Be considered beautiful. Just once.
It was the most unlikely item on the list…she could only remember one time, one fleeting moment in her life when she had even come close to achieving the goal. But, thinking back on that night long ago, when the Marquess of Ralston had made her feel beautiful, Callie was certain that he hadn’t perceived her that way. No, he was just a man who did what he could to make a young girl feel better so that he could escape to a midnight tryst. But in that moment he had made her feel beautiful. Like an empress. How she wanted to be that girl again; how she wanted to feel like Calpurnia again.
Of course, she couldn’t do it. It was just a silly exercise.
With a sigh, Callie stood from the desk, folding the paper carefully and tucking it just inside the bodice of her gown before she replaced the ink and pen. Snuffing the candle, she moved quietly toward the door. Just as she was about to exit the study and make her way upstairs, she heard a noise from outside—quiet and unfamiliar.
Opening the door carefully—just a crack—Callie peered into the darkened hallway, squinting to make out anyone who might be there. The blackness beyond made it impossible to see, but there was no question that she was not alone; the open door allowed a soft giggle to reach her.
“You are beautiful tonight. Perfect. The Allendale Angel indeed.”
“You’re required to say so…to flatter your fiancée.”
“My fiancée.” The reverence in the words was palpable. “My future duchess…my love…”
The words trailed off on a feminine sigh, and Callie’s hand flew to hold in her shocked laughter as she realized that Mariana and Rivington were in the darkened foyer. She froze for a moment, eyes wild, uncertain of her next move. Should she close the door quietly and wait for them to leave? Or should she contrive to stumble upon them and end what was most definitely a lovers’ tryst?
Her thoughts were interrupted by a little gasp, “No! We shall be caught!”
“And what then?” the words came on a masculine chuckle.
“I suppose then you shall have to marry me, Your Grace.” Callie’s eyes widened at the blatant sensuality in her little sister’s tone. When had Mariana become a doxy?
Rivington groaned in the darkness. “Anything that gets you into my bed more quickly.”
It was Mariana’s turn to laugh, entirely inappropriately. And then there was silence, punctuated only by the soft sounds of lips on flesh and silk on skin.
Callie’s mouth dropped open. Yes, she should definitely close the door.
Then why didn’t she?
Because it wasn’t fair.
It simply wasn’t fair that her baby sister—who had looked up to her for so long, who, for so many years, had turned to her for advice and guidance and friendship—was now experiencing this remarkable new world of love.
Mariana had come out with a vengeance, the star of the season, and Callie had been so very proud of her. And when Mari had caught the eye of Rivington, the catch of the ton, Callie had celebrated alongside her little sister.
And Callie was happy for Mariana.
But how much longer could she happily stand by as Mariana lived the life that Callie herself had longed for? Everything would change. Mariana would do all that Callie had never done. She would marry, and bear children, and run a household, and grow old in the arms of a man who loved her. And Callie would remain here in Allendale House, a spinster.
Until Benedick found a wife. And she was relegated to the country. Alone.
Callie swallowed back the sting of tears, refusing to allow herself to feel self-pity in the face of Mariana’s happiness. She moved to close the door to the study softly, to leave the lovers in peace.
Before she could, however, Mariana spoke, breathlessly. “No, Riv. We cannot. My mother would horsewhip us both if we ruined her chance for a wedding.”
Rivington groaned softly. “She has two other children.”
“Yes, but…” There was a pause, and Callie did not have to see her sister to read her thoughts. What are the odds that either of them will marry anytime soon?
“Benedick will marry,” Rivington said, humor in his tone. “He’s simply waiting until the last possible moment to do so.”
“It is not Benedick about whom I worry.”
“Mari, we’ve discussed this. She is welcome at Fox Haven.”
Callie’s mouth dropped open in outrage at the mention of Rivington’s country seat. She? Could they mean her? They had discussed her fate? As though she were an orphaned child in need of care?
As though she were an unmarried female with no prospects.
Which, of course, she was.
Her mouth closed.
“She will make a wonderful aunt,” Rivington added.
Excellent. He’s already sloughing off the heirs to the dukedom on the spinster aunt.
“She would have made a wonderful mother,” Mariana said, and her emphatic words brought a watery smile to Callie’s face. She tried to ignore her sister’s use of the past tense as Mari added, “I only wish she could have had what we have. She so deserves it.”
Rivington sighed. “She does. But I am afraid that only Callie can seize such a life for herself. If she remains so…” He paused, searching for the word, and Callie strained to hear—the angle of her body so unnatural that she risked toppling over entirely. “Passive…she shall never have those things.”
Passive?
Callie imagined Mariana nodding her agreement. “Callie needs an adventure. Of course, she shall never seek one out.”
There was a long pause as their words—so lacking in malice and still so painful—echoed around Callie, suffocating her with the heavy weight of their meaning. And all at once, she could not seem to catch her breath or stop the tears from welling.
“Perhaps you would like an adventure for yourself, my beauty.” Rivington’s sensual tone was restored, and Mariana’s responding giggle proved too much to bear. Callie closed the door quietly, blocking out the sound.
If only she could block out the memory of their words.
Passive. What a horrible word. What a terrible sentiment. Passive and plain and unadventurous and destined for a boring, staid, utterly uninteresting life. She choked back tears, leaning her forehead against the cool mahogany door and considering the very real possibility that she was about to cast up her accounts.
Taking great, heaving breaths, she attempted to calm herself, the powerful combination of sherry and emotion threatening to bring her low.
She did not want to be that woman—the one of whom they spoke. She had never planned to be that woman. Somehow, it had happened, however…somehow, she had lost her way and, without realizing it, she had she chosen this staid, boring life instead of a different, more adventurous one.
And now her younger sister was mere feet away, on the brink of self-induced ruin, and Callie had never even been kissed.
It was enough to drive a spinster to drink.
Of course, she’d done enough of that tonight.
It was enough to drive a spinster to action.
Reaching into her bodice, she produced the folded piece of paper she had placed there only minutes earlier. Fingering the rounded edges of the square, she considered her next move.
She could go to bed, drown herself in tears and sherry, and spend the rest of her life not only regretting her inaction but—worse—knowing those around her believed her passive.