“Well, lucky for you, I am not about to attempt to sneak into White’s. Or do any of those other things, either.” Was that disappointment in her tone?

Silence descended again, both siblings lost in their own thoughts, until Benedick raised his glass to his lips to finish his drink. Before it reached his mouth, he paused and, instead, held the glass out, arm extended toward his sister in a silent offer. For a fleeting moment, Callie considered the crystal tumbler, knowing full well that Benedick’s offer was for more than the finger of scotch left in the glass.

She shook her head finally, and the moment passed. Benedick threw back the liquid and spoke again. “I am sorry about that,” he said, rising from his chair. “I should be happy to hear of you taking a risk or two, sister.”

The comment, spoken carelessly as he moved to leave, landed heavily on Callie’s ears. She barely listened to the dry question that followed, “Do you think I’m safe in leaving this room? Or will we have to hunker down until the wedding?”

She shook her head distractedly, and replied, “I should think you’re safe. Tread carefully.”

“Will you join me?”

“No, thank you. I think I shall remain here and ponder a life of adventure.”

He grinned at her. “Excellent. Let me know if you decide to set sail for the Orient on the morrow.”

She matched his smile with her own. “You shall be the first to hear of it.”

With that, he made his exit, leaving Callie to her thoughts.

She sat for a long while, listening as the sounds of the house quieted, guests leaving, the family retiring to bed, the servants clearing the rooms that were used for the dinner, all the while playing the last moments with Benedick over and over in her mind and wondering, What if?

What if she could live a life other than the staid, boring mockery of one that she currently lived? What if she could do all the things that she would never dream of doing? What was to keep her from taking such a leap?

At twenty-eight, no one much thought about her. Her reputation had been impeccable for years—for all the years that it had mattered that she retain such an untarnished name. It wasn’t as if she were about to traipse off and completely destroy that reputation, anyway. She wasn’t going to do anything that a well-respected male member of the ton wouldn’t do on any given day without a second thought. And if they could, why shouldn’t she?

She reached up and removed the pins securing her lace cap. Once it came free from its moorings, she plucked it from her head, several long curls of hair tumbling free as she did so, and held it in her hands, turning it over and over as she considered her next move. When had she become the type of woman who wore lace caps? When had she given up hope of being en vogue? When had she become the type of person to allow Aunt Beatrice’s malice to send her into hiding?

She stood, slightly unsteady, and moved slowly to the fireplace, wringing the cap in her hands, the heady combination of her conversation with Benedick and the sherry offering a heightened sense of power. She stared down at the dying embers, the hiss of the orange coals taunting her.

What would she do if she could change it all?

Without pause, she tossed the lace cap into the fireplace. For a few long moments, nothing happened; the round disk of cloth simply lay there, its pristine whiteness in stark contrast to the hot, charred wood. Just as Callie began to wonder if she should reach in and retrieve the now-ruined garment, it burst into flames.

She gasped, taking a small step back in the face of the angry orange fire that engulfed the small piece of lace, but was unable to stop herself from crouching low and watching as the finely wrought fabric took on a life of its own, curling and coloring until every inch of it was aflame.

Watching her lace cap burn, Callie started to laugh, feeling at once scandalous and wonderful—as though she could do anything she had ever dreamed.

Spinning on one heel, she marched across the room to the earl’s desk. After lighting a stubbed candle, she opened the top drawer and removed a clean sheet of paper from its place. Smoothing her hand across it, she pondered the vast, ecru expanse before nodding emphatically, opening the silver inkpot that sat nearby, and reaching for a pen.

She dipped the nib of the pen in the black ink and considered the list of things that she would do…if she had the courage.

The first answer was obvious and, while she hadn’t wanted to share it with Benedick earlier, she felt strongly that she should be honest with herself and commit it to paper. After all, it was the only item she could think of that she truly dreaded never being able to complete.

Setting the nib to the parchment, she wrote, her script strong and certain.

Kiss someone

She looked up as soon as the words were written, half-afraid that she would be discovered writing such a scandalous thing. Returning her attention to the words on the paper, she cocked her head to one side. It didn’t seem enough, did it? “Kiss someone” didn’t seem to capture exactly what she meant.

Biting her lower lip, she added one word.

Kiss someone—Passionately

Callie let out a long breath—one that she hadn’t known she was holding in. No turning back now, she thought to herself, I’ve already written the most scandalous thing.

The next few items came easily, born of her conversation with Benedick.

Smoke cheroot and drink scotch

Ride astride

Fence

Attend a duel

Fire a pistol

Gamble (at a gentleman’s club)

After a flurry of activity, Callie brought her head up and sat back, looking at the words she had written. A hint of a smile played across her lips as she considered each item, imagining herself seated in a smoky room at White’s, scotch in one hand, playing cards in the other, sabre lying at her feet, discussing the duel she was to attend the next morning. The image brought a deep chuckle from far within. Imagine!

She almost stopped there, with the seven items that had come quickly. But for all that the list was a flight of fancy, Callie knew that it was much more. It was a chance for her finally to be honest with herself. To write down the things that she would most desperately like to experience. The things that she had never admitted to anyone—not even herself. With a heartfelt sigh, she eyed the list, knowing that the next few items would be the most difficult to write.

“Right, then.” She spoke the words in a strong tone, as if preparing herself for battle. Then, she set pen to paper.

Dance every dance at a ball

Her lips twisted in a self-deprecating smile. Well, Callie, that item proves that this is an imaginary list. She adored dancing. She always had. When she was a child, she used to sneak from her bedchamber to watch the balls her parents had hosted. There, high above the ballroom, she would twirl and twirl in time to the music, imagining that her night rail was a beautiful silk gown to rival the ones swirling below. Dancing was the one thing that Callie had looked forward to when she had her first season; but as she had aged into spinsterhood, invitations had tapered off. She hadn’t danced a country dance in—well, it had been a long, long time. Too long.

There in the darkness, she allowed herself to admit that all those years of standing on the edges of ballrooms across London had taken their toll. She loathed being a wallflower, but she had never been able to lift herself out of that position. And, in the ten years since her debut, she had become so comfortable as a witness to the elegance of society that she couldn’t imagine actually being at the center of it. Of course, she would never be at its center. The women at the nexus of the ton were beautiful. And Callie was too plain, too plump, too boring to be considered beautiful. Blinking back tears, she scrawled the next item on the list.