Page 43 of The Wedding Challenge

She hugged her memories of this afternoon to herself, remembering each word and gesture, lingering over the kisses they had shared, recalling the look in Brom’s gray eyes when he gazed down into her face. It made her blush when she thought about what they had done and the way she had reacted to him. Even thinking about it, her blood heated once more. She had never felt this way before, and it was both delightful and alarming.

She had no idea what was going to happen or even what she wanted to happen. She knew only that she was enjoying her life more than she ever had before, that she awoke each morning with a sense of eagerness and excitement.

It would have to end. She knew that. And she also knew how little likelihood there was that it would end well. Sinclair would be bound to return to London sooner or later—or some busybody would take it upon herself to write to Callie’s brother and grandmother and let them know that the Earl of Bromwell was busily paying court to Lady Calandra. Callie had no idea what her brother would do when he found out she had been defying his direct orders not to see Bromwell, but she was not eager to find out.

She dreaded the thought of an argument with her brother, and she had no idea what she would do if he ordered her back to Marcastle for the rest of the Season. She would not allow him to dictate her life to her, but on the other hand, she could not bear the thought of a rift between them. What would she do if it came down to that? If she had to choose between Sinclair and Bromwell?

That, of course, led to the larger question of exactly what she would be choosing if she chose Bromwell. He was showing her marked attentions, but where were they leading? Indeed, where did she want them to lead?

She was not sure what Bromwell felt for her. He appeared to be smitten with her; all the signs were there. But she could not dismiss a certain uneasiness caused by Sinclair’s warning against the man. Sinclair was not unreasonable, nor was he someone who was easily upset. If he felt so strongly that she should not see Bromwell, she could not help but wonder if there was something wrong with the man, something she could not see, could not tell. Was Bromwell not serious in his pursuit? Was he playing some sort of game?

He had said nothing about his intentions, but it was still too early for that. Why, she did not even know what her own intentions were. If Bromwell were to ask for her hand tomorrow, she had no idea what she would say.

She felt about him as she had never felt about a man before. His touch made her shiver; the thought of seeing him again made her almost giddy. And when he kissed her, she ached in an utterly new and wonderful way. Any day when she did not see him seemed far emptier than her days had been in the past, and whenever he entered the room, it was as if a light had gone on inside her. Was that love?

Or was it simply infatuation? Passion?

Callie did not know. All she was certain of was that she wanted to continue feeling this way.

TRUE TO HER WORD, Lady Swithington invited them to join her party in a visit to Vauxhall Gardens the following Tuesday. She did not entrust the matter to paper, but called upon them herself to issue the invitation. Francesca, smiling stiffly, reiterated her commitment to the fictitious meeting with her old friend, but added that she hoped that Callie would attend.

In fact, Francesca felt a ripple of unease about the whole endeavor. She knew how much Callie wanted to go, but she hated to think what the Duke of Rochford’s reaction would be to his sister spending time in the company of his notorious former mistress.

Of course, it was entirely the duke’s own fault, not Francesca’s, that he was in such a precarious position regarding Lady Swithington. She could not, she thought, be expected to protect him from what had been, after all, his own folly. It was her duty, though, to protect Callie, and in Francesca’s opinion, Lady Swithington was not a fit person for Callie to associate with.

However, everyone in the beau monde seemed to have forgiven—or at least forgotten—the reputation Lady Daphne had earned before her marriage to Lord Swithington fifteen years ago. Moreover, Francesca was not sure how well known the woman’s liaison with the duke had been. The duke was in general a very discreet and conservative sort of man, and while Daphne’s determined pursuit of him had been quite public, Francesca felt sure that few people had actually witnessed, as she had been unlucky enough to, the sight of Rochford and Daphne emerging from one of their trysts.

Francesca had not heard of Lady Daphne’s not being received by any of Society’s hostesses. Lady Odelia Pencully, a force in the ton, was peculiarly fond of the woman. So Callie would have some difficulty understanding why she could not associate with Lady Swithington, should such an association suddenly be forbidden. And Francesca could not reveal why Rochford would dislike Callie’s being around Lady Daphne without telling her the very thing that the duke would not want Callie to know.

