnet, Calliope stashed the bundle behind the tree and then started climbing.

  She reached the first limb with ease and scrambled up onto the one above it. Leaves closed in on her as she straddled the branch and scooted all the way back until her spine was pressed against the oak’s rough trunk. It wasn’t until a twig tangled in her hair that she recognized this probably hadn’t been the most advisable reaction. Surely it would have been better to turn around and dash back out towards the street, but in her moment of panic she hadn’t been thinking rationally.

  Still, hiding up in a tree was far preferable to facing what was down below, and she was grateful for her quick thinking – not to mention her tree climbing skills – when Lady Shillington turned the corner.

  Dressed in black from head to toe, she was flanked by her daughter on one side and a woman Calliope did not recognize on the other. As they walked past bits of their conversation floated up through the leaves like embers from a fire.

  “…sixteen more days…”

  “Where is…”

  “…home. Probably stealing the silver…”

  “Really…trust poor relations.”

  Calliope’s entire face flushed a deep, dull red when she realized she was the subject of their conversation. They were accusing her of stealing, when the thought had never – not once! – crossed her mind.

  She knew she’d been a burden to her aunt and uncle. After all, they’d planned on one daughter and had raised two. But she’d always been polite, and courteous, and done her best to help. From taking Beatrice’s verbal abuse without complaint to
playing the part of lady’s maid, she had been paying back the debt she owed every single day since she first arrived. But now she understood, perhaps better than she ever had before, that it would never be enough. That nothing she did would ever be enough. They would always resent her. They would always dislike her. No matter how nice she was, or how many times she ran back to the house to fetch Beatrice’s parasol, or how small she tried to make herself appear, that would never change.

  Calliope pressed her lips together. There was a part of her that felt as if she didn’t deserve what her uncle had given her. A part of her that thought the inheritance really should go to Beatrice. But that part was wrong.

  She did deserve it. She deserved every single shilling.

  And she wasn’t going to give up without a fight.

  Waiting until her aunt and cousin were both out of sight and out of hearing distance, she slowly began to swing her leg over the branch. Toes wiggling, she stretched out her calf as she searched the limb underneath. Upon finding it, she started to transfer her weight…but her grip wasn’t as secure as she’d thought, and with a soft cry she suddenly found herself plummeting straight towards the ground.

  Thankfully, her fall was cushioned by a man.

  A very large, very hard, very angry man.

  “Who the bloody hell are you?” he snarled as he more or less shoved Calliope off of him and staggered to his feet. There was a streak of dirt on his jacket and more on his breeches, indicating he’d taken the brunt of the fall. And if his dark glower was any indication, he wasn’t very happy about being forced to play knight-in-shining-armor. “And what the hell were you doing in a tree?”

  Disoriented and short of breath, she did not immediately reply. Then she looked up at his face…and couldn’t have answered him even if she’d wanted to.

  Her knight was, without a doubt, the most fascinatingly handsome man she’d ever seen. His countenance was all hard angles and sharp points and a jaw the size of a brick. He had full lips, a long nose, and slashing brows above blue eyes so cold she felt a shiver race down her spine. His hair, black and thick and swept back beneath a sleek top hat, was longer than fashion allowed, but Calliope had a feeling he didn’t care a whit about fitting in with the current trend.

  Broad shoulders and a wide chest tapered to a trim ribcage and narrow waist. His legs were long, his powerful thighs clearly defined beneath the thick linen fabric of his breeches. Even fully dressed it was evident every inch of him was covered in muscle, and her cheeks bloomed a bright, vibrant pink when her traitorous mind suddenly imagined what he might look like if he wasn’t fully dressed.

  “Oh,” she gasped as the heat from her face trickled down to her breasts and then pooled, sticky and warm, in her belly. Never in all her life had she had such a visceral reaction to a member of the opposite sex before. It was startling. It was intimidating. It was…

  “Amazing,” she breathed.

  “What was that?” the man asked sharply.

  “N-nothing.” Except it wasn’t nothing. Calliope knew what nothing was. It’s what she’d felt every time she’d been asked to dance. It’s what she’d felt every time she’d looked at one of the men Helena pointed out in a tea shop or a ballroom or a play. It’s what she’d felt every time she’d interacted with a gentleman she was supposed to find attractive but didn’t.

  That was nothing. They were nothing. But this glowering stranger – and her reaction to him – was most definitely something.

  “Would you mind helping me up? I think I may have turned my ankle.” She held out her arm, and after a moment’s hesitation he took her smaller hand in his much larger one and yanked her unceremoniously to her feet. The instant she was standing he let her go, and his glare intensified as he looked down at her fingers before his gaze jerked back to her face.

  “You’re not wearing gloves.” His frown deepened when he glanced at her hair, tangled and full of leaves. “Or a hat.” His gaze swept down her body. A line embedded itself between his brows. “Or shoes.”

  “I took them off,” Calliope confessed. Reaching up, she plucked a leaf from behind her ear and then watched as it floated to the ground. “I was, um, hiding from someone.”

