Eliza and Genevieve fell uncomfortably silent, aware that Callie and her grandmother had fallen on hard times of late.
“Let us talk of the living rather than the dead,” Callie declared in a firm voice. “You’ve now had a dance and a private supper with Daniel McCaffrey. Maybe you should allow him to court you,” she said playfully.
Genevieve felt an unexpected blush begin to creep up her neck as she drew herself back in surprise. “Court me? I think my path as a spinster is set, thank you very much.”
“That’s not true,” Eliza protested.
“It’s been six years, darling,” Callie said gently. “Ted Beekman is a pompous ass who didn’t deserve you anyway. Perhaps you should take yourself off the shelf?”
“I’m not keeping myself on a shelf; it’s simply where I’ve landed,” Genevieve answered irritably. “And it’s fine. Mr. McCaffrey has no interest in courting me, I’m sure.”
“He knows you want to write a story,” Callie remarked, turning her face toward the weak sunshine. “He took you to dinner and let you interview him, for goodness’ sakes. It seems like he’s plenty interested. And you like him, don’t you?”
Do I like Daniel McCaffrey? It had not occurred to Genevieve to wonder whether she liked the man. Suddenly the whole topic annoyed her. “Don’t we have something else to talk about?”
Eliza’s mild look indicated that she knew Genevieve was holding something back, which annoyed Genevieve further.
“What do you want to talk about, then?” Callie asked, also wisely holding her tongue.
“Someone else’s romantic possibilities. Don’t you have a latest conquest?”
“I’m quite tired of men,” Callie replied tartly, waving her hand through the air.
Genevieve felt her mouth drop open in shock. Men were Callie’s favorite subject.
“Callie, are you well?” Eliza asked tentatively.
Callie’s eyes were suddenly bright with tears. “I’m just tired of playing games,” she said.
Genevieve, worried, pulled a handkerchief out of her flower-sprigged velvet reticule and leaned over to press it into Callie’s unoccupied hand. Callie was always so joyful; something must be seriously wrong for her to behave in such a manner. Though Genevieve feared she knew what was coming, she asked, “What is it, darling?”
Callie heaved a mighty sigh. “Well, girls, it looks as though I am to be married.” Her eyes filled with tears again and she quickly blotted them with the handkerchief. “Grandmama and I talked last night. We are quite without funds, and we simply can’t afford another season.” She gave her friends a stricken look, her red-rimmed eyes lost and sad. “In all honesty, we can’t afford fuel for next winter.” Callie bowed her head and began to cry in earnest.
That bad? Genevieve and Eliza shared a quick, shocked look over Callie’s head. It was worse than either of them had realized. Genevieve jumped up and moved to the other side of the bench. Between Callie’s sobs she made out the words “husband” and “freeze.” She and Eliza surrounded Callie with their loving arms.
“Nonsense, sweetness, we’d never let you freeze!” Eliza insisted, stroking Callie’s midnight-black hair soothingly.
“Of course not,” agreed Genevieve. Privately she was fuming. Callie and her grandmother were two women, alone in the world. Who had mismanaged their fortune so completely? “You and your grandmother can live with us.”
Callie looked up again and managed a watery smile, controlling herself. “I know I could, but Grandmama would never agree to such a thing. I can do this for her; I must do this for her. I get proposals all the time; I’ll just … accept one.”
Genevieve’s heart panged at the thought of her friend in a tepid, loveless marriage.
“Men absolutely adore you; you’ll have no trouble finding someone suitable,” Eliza said stoutly. “Genevieve and I will help, won’t we?”
“Of course!” Genevieve exclaimed, putting her reservations aside for the sake of her friend. She hugged Callie from her other side, accidentally knocking her pretty feathered hat askew. “We’ll make sure he’s kind, handsome, and swimming in money.”
Callie straightened her hat and gently pulled free of her friends’ arms, suddenly looking much older than her twenty-two years. “We shall see,” she replied. She then brightened and lightly smacked her hand to her cheek. “I forgot the exciting part!”
Genevieve was heartened by the sudden shift. “There’s an exciting part?”
“Well, a small bright spot. At any party of my choosing this season, Grandmama is going to allow me to wear the Maple diamonds!” Callie beamed at her friends.
Eliza gasped. “The ones smuggled from France during the revolution?”
“The very same. They haven’t been worn since my parents married, though apparently Queen Victoria desperately tried to buy them from Papa.”
Even Genevieve, who cared little for jewels, was stunned. Callie’s grandmother kept the precious heirlooms in a vault at the bank at all times. “Gracious,” she breathed. “Where shall you wear them?”
“Maybe the Porters’ costume ball,” mused Callie. “Speaking of, I was being fitted for my costume last week, and who do you think I saw at Mrs. Brown’s? Esmie Bradley.”
“Really?” Eliza looked thoughtful. “Perhaps she wriggled out from under her mother’s thumb long enough to order a decent dress. They certainly have the money.”
“That is my hope as well,” Callie replied. “She’s a pretty girl, under all those ruffles.” She stood up and stretched her arms, looking around at the deepening shadows gathering in the barren park. “Come on, let’s have some cake. It’s starting to get dark.”
Relieved that her friend seemed to be feeling better, Genevieve stood, and the three linked arms. Together they began to stroll down one of the winding paths that crisscrossed through the park.
“I’ve an idea about Mr. McCaffrey,” ventured Eliza, peering around Callie.
Callie perked up. “Oh yes, let’s talk about Mr. McCaffrey again!” she exclaimed.
“If you want to see him again, for your research, you should consider attending the Bradleys’ ball this weekend.” Eliza looked at Genevieve uncertainly. “You were invited, weren’t you?”
“Of course,” Genevieve said, a bit thunderstruck at the idea. Though her father had bested Mrs. Bradley in court, the Stewarts were part of the upper tier of New York society, which the Bradleys