She ought to attend the party herself, Francesca knew, but she had found it almost unbearable to be in Lady Swithington’s presence the other day at Richmond Park. She had thought that fifteen years would have healed all wounds, but in truth, being around Daphne had instead reminded her all over again of the reasons why she disliked her. Every time Daphne had mentioned Rochford, Francesca had grown stiffer, until she had felt as if she might break.

And, after all, Irene and Gideon would be there, as well as several other people. It was not as though Callie would be with Lady Daphne and her brother unchaperoned or associating closely with the woman. And Callie would be wearing a concealing domino and mask. No one would even know she was there. Nothing would happen to Callie or to her reputation. And if Rochford was upset by it, well, she reasoned somewhat snippily, then he should have been more careful about what he did fifteen years ago.

So resolved, Francesca did not attend the party nor try to dissuade Callie from doing so. Still, she could not quite suppress a twinge of uneasiness as, the following Tuesday, she watched Callie climb into the carriage Lady Swithington had sent.

Callie, however, felt not the slightest discomfort. She waved goodbye to Francesca, then settled back for the short ride to Lady Daphne’s house, where the party was gathering for the trip. She was wearing an evening gown of white with silver lace trim, and over it a black satin domino, lined in white satin. She had borrowed the domino from Francesca, as she had not brought one with her from Lilles House, and she thought it was both elegant and dramatic. The hood was folded back a turn to reveal the accent of white lining, and as the hood was wide, much of the lining was visible, a rich contrast to her tumbled black curls. With the half mask in place, she looked, she thought, both sophisticated and mysterious.

She giggled a little at the thought, for the truth was that inside, Callie felt anything but sophisticated and mysterious. She was brimming with excitement, like a girl at her first ball, and she thought her feelings must glow from her like a lamp.

A doorman stood outside Lady Swithington’s gray stone home, which was festively ablaze with lights, and he bowed and opened the door for Callie. Inside, a butler showed her into the drawing room, where a merry group stood talking and laughing. Besides Lady Swithington, the Swanson siblings were there, as well as Mr. Tilford, and two more young men and a young woman whom Callie had never met.

“Lady Calandra!” Daphne swept forward to meet her, holding out both hands to take Callie’s. “I am so pleased that you are here. Come, let me introduce you to the others in our little party.”

The men were dressed in the latest styles, with the most up-to-date affectations and ornamentations. One wore a nosegay as big as his fist in the button-hole of his lapel, and the other’s watchchain contained so many fobs that it was a wonder the chain did not break. Their speech was peppered with cant, and they amused one another with frequent witticisms that left Callie wondering why they thought themselves so funny.

However, Miss Swanson and the other young woman, a blond girl possessed of a high-pitched giggle, seemed to find the two young men inordinately charming, and they hung upon their every word, letting loose peals of laughter whenever one of them made a bon mot.

Lady Daphne, wincing a little as the blond girl let forth a particularly piercing shriek of laughter, introduced Callie to the others. The blond woman turned out to be Miss Lucilla Turner, and the gentlemen were Mr. William Pacewell and Mr. Roland Sackville. No sooner had they been introduced than Callie found herself unable to remember which man was which, but as she quickly realized that she had little interest in speaking to either of them, it did not really matter.

She nodded at Mr. Swanson and his sister, relieved to see someone she knew, and looked around the room for the rest of the party.

“Ah, I see you are looking for my brother,” Lady Daphne said with a knowing smile. “He is not here yet. He will meet us later at Vauxhall. You know how it is. Young men are so busy.”

“I see.” Callie smiled, doing her best to hide her disappointment. “I presume Lord and Lady Radbourne have not arrived yet?”

“No, but it is early yet. Let me get you some refreshment while we wait for them.”

Lady Daphne motioned to a servant, and in short order Callie had a glass of ratafia in her hand. She sipped at it and talked to Lady Daphne, feeling a little strange and out of place. Callie was not a shy person, but the absence of anyone she knew well made her quieter than normal, and she found the young men’s self-conscious posing and boisterous talk off-putting.