James frowned. "Speak English, Templeton."
"It was unfortunate that she overheard part of your conversation."
James stilled. "Which part?"
"Something about 'breaking in' and marriage."
James swore violently.
Templeton approached and handed him a pile of papers. " She left these and her coat behind."
"Thank you, Templeton."
Templeton let himself out at the dismissal.
Gideon stretched out his paws as James sat down next to him in front of the fireplace. James set the papers down and eyed his glass. He ignored it and reluctantly picked up the first drawing.
Stephen looked silly in a picture at the opera. The next one featured Stephen walking in the park with an overly exaggerated grin and carefree air. The sketches of Stephen had been done with an inordinate amount of fondness. There were drawings of Robert and Deirdre and of the four of them plotting and cooking up schemes, literally. All were done with affection and fraternal love.
James tightened his lips, unwilling to see anything unusual in the emotions brushing the pages. He lifted the next one. It was one of the drawings Calliope had done of him. He was splayed across a garden bench staring at the sky, watching Hercules fight the Hydra. Hercules looked to be losing.
James studied the sketch for a long time. Passion burst from the image. Not with the familial love of the previous sketches, but with a flurry of jumbled feelings. A thoughtful expression adorned his face in the sketch, as if he were learning something from the battle. Jagged wounds cut across both Hercules and the Hydra, and one fallen head from the Hydra lay on the ground, carelessly tossed there by Hercules.
His mind had known what his heart had refused to believe. Her drawings of him had always been personal.
When she had been lying in his arms outside the burning house, he had felt as if his world were complete. She had stroked his cheek. She had promised him with her eyes. Her beautiful scent had enveloped him through the smoke. How had he felt? Powerful.
Now? Now he felt defeated. Alone. Weak. Yes, he felt weak. Why had he ever thought love made one weak?
Love was powerful, and he had allowed his father’s problems to interfere with the only woman he had ever cherished.
His head fell onto the back of the sofa. "Calliope, I’m so sorry."
Chapter 18
Calliope stared out her window. She hadn’t moved in hours. She was stiff. Both in body and soul.
She had been an automaton when Robert and Deirdre had come to collect her personal belongings from Stephen’s townhouse. She hadn’t seen Stephen since he had given her the letters and she was glad. She didn’t know what she would say to him.
Robert and Deirdre had tried to cheer her up, but she had seen the worried looks pass between them. And when she had finally returned to the Daly’s home the same worried glances had passed between the other members of her family. She had claimed exhaustion from the day’s events. Her family had relented and left her alone, hoping that a good night’s rest would restore her spirit.
She was truly exhausted, and if she had been able to sleep a wink maybe she would have felt better. But it was hard to imagine her spirit returning even with a full night’s rest. Everything seemed so bleak.
Daybreak came and people woke to their morning routines. Vendors assembled their products; servants drowsily began their employers’ tasks. She noticed a man in the distance walking purposefully up the street. She recognized his gait and followed his progress. He had probably come to pound in the last nail.
A commotion ensued downstairs and a short time later her door creaked opened. "Calliope?" The unusually hesitant voice came forth.
She remained motionless as she felt him step behind her.
"Please turn around." His voice was soft.
She shook her head sadly as she looked through her shadowed curtains at the milieu carrying on their daily lives. Her heart cracked as she spied a nicely dressed woman tweak the bonnet of a little girl standing by her side.
"Please go."
"I came to apologize. I know you were in my townhouse last night."
"You said nothing that wasn’t the truth."
"Of course it wasn’t the truth. I was angry and in pain."
Calliope looked down at her bandaged hands-working hands, not a lady’s hands.
She looked over her shoulder. He was shrouded in the early morning shadows.
She turned back to the street. "My lord, we are from different worlds, you and I. You are a marquess, a peer of the realm, and I am a… well…" She let her voice trail. "Who knows what I am?"
"Who cares what worlds we are from?"
"Everyone cares, James."
"No, not everyone does. My friends care only for my happiness, and I care not a whit for the opinions of my peers. You should know that by now. You fit with me. That’s all I care about."
"What do you mean?"
"I want you to come back with me."
"Why?"
"Because I need you."
Something bittersweet broke and coursed through her. She felt a sudden connection with her mother. At last Calliope understood her mother’s decision to remain with the man she loved no matter the situation.
Calliope turned sadly and placed a hand on his cheek. "I love you, James, but I can’t be with you."
"You love me?" It was barely a whisper. "Then why not?"
Calliope turned back to the window, unable to face him. "I didn’t like playing the role. I loved my mother, and I am beginning to understand the choices she made, but those were her choices, and it is something I just can’t do right now. "
"What?" His voice was confused, but something registered, because his voice softened as he said, "I can’t say I like making a muddle of this, but I have never been in love before and haven’t had the practice."
Her heart stopped and she looked at him. "What did you say?"
"I’m asking you to let me prove it to you."
Had he just said he loved her?
"I’ve kept myself shut away from that emotion for so long, Cal. It may take me a while to rub the rust off, but it’s something I desperately desire. Even if it takes forever to get it right."
James pulled a blue and purple flower from his jacket. It was a single beautiful bloom like the one from the Killroys’ ball. Her hands automatically reached for it as he held it between them. She noticed the petals were somewhat crumpled from being stuffed in his coat and the edge of the stalk was sandy. Just like them.
She fleetingly wondered whose garden he had robbed.
It didn’t matter. Calliope understood the gesture.
"Yes."?
And as she stepped toward him her arm brushed the curtain. A ray of sunshine streaked through the window and pooled at their feet. James stepped into the light and pulled her into his arms.
Epilogue
Calliope opened the morning paper.
A cartoon with the caption. Marrying the Marquess was prominently displayed. A mad wedding was depicted. Acrobatic folk hanging from the rafters, outraged matrons sitting next to women of questionable virtue, naive debutantes being chased by bewigged actors. Roth and Stephen winking at scantily dressed opera girls.
In the center, untouched by all of the chaos surrounding them, the handsome groom gazed lovingly at the radiant bride. A single beautiful bloom was held tenderly in her hand.
Calliope smiled and let the paper float to the desk amid her ink and paper.
"Goodbye, Thomas Landes, and thank you."
