“Doesn’t matter. No fire. Ever.”
Chapter Six
Calliope glanced upwhen the door opened and three women spilled into her shop. She smiled when she spotted the girl she’d met last time. Holly. The day had passed rather uneventfully so far, though that, to her, was indeed the most perfect day. Her dreams of last night, however...
She dared to dwell on those! They were too... too confusing. Too full of heat. Too much ofhim.
But none of that now.
“Welcome,” she murmured to the women.
“Calliope! I brought my friends to introduce to you and your shop.” Holly was already crossing the threshold with familiar ease, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She gestured to each of the other women. “This is Pippa Avery, the Countess of Chatteris, and Violet Sharpe, the owner of The Bloom Room I mentioned.”
A countess?
Instant wariness filled her whole body. Duvessa was a countess.
That doesn’t mean anything.
“I told you not to introduce me as a countess!” The Countess of Chatteris turned to Holly, exasperated. “You are forever scolding me when I introduce you as the Marchioness of Warton!”
A marchioness, too?
Calliope’s throat constricted.
What were the chances theyknewDuvessa?
“I forgot, all right?” Holly sent a sheepish look toward Calliope. “Forgive us. It’s not that we mean to hide our designations, we’d simply rather not be defined by them. More so outside of London.”
Calliope understood and managed a small nod, but her discomfort did not quite settle. She had spent the better part of three months avoiding anyone titled only to find herself in the company of two titled women at once. Of course, she couldn’t choose her customers. The fashionable still visited Brighton. Simply not her stepmother.
She would have to reconcile herself to it, sooner or later. Denial, after all, was a temporary shelter at best.
The women wandered farther inside, chatting amongst themselves. The countess paused to examine a display of honey balm, while Holly pulled Miss Sharpe toward the shelf near the window where Calliope kept her wilder blends.
Miss Sharpe sniffed at a bundle of candles, her expression bright with interest. “It smells like something I once dreamed of. Is that absurd?”
Calliope found her voice. “Not at all.” This whole shop, all her candles, after all, was the result of a dream.
“I adore this,” Miss Sharpe said, running her fingers over the elegant glass label. “I’m just about to open a flower shop not far from here, and I’m considering creating scent pairings to complement my bouquets. Would you ever consider collaborating?”
Surprised, Calliope’s eyes flew wide. Collaborate? A wave of warmth unfurled in the deepest part of her. “I might,” she said carefully, cautious to commit too fast. She couldn’t quite relax, but her lingering discomfort softened a little bit. “It all depends on the flowers.”
“Fabulous! Then we shall talk once I’ve settled in.”
Calliope didn’t mean to stare, but something about Miss Sharpe’s sincerity, the dreaminess in her voice as she spoke, stirred somethingin her that reminded her ofthatdream, which had stirred a host of other things!
What a lost cause you are, Calliope!
“You’re not from Brighton originally, are you?” Miss Sharpe asked, her tone curious but not prying. “Your accent is polished. London?”
The growing warmth waned slightly. Her accent? One could tell with these sorts of things? “I’m not from Brighton, no, but I’ve decided to settle here.” For now. Where she might end up after her lease of six months only time could tell.
She could feel Holly’s gaze shift toward her and pretended she didn’t notice. The fewer questions, the better. The fact that she hadn’t confirmed or denied or answered where she hailed from was probably telling in itself.
Dreams... they were strange, elusive things, all the more when they were finally in reach. As though they shifted the moment you believed them secure. Like her dream of opening this shop and living peacefully hidden away from Duvessa.
And the dream she’d had of a certain landlord last night. But then, she hadn’tjustdreamed of Maxen Fury, had she?
