The Secret Wallflower Society: (Books 1-3)

by Jillian Eaton

  Only her pride, the roof over her head…and her heart.

  “It’s odd, isn’t it?” Helena said.

  “What is?” Calliope asked, tearing her gaze away from the flames.

  “Oh, just that our names are both rooted in mythology, and so is Percy’s. Wasn’t Persephone married to some sort of evil Greek tyrant?”

  “Hades,” Calliope supplied. “God of Death and King of the Underworld.”

  Helena snorted. “You can say that again.”

  Calliope had never had occasion to meet the Duke of Glastonbury (they hardly ran in the same social circles), and she sincerely hoped she never would. “We can’t let Percy go back to him.”

  “No, we can’t.”

  “But you’re right about our names. It is very odd.” Calliope smiled wanly. “I feel as though we should start some sort of secret club.”

  “That’s a brilliant idea!” Helena exclaimed.

  “I was partially jesting.”

  “Well I’m not. Men have their gaming hells and their racehorses and their cigar rooms. Why can’t we have a club of our own?” She pursed her lips. “We can call it a society. The Society for Beleaguered Women Who are Tired and Fed Up with Awful, Arrogant Men.”

  Calliope’s nose wrinkled. “That’s a tad long.”

  “You’re right. What about…hmm…”

  “The Secret Wallflower Society?” Calliope suggested when the name came to her out of the blue. “I know you’re a widow and Percy is already married, but we were all wallflowers once, weren’t we? I’m one still.”

  Helena huffed. “I was never a wallflower.”

  “But you were different. You are different. We all are. You, me, and Percy. Our differences are something that should be celebrated, not hidden away in the corner of a room and mocked from afar. We’ll be taking what it means to be a wallflower and twisting it into something new. Something better.”

  “I like it,” Helena decided after a long pause. “No, I love it. The Secret Wallflower Society. When Percy wakes up, I’ll tell her she’s one of the founding members. Now you need to get upstairs and rest yourself.” Clucking her tongue like a mother hen, Helena more or less shoved Calliope off the settee and out the door. “You need to look your best for Leo, and he isn’t going to want a wife with bags under eyes.”

  But as Calliope drifted off to sleep, she couldn’t keep one nagging thought out of her head.

  What if Leo didn’t want a wife at all?

  Chapter Nine

  “If I am be so bold, my lord, if you continue pacing the floor in that manner I fear we may need to replace the rug,”

  Leo turned towards his valet with a sharply raised brow. “Has anyone come to call yet, Mr. Corish?”

  “Regrettably not, my lord.” His expression stoic, Robert stepped into the drawing room with his hands folded neatly behind his back. “Is there someone in particular we should be expecting?”

  “No.” Leo raked a hand through his hair. It was the tenth time he’d done so in as many minutes, and the unruly ebony locks were beginning to stick straight up. “Yes. Bollocks, I don’t know if she’ll come or not.” He collapsed into a leather armchair and kicked his legs out in front of him.

  “She?” the valet said, his stoicism slipping ever-so-slightly.

  “Miss Calliope Haversham.” Simply saying her name tightened the muscles in Leo’s abdomen. Muscles that had quivered like a bow when he’d returned home last night and eased his raging desire for Calliope with his hand. He thought it would relieve him of this unexpected yearning for a woman he hardly knew.

  The sort of intense longing he’d never felt for another woman…not even Heather.

  Leo had loved his wife. He knew that with every fiber of his being. The same way he’d known they’d been perfectly suited for each other. The same way he’d known they would never argue (and they never had). If she’d lived, they would have been happy. He would have been content. God willing, they would have passed in their sleep of old age while holding hands. And there would have been nothing wrong with that kind of commitment. Nothing wrong with that kind of marriage. Nothing wrong with that kind of life.

  He’d convinced himself long ago that he’d never have another chance at that sort of happiness again. And he was right. He would never have that happiness again.

  But maybe…just maybe…he could have this with Calliope.

  Whatever ‘this’ was.

  A freckled-faced footman appeared in the doorway. Passing a small slip of paper to Mr. Corish, he turned smartly on his heel and hurried out of the room. After skimming the calling card, Leo’s valet cleared his throat.

  “It appears Miss Haversham has just arrived, my lord.”

  Leo jumped out of the armchair as if it had caught fire. Straightening his cravat, he cursed out loud when he caught sight of his reflection in the looking glass hanging above the mantle. “Why didn’t you tell me I looked like a damned rooster, Mr. Corish?”

  The valet blinked. “I would never presume to compare you to a bird, my lord.”

