Her voice was barely audible when she said, “No, I don’t suppose they do.”
As he registered the sadness in his sister’s voice, Benedick swore softly. “I saw that he danced with you tonight. I know how that must have felt. I understand that he played the part of protector at the ridiculous tavern you went to—Lord knows I’m glad he found you there or who knows what might have happened to you—but you must understand…Ralston…men like Ralston…” He stopped again, uncertain of how to say delicately what he was thinking.
Callie took pity on him and offered him an exit from the awkward conversation. “I know, Benedick. I’m not silly. Men like Ralston are not for women like me.”
Perhaps if I say it enough, I’ll begin to believe it.
She forced a chuckle, attempting to lighten the mood. “I should think Ralston would be far more adventure than I could endure.”
He smiled. “Not only you. Think of your poor old brother.”
Returning his smile, she stood, placing a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for the cheroot, Benny.” And, with that, she left the room, climbing the great marble stairs to her bedchamber.
Callie prepared herself for sleep slowly and methodically, refusing to allow Benedick’s words to upset her. Certainly, he was right. She was no match for Ralston; she never had been. But that night, she had come close. And, if one night were all she could have, it would have to be enough.
She replayed the events of the evening in her mind as she took down her hair, moved through her toilette and changed into her billowing white nightgown. She then smoothed out her wrinkled list and considered it frankly. For several long minutes, she sat at her desk, unmoving, reading over the items. With a sigh, she lifted her pen and drew a dark line through Smoke cheroot and drink scotch.
She snuffed the last candle and slid into bed and dreamed of the woman in Ralston’s carriage—in Ralston’s arms.
Nine
Several days later, Callie arrived at Ralston House promptly at noon, prepared for a day of dress shopping.
If there was one thing that Callie loathed, it was dress shopping.
Thus, she brought reinforcements in the form of Mariana who, aside from her unnatural love of Bond Street, was also consumed with curiosity over Ralston’s mysterious younger sister.
“I’ve never been to Ralston House!” Mariana whispered excitedly, as they approached the door.
“As well you should not have done,” Callie pointed out, primly. “Until the arrival of Ralston’s sister, this was most certainly not the place for young unmarried women.”
Nor an old, unmarried woman, but that did not prevent you from visiting the marquess.
Callie ignored the little voice in her head and started up the steps to the front door of the house. Before she reached the top stair, the door burst open, revealing an eager Juliana. “Hello!” she said, breathless with excitement.
Behind her stood a wild-eyed Jenkins, looking thoroughly appalled by the fact that the young woman had not waited for a footman to open the door and announce the arrival of her guests. His mouth opened a fraction, then closed, as though he were entirely unsure of how to deal with such an egregious breach of conduct. Callie swallowed back a smile, certain that the stoic butler would not at all appreciate the humor of the situation.
Mariana, however, took in the scene before her and burst into laughter. Clapping her hands together in glee, she crossed the threshold, took Juliana’s hands warmly in her own, and said, “You must be Miss Juliana. I am Callie’s sister, Mariana.”
Juliana dropped a small curtsy—as much as she could curtsy without the use of her hands—and said, “Lady Mariana, it is an honor to meet you.”
Mariana shook her head with a wide smile. “We can dispense with the ‘Lady’ altogether; you must call me Mariana. Can you not see that we are going to be excellent friends?”
Juliana matched Mariana’s smile with a brilliant one of her own. “Then you must call me Juliana, no?”
Callie grinned at the picture they made, heads already bent as if in confidence. Behind them, Jenkins looked to the ceiling. Callie had no doubt that the butler was longing for the days when there were no female residents of Ralston House.
Taking pity on him, she turned to the girls to say, “Shall we be off?”
Within moments, they had piled into the Allendale coach and were on their way to Bond Street, where they were to spend much of their afternoon. Of course, getting there was much easier said than done in the crush of carriages and shoppers. As the coach crept along, Juliana quieted, pressing her nose to the window to watch the bustling activity in the street beyond: scores of aristocrats moving in and out of shops; footmen loading carriages with boxes and packages; gentlemen tipping their hats as they passed clusters of chattering ladies. There was nothing quite like Bond Street at the start of the season. Callie could imagine that Juliana would find the entire experience of shopping alongside the ton rather daunting. Frankly, she couldn’t blame her for it.