The Secret Wallflower Society: (Books 1-3)

by Jillian Eaton

  “I’m ready.” And she was. Because she did love Leo. She did want to spend the rest of her life with him. She did want to have a family with him. She did want to grow old with him.

  Of that, if nothing else, she was absolutely certain.

  Lifting her chin, she started to put one foot in front of the other and before she knew it she was inside the church and standing 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.

  Leo 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 darting wildly from side to side, she started to back down the aisle, nearly tripped on the hem of her gown, and then spun around.

  “Calliope, wait,” he demanded. “Calliope, stop!”

  She raced past Helena and out of the church. With nowhere else to run she jumped into the waiting carriage, 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 Leo standing in its wake…

  Hell burning in his eyes.

  The carriage made it to the outskirts of London before it was overtaken by a galloping rider. Swerving off to the side of the tree lined road, the driver immediately stopped and dismounted. One glance at Leo’s enraged countenance and he wisely put as much distance between himself and his vehicle as possible while Calliope, after sneaking a terrified peak at Leo out the window, leaned back and squeezed her eyes shut.

  She could hear his boots on the gravel as he approached. He paused outside the door, and she jumped in her seat when he rested his elbow on the ledge. But he made no attempt to come inside, nor did he try to coax her out. Instead he sighed, long and heavy, then shook his head.

  “I am sorry, Calliope.”

  Her heart constricted. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m the one who ran.”

  “Why?” The word hovered between them like a battering ram. She tried to look at him through the glass again, but he stood with his back to her and she could only see a hint of his profile. She drew a deep breath and stared straight ahead at the carriage’s silk upholstered interior.

  “Because…because it didn’t feel right.” She toyed with a loose thread on her veil. “Everything has been so rushed and I…I wanted to make sure you were marrying me for the right reasons.”

  “You wanted to make sure I was marrying you for the right reasons?” he said incredulously. “You were one who pursued me! This was your plan – yours and Helena’s – from the beginning.”

  “It’s true I was considering marrying you before I ever met you,” Calliope said. “But then I did meet you. That night…it changed everything, Leo. What I thought about love. What I thought about marriage. What I thought about my future. I suddenly wanted things I’d never wanted before. All in the span of a few precious moments.” She closed her eyes again. “I fell in love with you, that night. And I thought – at least, I hoped – you’d fallen in love with me as well. But now…I’m not so sure.”

  The door was wrenched open with such force it nearly flew off its hinges. Leo stood silhouetted in the fading sunlight, his eyes snapping blue fire, his hands clenched into fists, his chest heaving. “How can you say that to me?” he snarled. “I loved you when you fell out of the damned tree, I loved you when you trounced on my toes in the ballroom, and I loved you when you stepped into that church looking like an angel straight from heaven.” He braced his arms on either side of the doorframe and the raw emotion she saw on his face filled her eyes with tears. “I loved you then. I love you now. I’ll love you always. If you want to be sure of anything, be sure of that.”

  “Oh, Leo.” Sniffling, she half fell, half leapt into his arms. He caught her and swung her out of the carriage, but he didn’t let her go. Instead he held her so close she could feel the wild beat of his heart through his jacket, and its rhythm matched her own.

  “I love you too,” she whispered, her eyes shining bright. “It’s all happened so fast, I was afraid…I was afraid it was too good to be true. That you were too good to be true.”

  “I was afraid of the same thing,” he admitted roughly. “After I lost my first wife, I never dreamt I would feel this way again. That I even could feel this way again. Then you entered my life like a sunrise after a long, endless night and my heart came alive again. I came alive again.”

  “But then I told you about the inheritance…”

  “And I started to doubt your true feelings,” he finished grimly.

  “I would never try to trick–”

  “I know that now.” He gently slid her down his body until her feet were touching the ground, but he kept his arms tightly wrapped around her. “Truth be told, I knew it before you’d even left the house. But that moment of pain, that second of insecurity, reminded me of what it felt like to hurt. Which was why I put my armor back on. It’s why I’ve been so distant. But to hurt is to be human. To hurt is to love.” He ran his thumb across her cheek. “And I do love you, Calliope. I know it has been quick, for both us. And it probably would have been easier if we could have taken our time. If I could have courted you as you deserved to be courted.” His expression darkened. “But having met that vicious cousin of yours, I’ll be damned before she gets one copper penny of your inheritance.”

  “About that…” During her mad dash away from the church, Calliope had a few precious seconds to think. And she’d come up with a plan that she hoped would appease everyone. “I don’t want to get married.”

  Every muscle in Leo’s body tense. “Calliope…”

  “I don’t want to get married today,” she clarified. “Because I do want a courtship. I want flowers and poems and long walks through the park.”

