“What are you doing?” Calliope asked.
“Sending it back.”
Her sister gasped as she stepped back and then moved around to glare at her. “You can’t do that! It’s a gift! It would be rude!”
“It’s animproperone,” Araminta said firmly. “A lady mustn’t accept gifts from a man unless he is her betrothed or perhaps a devoted suitor. It gives the wrong impression.”
“You mean that you might actually like him?” Calliope crossed her arms with a snort. “Because youdo?”
Araminta stood; the painting tucked under one arm, and faced off with her sister. “Leave it alone, Callie,” she snapped. “This has nothing to do with you.”
She tried to leave, but her sister was persistent and blocked her path. “It doesn’t? And what if I decided that I didn’t want to grow into some old spinster like you and Isa? Perhaps I actuallylikethe idea of marrying and having a family. Did you ever think of that?”
This caused Araminta to pause. She turned back to Calliope. “Is that what you want?” she asked evenly. “Because when we left the estate we all took a vote and agreed that we wanted to show the world what women of stature could do, other than subject ourselves to the bonds of wedlock.”
Calliope shook her head. “Have you ever considered the fact that marriage doesn’t have to be a prison? If you marry for love—”
This time it was Araminta’s turn to snort. “That statement just shows how young and naïve you are, Calli. Love fades in time, but marriage vows are forever. What may start out as an equal partnership will eventually turn into something sour.”
Calliope barked out a laugh, although her green eyes held censure. “When did you become so jaded in regards to romance? It’s not as if you’ve been thrown over by a recalcitrant beau, or left at the altar. Don’t you remember how fondly father spoke of our mothers?Allof them? I know their regard for him was just as strong, and yet, you would make their unions something sordid and tainted just because you’re too scared to risk your heart on anyone!”
For a moment, all Araminta could do was stare at her sister. While Calliope was generally outspoken, this was the first time she’d actually accused her of being some sort of detestable crone. She lifted her chin. “Of course, you’re entitled to your opinion, but that doesn’t mean it’s right.” With that, she turned on her heel and left her sister standing in the middle of the parlor to gape at her retreating back.
Although she kept her shoulders rigid and walked away like a mature woman, her eyes stung with emotion. As she shut the door to her bedchamber, she clutched the painting to her chest and leaned against the door with a slow exhale, willing the tears to remain at bay. But her efforts were futile, for a single tear coursed down her cheek.
Dear God, what if Calliope wasright? What if this endeavor to prove a lady’s independence was merely her way of shying away from the heartbreak and disappointment of falling for thewrongman? It was true that their father had loved all four of his wives, but there were times she questioned how deeply his devotion had truly gone. Araminta had her reservations that lovingoneperson was possible, and yet, the former duke had been enamored of all of their mothers? It just hadn’t made sense to her. And she knew she wasn’t alone in her thinking. Isadora had said as much on several occasions, which is why they had agreed to leave the estate before the new Duke of Marlington took residence—whoever that might be.
She pressed a hand to her temple and thought back to the day they had made the pact to come to London. Surely they wouldn’t have justtoldCalliope and Olivia what they were doing, rather than asking their opinion? But she honestly just couldn’t remember.
Frustrated, she knew she would have to speak with Isadora. Not only because of what Calliope had claimed, but also, because she had to know that she wasn’t going mad. She moved away from the door and glanced down at the painting in her grasp. She couldn’t see the image, for the paper was wrapped around it once more, but knowing that Lord Somers had chosen this gift specifically for her, hadtouchedit, warmed her more than she wanted to admit.
Damn Calliope and her foolhardy romantic notions! For now, she was nearly starting to believe in them herself.
Seven
Grey had it on good authority, by bribing their downstairs maid, that the Bevelstroke sisters would be attending the reading at the Viscountess Journton’s residence that evening. He straightened his cuffs and pulled at his cravat as he entered the drawing room with the Marquess of Osgood, who he was glad to see, had accepted the challenge of at least meeting Lady Isadora Bevelstroke.
“You’ve straightened your cuffs at least a dozen times since you picked me up,” Rem drawled at his side. “I should think much more of your fidgeting would fray the edges.”
He huffed a breath. “Can’t a man be just a bit nervous at times? Tonight is crucial in my success in wooing Lady Araminta.”
The marquess lifted a russet brow. “I thought that depended on me.”
“Both, actually,” he muttered. He glanced about the assembled, where several chairs had been set up in a semi-circle around a settee taking precedence in the center of the room. “They aren’t here yet.” He finally took a seat toward the back, close to the entrance.
“Imagine that,” the marquess noted. “I doubt anyone is clamoring to join tonight’s exciting festivities.”
Grey glared at him. “Do you hate Christmas so much?”
“No. I merely dislike sitting for long periods of time without a brandy.”
Grey rolled his eyes, but settled in to wait for Araminta. He inspected the face of every fashionable dress that passed over the threshold, and was starting to think that he’d lost a guinea to a rather tricky servant when—there she was.
Just like the night he’d spied her at the theatre, Araminta was attired in a deep red, velvet gown. She led the way into the drawing room with her three sisters trailing behind her. She didn’t glance his way as she passed by, but Grey found himself hard pressed to tear his gaze away from her. The assemblage quieted as the ladies greeted their hostess.
“By the way you’ve honed your eyes on her like a hound after the cunning fox, I assume that is the lady you are attempting to pursue?”
“It is,” Grey returned. “The woman in green is your target.”