  “Well there’s nothing to be done about it now,” Leo muttered under his breath after trying (and failing) to tame his unruly locks. The best he could manage was to shove most of it to one side, but after a few seconds it sprang back up, and he gritted his teeth in defeat. “Send her in, Mr. Corish.”

  “Of course, my lord. Should I have refreshments and tea delivered as well?”

  Refreshments and tea. It had been so long since he’d entertained anyone, let alone a lady, that Leo had completely forgotten what was expected of him. “Er…yes. To both. And anything else you believe Miss Haversham would like.”

  The valet bowed then quit the room, and Leo fought the urge to resume his pacing while he waited for Calliope to arrive. Fortunately for the carpet, it wasn’t a very long wait.

  “Hello,” Calliope said with a tentative smile as she stepped into the drawing room and hovered in the doorway, like a butterfly that didn’t know if it should land on the flower in front of it or flitter off to the next one.

  “Hello.” Leo stood stupidly in the middle of the room, his gaze consumed by her. She was even prettier than she had been last night, if that were possible. Plainer, perhaps. The dress she wore, a nondescript shade of tan with black satin trim at the bodice and hem, paled in comparison to the pink frothy ball gown. Her blonde hair was swept back from her delicate countenance in a simple twist instead of an elaborate coiffure. Small pearl studs adorned her ears rather than glittering diamonds.

  But there was beauty to be found in her simplicity. Just as there was beauty to be found in her soul.

  “May I come in?” she asked, and Leo could have kicked himself when he realized he hadn’t even offered her the courtesy of a chair.

  “Of course. Of course you may.” Jolted into action, he crossed the room in three strides and bowed. Then felt foolish for bowing. Then, for absolutely no reason at all, decided to bow again. When he straightened, feeling like the world’s largest arse, he saw the corners of her lips twitch.

  “I am rather nervous too,” she confessed in a whisper, and with those five words Leo felt all of his tension melt away.

  “It has been a long time since I’ve received a visitor of any sort,” he acknowledged. “Let alone a woman such as yourself. Won’t you please sit down, Miss Haversham?”

  “Thank you,” she said as she gracefully sat in the same leather armchair he’d just occupied himself. He took the seat opposite hers, and with only a low table between them was offered an unfettered view of her lovely face. Beside them a fire crackled, adding a soft touch of ambiance to the room. A full tea service and a platter of ginger biscuits, still warm from the oven, were brought in and placed upon the table. Leo saw the maid, one of Mr. Corish’s daughters, smile as she silently closed the door and then he and Calliope were alone.

  “Thank you for agreeing to see me,” she said. Pursing her lips, she blew gently across her tea to cool it and Leo bit back a groan.


  “You’re welcome.” Don’t look at her mouth. Don’t look at her mouth. Don’t look at her mouth. “As I said, I don’t receive many visitors.”

  “No.” She sipped her tea, then set it carefully back down on a lace doily. “I imagine you have quite successfully frightened them all away.”

  “And yet here you are.”

  “Only because I saw the man beneath all the gruff and surliness.” Her mouth – which he most definitely wasn’t looking at – curved. “Had we left things as they were at the park, I don’t know if I ever would have thought about you again.”

  “I would have thought about you.” He spoke without thinking, the words wrenching themselves free from a heart that felt strangely foreign, as if it didn’t belong in his chest. “I did think about you,” he continued. “All day long. Then, as if by some stroke of magic, there you were.”

  “There I was,” she whispered, hazel eyes glistening beneath long tawny lashes. “Lord Winchester, there’s really something I must tell you–”

  “Leo,” he interrupted. “Call me Leo.”

  “Leo,” she repeated cautiously, and the sound of his name spilling from those plump lips made him want to throw back his head and howl like a bloody wolf.

  Good God. Get ahold of yourself, he ordered. Glancing down, he saw his hands were braced on the armrests of his chair, his knuckles gleaming white from the self-restraint it was taking not to knock the table aside, take Calliope in his arms, and kiss her until the fire dwindled to ash.

  “Last night, I spoke of my guardian and uncle, the Marquess of Shillington.” She picked up a biscuit, turned it round in her hands, then placed it down without taking a bite. The anxious gesture wasn’t lost on Leo, and his head canted slightly to the side as he studied Calliope with renewed intensity. “What I neglected to say was that he has recently passed.”

  “My deepest condolences.” Now that she mentioned it, he vaguely recalled reading of the marquess’ death in the paper, but the two men had never spoken more than few passing words to each other, and so Shillington’s death hadn’t given him pause.

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “Has your aunt and cousin turned you out of the house?” His jaw clenched. “Because if they have–”

  “No, no,” she said hastily. “Nothing like that. In fact, it’s been quite the opposite. Which brings us to the circumstances I wished to speak with you about.”

