Several of Oxford’s friends entered the pool, with others wagering that the Earl of Allendale would step in and refuse the match, and at least one man betting that Oxford would have to elope with Lady Calpurnia in order to achieve his gains.
“I’ll take all the wagers.” Ralston’s words, despite their being spoken quietly from across the room, silenced the other men who, to a man, turned to look at him.
Oxford offered him a broad smile. “Ah, Ralston. I hadn’t noticed you. You’d like to place a bet on my future bride?”
Ralston couldn’t imagine a single situation in which the woman who had marched herself into his home last evening would consider Oxford anything more than an irritation. He’d never seen a wager so easily won as this one. Like taking sweets from a babe. “Indeed, Oxford. I’ll take every one of the bets on Lady Calpurnia. There is not a chance in hell that she’ll marry you.” He turned to the bookmaker. “Finney, mark my words. If Oxford even has an opportunity to offer for Lady Calpurnia, she’ll most certainly refuse.”
A rustle of surprise went through the crowd as Finney asked, “How much, my lord?”
Ralston met Oxford’s eyes as he spoke. “One thousand pounds will keep it interesting, I would imagine,” he said, turning and exiting the room, leaving the group of men utterly dumbfounded.
The gauntlet had been thrown.
Six
Callie had thought that tonight would be different.
She had expected Mariana and Rivington’s betrothal ball to be perfect. And it was—every inch of the room had been polished until it shone, from the floors and windows, to the enormous crystal chandeliers and wall sconces that held thousands of twinkling candles, to the marble columns that lined one length of the room, supporting the most impressive feature of the Allendale House ballroom—an upper viewing corridor that allowed guests in need of a respite to find one without ever leaving the ballroom.
She’d expected that Mariana would sparkle, and she did—a glittering gem on Rivington’s arm, swirling through the dozens of other couples in a rousing country dance. And the other guests seemed to agree with Callie; they were thrilled to be there, at the first major event of the season, to fête Mariana and her duke. The ton was at its best, dressed in the height of fashion, eager to see and be seen by those whom they had missed while away from London for the winter months.
Callie had imagined that this ball would be special for both Allendale sisters, however.
And yet, here she sat, in Spinster Seating. As usual.
She should be used to it, of course—used to being ignored and sloughed off with the rest of the women who were on the shelf. Truthfully, in the early years, she’d preferred it here. The women had accepted her into their fold, graciously making room for her on whatever furniture happened to be arranged for their kind. Callie had found it much more enjoyable to watch the season unfold while trading gossip with the older women than to stand awkwardly on the other side of the room waiting patiently to be asked to dance by an eligible young gentleman.
After two seasons of fortune hunters and aging widowers, Callie had welcomed the companionship of the spinsters.
And then, she’d turned into one of them.
She wasn’t even really sure when or how it had happened, but it had. And now, she had very little choice in the matter.
But tonight was Mariana’s betrothal ball. Tonight was Calpurnia’s first ball since she had begun crossing items off her list. And tonight she had honestly thought that things might be different. After all, as the bride’s obvious choice for maid of honor, did she not earn special recognition at an event wholly designed to celebrate the pending nuptials?
Watching the dancers, she let out a little sigh. Evidently not.
“Oh, Calpurnia.” Miss Genevieve Hetherington, a middle-aged spinster with kind eyes and a complete lack of sensitivity, patted Callie’s knee gently with one lace-gloved hand. “You must move beyond that, my dear. Some of us are not made for dancing.”
“Indeed not.” The words were wrung from Callie, who took the opportunity to stand and excuse herself. Certainly that would be a more preferable course of action than strangling one of the ton’s most beloved spinsters.
Keeping her head down to limit the number of people she might be required to acknowledge, Callie made her way to the refreshment room.
She was waylaid by Baron Oxford mere feet from her destination. “My lady!”
Callie pasted a too-bright smile on her face and turned toward the baron, who flashed her the toothiest grin she had ever seen. Unable to keep herself from doing so, she took a small step back from the beaming man. “Baron Oxford. What a surprise.”