  His brows drew together. “You can have all that after we’re married.”

  “Yes, but I want it now as well.” Her lips curved. “I was a wallflower for a very long time. I was almost a spinster. I’d like to enjoy being a fiancée before I become a wife.”

  “But what about the terms of the will?”

  “If there’s still time to get to Mr. Highwater-Cleary’s office, I’d like to see if I could donate all of it to St. James Orphanage.”

  “We’ll make time.”

  What a wonderful man, her husband-to-be. Standing on her toes, she impulsively pressed her lips to his cheek. Leo’s gaze softened, then flickered with heat. He nudged her closer.

  “Do you know what else men and women do when they’re courting?” he said huskily.

  “What?” she asked, although she had a feeling she already knew the answer.

  “Kissing,” He lowered his mouth to hers. “They do lots and lots of kissing.”

  Epilogue

  Calliope and Leo were married the following spring in a small village church just outside Winchester Manor. It was a private affair, with only dear friends in attendance. Helena and Percy, who had become more like a sister than a friend over the past few months, sat on the bride’s side of the aisle. Mr. Corish, who grinned like a fool from the start of the ceremony to the very end, occupied the place of honor on the groom’s side.

  Everyone clapped when the newlyweds kissed, then laughed when they ran down the aisle and jumped into their carriage. Calliope waved out the window and then they were gone, heading towards a remote cottage in the highlands where they would spend their honeymoon.

  The guests returned to the manor. Helena and Percy retired to the parlor to enjoy a game of whist. Helena had been shocked to discover the duchess didn’t know how to play, but then there had been a lot of shocking things she’d discovered since bringing Perc
y into her home, the least of which was her inadequate knowledge of card games.

  Percy’s outward bruises had faded quickly, but there were deeper ones still buried inside. They showed themselves whenever a man entered the room, no matter who he was. Or when a door slammed. Or when a glass dropped. Or when an unknown coach pulled up to the house. Helena desperately wanted to help Percy, and in many ways she had. But there were some things she couldn’t do, some hurts she couldn’t heal, and so she’d resolved herself to being Percy’s friend and protector.

  No matter what evil darkened the door.

  A maid stepped into the room. “There’s someone here to see you.”

  Helena watched with a heavy heart as all the blood immediately drained from Percy’s face. “It’s all right,” she assured the terrified duchess as she reached across the gaming table to squeeze her hand. “No harm is going to come to you here. You’ve my word.” She looked at the maid. “Would you mind being more specific, please?”

  “Of course, my lady.” The servant blushed. “I – I should have said there is someone here to see the Countess of Cambridge. My sincerest apologies for any confusion.”

  “See?” Helena told Percy before she stood up. “They’re here to see me, not you. I’ll be back in just a minute.” She wagged her finger at her friend whose color was slowly returning. “No peeking at my cards.”

  Squaring her shoulders, she walked out of the parlor and into the foyer. In the middle of it stood a man with his back to her. He was sharply dressed, with broad shoulders, a glossy man of chestnut hair, and a very well-shaped arse.

  She’d always liked a man with a well-shaped arse.

  “Can I help you?” she said, smiling politely.

  “I think you can,” he replied as he slowly turned around.

  Helena’s smile faded and her gaze narrowed. He looked so familiar, although she was almost positive they’d never met. Then recognition dawned, swift and horrible.

  “Get the hell out of here,” she hissed, advancing on him with clenched fists as her entire body started to vibrate with barely suppressed rage. He was lucky she was not in possession of a pistol, because she wouldn’t have hesitated to shoot him in the heart.

  Not that it would have done much good, seeing as he didn’t have a heart.

  “Now, now,” he said, making a tsking sound under his breath. Amusement glinted in his eyes. “Is that any way to greet your benefactor?”

  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.

  © 2020 by Jillian Eaton

  Edited by Quillfire Author Services

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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

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Epilogue

  A Note from the Author

  The Winter Duchess

  Chapter One

  Description

  Helena gave up on love the day she was forced to marry a lecher four times her age.

  Fortunately, the Earl of Cambridge did her the great service of dying on their wedding night. Unfortunately, she was stripped of all her worldly possessions and thrown out onto the street by Stephen, her late husband’s heir, an arrogant rogue with a heart of ice and the most piercing blue eyes Helena has ever seen.

  Saved from starvation by a mysterious benefactor, Helena has done her best to put her past behind her. Until her benefactor shows up in her parlor and his identity brings old feelings of mistrust and new forbidden passions swirling to the surface. Because the man who cast her out is the same one who rescued her…and Stephen has come to collect his due.

  Chapter One

  “You do not like dancing either, I take it?”