  He could sense the conflict within her when she bit the inside of her cheek and glanced down at her hands which were locked in a tight, seamless knot of fingers on top of her lap.

  “Whatever it is, you can tell me,” he said quietly.

  She looked up at him with a breathless laugh. “Do you know, I think it would have been easier if I’d met you sooner. Or later. Any time but now.”

  His brow furrowed. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  “Because I’m not making any sense, am I? I’m mucking it all up, just like I thought I would.” She started to stand. “I should probably just go and–”

  “No.” Leo spoke with a vehemence that startled them both. Calliope froze half in and half out of her chair. He cleared his throat. Ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. “I meant to say, if that’s truly what you want to do…of course I wouldn’t stop you. But I’d rather you stay.” He met her wide-eyed gaze. “Please.”

  As she slowly sank back down the breath he hadn’t even known he’d been holding expelled in a soft whoosh of air.

  “All right.” She gave a tiny nod. “But if you want me to leave after I’ve told you, I wouldn’t blame you in the slightest.”

  “I don’t think that will happen,” he said gruffly.

  “I didn’t think this would ever happen,” she said with a small smile, and Leo’s chest tightened when her hand flicked between them. “Yet here we are.”

  She felt it too, then. This invisible force. This unspoken connection. This acknowledgement of two souls recognizing each other through time and space. He was afraid it had all been in his head. That he’d been projecting what he wanted onto Calliope. That he’d been exaggerating it. But he hadn’t. He wasn’t. Because she felt it too.

  Whatever it was, whatever it meant, she felt it too.

  And nothing she could say would change that.

  “After my uncle passed, we were visited by his solicitor. Mr. Highwater-Cleary was very nice. Very kind.” She sipped her tea, and her eyes met his over the small porcelain cup. “Like you. He told us the terms of my uncle’s will. The title and the main estate, of course, passed down the bloodline to a third cousin. Along with the bulk of the fortune. But everything else, including the house in London, all went to…”

  “Your aunt?” Leo guessed when she trailed off.

  Calliope shook her head. “No. It all went to me.”

  He frowned at her expression. “Isn’t that good news? Is there something I’m missing?”

  “There was a contingency written into the will.” She looked down at her hands. “The solicitor believed my uncle intended to change the date, but he died before he was able to. In short, if I am not married before my twenty-first birthday, my inheritance will pass to my cousin Beatrice.”

  “How old are you, Calliope?” he asked slowly.

  When she looked up and smiled, it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I will turn twenty-one years of age the Friday after next.”

  There wasn’t very much math to calculate. “Then that means…”

  “If I wish to keep my inheritance, then I need to find someone to marry within fourteen days.”

  The pieces came together with sudden clarity. “That’s why Helena came to see me. Why she called in her favor. Why she wanted me to dance with you at the ball.”

  Calliope swallowed. “Yes.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I don’t want this to come between us.” She gazed at him helplessly. “I don’t want you to think I was trying to trick you.

  And yet, wasn’t that exactly what she’d done?

  Ice washed over Leo. Into him. It filled his veins. His blood. His heart. “Then there’s only one thing we can do.”

  She wet her lips. “What is that?”

  “Get married.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Is the priest ready?” Calliope whispered, her gaze darting nervously to the church doors. Helena 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 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 started 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 ins
ide. It’s just pre-wedding jitters.

  “Calliope.”

  “What?”

  “It’s time to go inside now.”

  “Of course. I was just…gathering my thoughts.” To be fair, there were a lot of thoughts to gather. The last thirteen days had gone by in a whirlwind of wedding preparations. Helena had taken the lead with everything, and Calliope had only been too happy to turn over control. The wedding didn’t concern her. It never had. The only thing that mattered was Leo…and he’d been nowhere to be found.

  Oh, he’d been present. At least in body. They’d taken a stroll through Hyde Park together while Helena chattered on and on about rose ivory versus champagne ivory. He’d met her aunt and cousin (what a disaster that had been). They’d even kissed. If a cold brush of his lips against hers that had lasted for less than the tick of a clock counted as a kiss. But in all the time they’d spent together she hadn’t seen a single glimpse – not one – of the man who had comforted her out on the stone terrace. That man was gone, replaced with an icy stranger she didn’t recognize and didn’t care to get to know. Because that wasn’t her Leo. The Leo she’d fallen in love with in the moonlight. The Leo who had seen past all her hurt to the tender heart beneath. The Leo that had held her in his arms with such gentleness she’d been moved to tears.

  Where had that Leo gone?

  She just prayed when she stepped into the church she would find him again.

  “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?”