The Secret Wallflower Society - Jillian Eaton Page 0,2

Shillington and Beatrice expected her to. Then again, she’d learned long ago there was nothing she could do to meet their impossibly high standards. The best thing was to remain silent and bite her tongue, which was precisely what she did as she sat down, folded her hands in her lap, and waited patiently for the solicitor to begin.

“Are we ready?” he asked, taking up a formal position in front of the fireplace. Like the rest of the house, it have been covered in black crepe and bombazine. The light silks, brought downstairs from the attic where they’d been tucked away since the earl’s mother passed, would remain on display for the better part of six months. The unspoken rules of Society dictated Lady Shillington was to remain in black for a year and one day, whereas Beatrice only had to dress in mourning for six months and Calliope, as the niece, escaped relatively unscathed with two weeks, one of which she’d already completed.

“You may begin,” said Lady Shillington with a grand inclination of her chin. She and Beatrice clutched hands as they sank down onto the edge of a pale blue sofa. Their expressions were solemn, even woeful, but a glint of morning sunlight revealed the greed that glittered in their eyes.

Greed that rapidly turned to rage when it was revealed everything not entailed – namely, the house in London and a small fortune in notes and bonds – had been willed to…

“Me?” Calliope gasped, genuinely shocked by the contents of her uncle’s last will and testament. “But…but I am just his niece.”

Mr. Highwater-Cleary, the solicitor, cleared his throat. “Lord Shillington was quite clear, Miss Haversham. His brother is to receive the entailed property along with the title, of course. Lady Shillington is to inherit a modest settlement, Lady Beatrice shall maintain her dowry, and you…well, you will receive the rest. But I must mention there are some conditions–”

“This is preposterous!” Lady Shillington exclaimed as she shot to her feet. Beside her Beatrice did the same, and both women glared at the solicitor before turning their venomous stares to Calliope.

“You did this,” her aunt hissed, taking a threatening step forward. “You scheming little leech. You somehow changed the will, didn’t you? Let me assure you, this will not stand. Do I make myself clear? I’ll take this to the courts!” She shook her finger in Calliope’s face who remained sitting, too stunned to move. “I knew the moment you arrived you’d be nothing but trouble. You will not receive a penny you treacherous, lying–”

“Lady Shillington,” the solicitor protested, the tips of his moustache quivering in self-righteous indignation. “I can assure you no one, least of all Miss Haversham, has changed, or even seen, the will. After its signing it was kept in a locked safe in my office until today. Furthermore, the earl was of clear and sound mind when he signed it, and while you are welcome to take it to the higher courts if you wish, I sincerely doubt you will have much success.”

“But Father wouldn’t have left it all to Calliope. He just wouldn’t,” Beatrice whined as she came to her feet and sought refuge beneath Lady Shillington’s arm. The two women clung to each other as Mr. Highwater-Cleary’s gaze darted between them. His eyes narrowed.

“I must admit I was somewhat bemused by the earl’s wishes, but now I believe I understand his reasoning. It is clear he was afraid Miss Haversham would not be cared for properly in the event of his death, and it is obvious his concerns were justified.” The solicitor’s stern expression softening ever-so-slightly, he looked at Calliope. “Congratulations, Miss Haversham. You are now an heiress.”

Calliope could hardly believe it.

She was an heiress, when two minutes ago she’d been wondering how long it would take until she was tossed out onto the street. An heiress, when she was wearing Beatrice’s hand-me-down dress from two Seasons ago. An heiress, when all she wanted – all she’d ever wanted – was to live a quiet life in the country.

As a slow, incredulous smile dawned across her face, Calliope realized that she really could have that quiet life in the country now. Albeit in a much larger cottage than she’d originally planned. It was no longer a vague happily-ever-after to be dreamt late at night as she looked longingly up at the stars. Now her vision was a reality, one afforded her by an uncle who had done in death what he’d never been able