  “In a tree?”

  “I’m a very good climber. Usually.” She met his icy stare. “My foot slipped, and I, well…”

  “Landed on top of me,” he said flatly.

  She bit her lip. “Yes. So it seems. I do apologize.”

  He removed his hat, raked a hand through his hair, and then shoved the hat back on, albeit at a slightly skewed angle. The tilted brim gave him a rakish appearance, as if he were a pirate commanding the helm of a great ship. Or a thief stepping out of the shadows in St Giles.

  “Do you require any further assistance?” he asked.

  Why yes, as it so happens, I do. You see, I must find someone to marry within the next sixteen days or give everything I have to my loathsome cousin. So if you’re amendable to the idea, and you’re not already married or a terrible rogue or in debt up to those chilling blue eyes of yours, would you do me the kindness of being my husband?

  “No.” Another leaf came dislodged from her hair as she vigorously shook her head from side to side in an effort to shake loose the absolutely absurd idea of an impromptu proposal to a complete stranger. “No further assistance necessary. Thank – thank you for breaking my fall.”

  “It was my pleasure.” Except the way he spoke it didn’t sound as if he’d found the act pleasurable at all. Not that Calliope could blame him. She certainly wouldn’t want someone to fall on her out of the sky.

  “Is there something else?” he said curtly, and it was then she realized she was standing in his way. Wrapping her arms self-consciously around her middle (she may have been in a dress with a matronly neckline and long sleeves besides, but without her bonnet or shoes or gloves she felt oddly naked), Calliope started to say no, but the word caught on her lips at the last second and somehow turned into a different question. A question she had no right to ask, but surely it wouldn’t be any more rude or forward than knocking him to the ground, and having already done that…

  “What’s your name?” She resisted the urge to nibble on a fingernail, an awful habit that had plagued her since childhood and had succeeded in turning her knuckles purple and blue on more than occasion after Lady Shillington got done rapping them with a wooden spoon.

  His piercing eyes blinked. Then blinked again. “My name?” he repeated, scowling at her as if she’d just asked him for one of his innermost secrets. “Why does that concern you?”

  “It doesn’t. I mean…it does. I mean…” If Helena were here, she would have said something witty and charming. Something that would have cleared the formidable storm clouds from the stranger’s countenance and caused him to smile. Calliope very much wanted to see what he looked like with a smile. But she wasn’t witty, or charming, and the best she could manage was a helpless shrug. “I’d like to know the name of the man responsible for saving me.”

  For some reason, that only caused his scowl to worsen.

  “I did not save you,” he snarled.

  “You did,” Calliope insisted. “Were you not walking beneath the tree at the precise moment I fell, I would have landed on the ground. I could have broken my arm, or my leg, or worse.”

  He took one step back, then another. Happening to spy the pelisse she’d stuffed behind the tree, he stalked over and picked it up. “Get dressed. If someone sees you without shoes or a hat, they’re going to start asking questions.” He looked pointedly at her. “I don’t like questions.”

  No, she could see that he didn’t.

  Kneeling down, she hastily put on her stockings and shoes, then slipped into her gloves. But when she went to pull on her bonnet she realized with some dismay there were still leaves in her hair, some of which she couldn’t reach.

  “Would you mind?” she asked hesitantly before she turned her back to him, the bonnet clutched between her hands. For a moment she wa
s afraid her dark hero was simply going to walk away. But with an annoyed hiss of breath he took an angry swipe at her hair, and she couldn’t help but wince at the rough handling.

  The small, involuntary motion seemed to give him pause, for when he went to dislodge a leaf that was snarled in the heavy curls at the back of her neck his touch was noticeably gentler. Calliope gasped when his knuckles brushed against her bare skin, and his arm stilled.

  “Does that hurt?” he inquired gruffly.

  “N-no,” she whispered. “It doesn’t hurt.”

  Despite the bitterness in his gaze, she could feel the heat radiating off of him, proving her handsome stranger wasn’t quite as cold as he’d like her to believe. A few more soft tugs and her hair was finally free of leaves.

  “There.” He was standing so close his breath stirred the fine wisps behind her right ear. Goose pimples broke out all up and down her arms, making her grateful she’d chosen to wear a long-sleeved dress. “I believe that’s all of them. You’d do well to stop climbing trees, Lady…”

  “Miss,” she corrected as she slowly spun around to face him. He towered a good eight inches above her diminutive frame and she would have found his size formidable if not for the tiniest glimpse of vulnerability she saw in the hitch of his shoulder and the tightly drawn line of his mouth. Hurt recognized hurt, and it was his pain that drew her to him even when his anger should have sent her fleeing in the opposite direction. “Miss Calliope Haversham.”

  “The muse of eloquence and poetry,” he murmured.

  “T-that’s right,” she managed to stammer as her pulse began to flutter erratically. Not many people knew her name’s significance. They only thought it slightly strange, as they thought her slightly strange. “My father was a Greek scholar.”