She belonged in Brighton. She belonged withhim.
Her fingers curled into her skirts.I escaped this place once. I can escape it again.“I thought you said we weren’t coming back to the house.”
“Oh, did I?” Duvessa arched a brow. “I meant the wedding would be here. All troublesome servants have been dismissed, of course, but there will still be a wedding tonight. Though we have to get you cleaned up first. Can’t have you sully the family name.”
So she had lied. Amused herself at Calliope’s expense.
“Out,” one of the men barked, and Duvessa motioned her to exit first.
Calliope stiffened, her body aching from the long confinement, but she forced herself to move slowly, with dignity. She would not stumble on these steps, not when they led to her prison.
Two silhouettes spilled from the doorway, and Calliope’s breath stilled.
Her stepsisters. Morgana and Victoria.
Morgana’s shrill laughter pealed first. “Well, well, look what the tide dragged back. I thought Brighton had swallowed you whole.”
Victoria’s lips curved into a poisonous smile. “She looks half-swallowed already. Just look at those clothes. How dreadful. You’re certain she isn’t some common beggar Mama picked up along the way?”
Calliope glared at them. “At least I did not waste my days growing cruel and idle.”
Morgana gasped, hand pressed theatrically to her breast. “Cruel? Idle? You wound me,sister. But my, you have grown bolder!”
“Stepsister,” Calliope corrected tightly.
That earned another titter. “Where’s your mongrel? They didn’t kill him, did they?” Morgana taunted.
Calliope refused to answer as she was herded inside by the three ruffians.
Morgana leaned close, her voice a hiss. “No matter, your husband might buy you another. If you beg.”
“When have I ever begged?”
That drew a sneer. “You’ve always fancied yourself clever,” Victoria said. “Clever enough to run away. And now look where it’s landed you, dragged back home in rags.”
She would rather wear rags and live in Brighton with Maxen than wear pretty dresses and be shackled to misery. Even the darkest corner in Brighton wasn’t as dark as this house and these people. Brutish, brooding, impossible Maxen. He was no gentleman. Yet in his presence, she had felt more alive, more seen, than in any other moment.
And she still had that card up her sleeve.
She was no longer chaste.
If she revealed that at the right moment, surely no man would take the chance to marry her? Let them believe they’d won. Let them think her spirit cracked. They would never know that her thoughts, her heart, had already escaped beyond these walls. Now, she would only have to escape with her body.
“Where is my uncle?” Calliope asked. “If I am to be forced into this farce, should he not be here to deliver me into it?”
Duvessa’s lips curved. “So demanding, child. You’ll see him soon enough. He is out with your betrothed. They are finalizing arrangements.”
Morgana giggled, looping her arm through Victoria’s. “How quaint, that your fate comes down to coin.”
“Coin and convenience,” Victoria added smoothly. “A lady who runs makes her family look desperate. Better to tie her down quickly, before gossip turns into ruin.”
So this was about money?
Calliope’s nails bit her palms. “You speak of ruin as though it is not already here. If Papa still lived—”
Duvessa’s eyes hardened as she shot a glare at Calliope. “If your father still lived, your fate would not have been any different.”
“That is a lie,” Calliope shot back, her temper sparking. “Papa never would have sold me to the highest bidder. He believed in honor, in choice.”
