“Lady Sinclair now,” she reminded her friend.
And herself as well.
How strange it felt, rolling off her tongue. Stranger still, how right. A month ago, she never would have countenanced it. Now, she could not deny that marrying Sin had given her a sense of purpose for the first time since Simon and Alfred had died. Aside from her work for the Lady’s Suffrage Society, she had been adrift. Her life in Paris with Aunt Fanchette had been nothing but a lavish swirl of parties. Her life in London had not been much altered, aside from her devotion to her cause.
“You are the happiest I have seen you in as long as I can recall,” Jo said softly, cutting into Callie’s turbulent musings. “I do believe marriage suits you, my dear friend.”
“It does,” she agreed, the admission nevertheless laced with worry.
Her happiness had always been cut short by a death, an unexpected end. She hated to bask too much in the moment, or to allow herself to grow too complacent. Surely this contentedness, too, would be dashed upon the rocks like a ship caught in a maelstrom before too long.
“You do not sound pleased with the realization, however.”
Jo was ever observant and wise. Those were some of the traits that made her such a wonderful friend. That and her loyalty and sharp-as-a-blade wit.
“I am afraid,” she confided. “He has made it more than clear to me that he expects me to give him an heir, and after that time, we shall go our separate ways and lead our own lives. Part of me is convinced he is still in love with his ex-mistress. And his last marriage has left him wary. Apparently, it was quite a bitter affair on both sides. I do believe he loved her at some point.”
The notion of her husband’s heart having been broken by other women before her left Callie feeling both melancholy and possessive, all at once.
“Oh dear.” Jo’s expression was commiserating as she took a sip of her tea and then made a face. “Good heavens, the tea has grown cold. Here I am chattering on, asking you all these insufferably rude questions. Just tell me to stifle it, do. I know I am too inquisitive for my own good.”
That was one of the many curious facets of Lady Jo Danvers. By all appearances, she was a shy, quiet wallflower. It was only with those she knew and trusted that her true personality came to life. Meanwhile, Callie was the opposite. She was bold and boisterous and unapologetic. Mayhap that was why she and Jo had connected as friends on such a deep level. They were each what the other was not. Together, they understood each other and flourished.
“Never mind the tea,” Callie said, feeling selfish for dominating the conversation with her own troubles and feelings. After all, she had meant to visit her friend, not to fret over the budding feelings bursting to life in her treacherous heart. Surely they could be tempered, no? “I came here to visit you, and that is all. I missed you, dear friend. Forgive me for being so serious and weighing down our visit with this nonsense. You must forget it all. I fear becoming a married woman has addled my wits. Let us speak of something else, anything else!”
“I missed you as well.” Jo grinned then. “You must tell me what the marriage bed is like, Callie. No one will tell me anything. I swear I shall die a spinster wallflower without ever having even been kissed.”
It astounded Callie to think her friend had never been swept into a darkened alcove by a handsome lord and kissed senseless. Jo was uniquely beautiful, sweet, smart, and wittier than anyone Callie knew. She could only suppose it was fear of Jo’s brother, the Earl of Ravenscroft, which kept suitors at bay. That and Jo’s own retiring nature whenever she found herself in large gatherings of people.
“You will not die a spinster wallflower, never having been kissed,” Callie denied. “I promise you that, Jo.”
Her friend sighed. “Sometimes, it feels as if I will. I have begun a list, you know, of all the things I want to experience in my life. I have grown quite tired of watching everyone I love go on with their lives while I remain here, the same as I ever was.”
Callie felt a pang of guilt all over again. “I have not gone on with my life, dear heart. You will forever be my dearest friend, and you know it. Time, marriages, titles, nothing matters. You are the sister I never had.”
“But you have a sister now,” Jo pointed out, quite correctly.
“Yes, but she cannot replace you,” Callie said soothingly, taking a sip of her own tea at last only to find that it was disgustingly tepid. “No one can replace you, Jo. I have Isabella, and I have you.”
“And your wickedly handsome husband who makes you smile like a besotted fool,” her friend added.
Jo’s grumbling told Callie that perhaps her friend was, at last, ready to relinquish her role as wallflower and seize her life. “No one said you cannot find a handsome husband of your own who also makesyousmile like a besotted fool.”
Jo sighed. “I shall have to live vicariously through you, I am afraid. There is no such handsome gentleman forthcoming. All the lords I know are empty-headed and weak-hearted and dreadfully uninteresting. Not all of us can be carried off by an earl named Sin, you know.”
Callie smiled at her friend’s sally. “I should hope not. If he is off abducting others, I will box his ears.”
Jo took another sip of her own tea, wrinkling her nose. “This is wretched, is it not? Forgive me, darling, I will ring for a fresh pot. One that does not leak.”
The teapot had, indeed, leaked. It had rendered Jo’s pouring quite humorous. The two of them had collapsed into a fit of giggles over it.
“Fresh tea would be wonderful,” Callie agreed. “Now tell me about this list of yours, if you please. I cannot wait to hear what is on it…”
His wife hadbeen gone for—Sin checked his pocket watch—three hours.
Precisely.
He paced the length of his study, newly refurbished with fresh, plush Axminster. All the way to the door. He threw it open.