  Miss Helena Holton blinked in surprise when a handsomely dressed gentleman materialized out of the darkness. With his hands tucked into the pockets of his black jacket, he joined her behind the large stone fountain where she’d been hiding for the better part of an hour, after Lord Glenburn trounced on her instep yet again.

  And to think her mother actually considered him to be a good prospect. Another waltz like the last one and she was almost certain to walk with a limp for the rest of her life. Which was why she’d dared Lady Holton’s wrath and escaped out a side door, leaving the loud, glittering ballroom behind for the quiet privacy of the gardens. With the exception of a couple whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ears on a bench around the bend, she was alone. Or at least, she had been alone.

  If a young lady was standing by herself next to a fountain, did it become a man’s sole purpose to bother her?

  “No, I do not like dancing,” she answered curtly, her stare fixed on the trickle of water spilling from the cherub’s mouth at the top of the fountain. The portly little fellow was completely nude save the bow flung over his back. Yet for all his vulnerability, his expression was defiant. Perhaps even a little angry.

  Helena knew precisely how he felt.

  “I also do not like strangers,” she added.

  Unfortunately, the gentleman did not seem keen on taking her not-very-subtle hints to go away. She could feel his gaze upon her like fingers gliding through her hair before lightly squeezing the nape of her neck.

  “Then let me introduce myself.” His voice was husky and deep; rough velvet wrapped in a whisper. “Stephen Darby, Viscount Ware. And you are…?”

  “Not interested.”

  That, at least, gave him pause.

  Alas, his silence didn’t last nearly long enough.

  With a soft chuckle, he joined her in looking at the cherub. “Why do you think it is that fountains are always adorned with small, naked angels?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea,” she said stiffly. Under normal circumstances Helena was much more engaging, but she was tired, and hungry, and her feet hurt. Hardly the ingredients for a harmless flirtation in the garden. Not that she was naïve enough to believe there was anything harmless about the man standing beside her.

  For the first time, she slanted a glance at him as her curiosity demanded she put a face to that wickedly sensual voice. The nearly full moon was behind him, covering his profile in shadow. But it couldn’t conceal the startling blue of his eyes, or the stern set of his jaw, or the high, slashing cheekbones that revealed aristocratic blood.

  He towered at least six inches above her, his body all lean muscle cloaked in an elegant tailcoat and snowy white cravat with a gold pin run through the middle. She couldn’t determine the color of his hair, but it was long, and thick, and swept back off his temple in loose waves as if he had a habit of running his hands through it.

  He was decidedly handsome, this Stephen Darby, Viscount Ware. Almost unfairly so. But the intelligent gleam in his eye told her he wasn’t just another empty-headed dandy. Her interest unwillingly piqued, Helena’s gown swished against her ankles as she spun gracefully towards him, her hand trailing along the curved marble edge of the fountain.

  “What are you doing out here, Lord Ware? I would think a man of your charms would be inside wooing wallflowers rather than skulking in the shadows.”

  He arched a brow. “Wallflowers are woefully overrated, and I’ve never skulked anywhere in my life, Lady…”

  “Miss,” she
corrected. “Miss Helena Holton.”

  “Miss Helena Holton,” he murmured, and the way he spoke her name – as if he were caressing it with his tongue – sent a share of awareness down her spine. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am sorry, however, that we did not meet before tonight.”

  “Oh?” Her fingers slipped into the cool water, needing something to stave off the flames that were slowly licking their way up from her belly to her breasts. “And why is that, pray tell?”

  “Because in the morning I leave for my Grand Tour.” Genuine regret flashed in his gaze, and Helena was shocked to feel a similar tug in the middle of her chest.

  She knew nothing about this gentleman, except for his name and his agenda for tomorrow. Hardly enough personal knowledge to wish he would stay in London instead of embarking on a journey halfway around the world. Yet that was precisely what she found herself doing.

  “Where will your journey take you?” she asked, striving for nonchalance. As if the answer didn’t really matter. As if she couldn’t care less, even as she unconsciously leaned towards him so as to not miss a single word.

  “I’ll begin in Belgium, then travel by coach to Luxembourg. Austria, Milan, the Alps in Switzerland. From there…” His broad shoulders lifted and fell in an absent shrug. “I haven’t decided.”

  “That is quite the undertaking.”

  “Indeed.” Lord Ware slid closer. Close enough for her to feel his warmth. Close enough to inhale his scent. Close enough to see his desire. “It is even more of an undertaking now that I know what sweet company I’ll be leaving behind in England.”

  “You find me sweet?” She risked a coy glance at him from beneath a thick layer of russet lashes, and her lips parted when she discovered he was staring straight at her with the hunger of a man half-starved. Everything inside of her went still. But for her heart, which was beating so fast she feared it might burst through her ribcage.