Callum pushed back his chair as James leaned in to confer, discussing the prospects of various horses in the race. Callum was determined to avoid the topic, no matter what anyone thought.
“Gentlemen?” a voice called at the door. Callum looked up, for once grateful to his mother. She was in the doorway. “If you would like to join in, please proceed to the drawing room for card games.”
The gentlemen turned and pushed back their chairs, standing to follow her.
Relieved, Callum stood, nodded the briefest of acknowledgements to the two gentlemen at the table, andhurried out. He cursed inwardly as he almost bumped into a person in the doorway. He looked up, chagrin intensifying as he noticed it was Mr Rothwell.
“Apologies,” he said stiffly, looking up at Miss Rothwell’s brother. He could not help noticing that the man's eyes—while almost black—were the same shape as Miss Rothwell’s, and something about the expression on his face was like her also.
“No need to apologise,” Mr Rothwell said lightly, giving a warm smile. Callum clenched his jaw. He could not help but feel irritated by the man, and part of him knew it was because Mr Rothwell’s easy manner and jovial ways were so different from himself. He envied him his ease in society.
Callum nodded his acknowledgement of the reply and was going to wander off, but Mr Rothwell insisted on keeping up the conversation.
“I take it you will play whist with my sister?” Mr Rothwell asked as they walked into the drawing room. Callum blinked. He had not intended to play cards at all, merely to watch, but Mr Rothwell’s suggestion reminded him that it would probably be right to do so.
“Mayhap,” he agreed. Mr Rothwell laughed.
“I wanted to warn you. I taught her to play whist when she was fourteen. I never played against her again.”
Callum lifted one brow, disbelieving. Mr Rothwell chuckled.
“I just had to warn you. Better to play on the same team as her. She’s formidable.”
Callum lifted a shoulder, still not believing the man. “Thank you for the warning,” he said thinly. Mr Rothwell smiled.
“I might indulge in a game of whist myself,” he said enigmatically. Callum was still trying to decide if the fellow was inviting him to join him on a team against Miss Rothwell, when he wandered off.
Dash it, Callum thought crossly. He glanced around the room. The space was packed—several card tables had been set up and the big tea table removed, but every inch of space was occupied, and the room was hot. His gaze roved across the room, seeking out Miss Rothwell.
“Your Grace?”
Callum turned around, annoyed, and his eyes widened as he took in Miss Rothwell, along with Mr Rothwell and his own sister. They were all looking at him expectantly.
“We fancied a game of whist,” Mr Rothwell said.
“Brother, you must partner Miss Rothwell, of course,” Harriet demurred.
Callum stared at her, about to object. Harriet had sat with Mr Rothwell during the dinner, danced with him at least once, and was clearly not often out of his company during the ball. He meant to reprimand her, but as he tried to form words, Mr Rothwell grinned at Harriet and she smiled back so beautifully, so innocently, that Callum’s annoyance dissipated.
We should all feel like that,he thought with a touch of sorrow. His own connection to the Rothwell family was purely business-motivated, but that did not mean that his sister could not have found genuine appeal in Mr Rothwell. Seeing the way the two of them gazed at each other lifted his heart, even though it brought into contrast how cold and businesslike his own connection with Miss Rothwell was.
“Well...” he let out a sigh. “I suppose it is the festive season. If one cannot play a game of cards now, then when?”
“Well said!” Mr Rothwell grinned.
Callum looked at Miss Rothwell. She seemed to be fascinated by the windows opposite, and he wondered if she was trying to avoid him.
“Let us take a seat here,” Mr Rothwell declared. He gestured to a card table with a flourish. Callum gritted his teeth, thefellow’s affected manner setting him on edge. But he went to sit down. Mr Rothwell lifted the pack of cards.
“I will claim the privileged position,” he announced. Nobody moved to argue with him, and so he started to deal out the cards, giving each person thirteen. Callum watched Miss Rothwell as her brother dealt their hands. Her brow was creased, and he wished he could ask her what was on her mind.
“The trump suit is...” Mr Rothwell announced grandly, slowly turning the topmost card that lay beside his place. “Spades.”
Callum smiled to himself. He had enough good cards from that suit in his hand to get him out of a tricky situation. He glanced across the table at Miss Rothwell. She had her head tilted, studying her hand of cards. He drew in a breath. The candlelight played on her honey-pale hair and her soft skin, her lovely neck revealed by the low neckline of her blue gown, and she looked so beautiful in that moment. He looked away, shaken. He looked sideways to find Mr Rothwell looking expectantly at him. He cursed inwardly. It was his turn to play a card.
“The ten of Spades!” Mr Rothwell declared, giving a low whistle. Callum saw Miss Rothwell tense.
Best to start with a strong card,Callum thought. He winced. He hated playing cards. The only reason he consented to play whist at all was his sister. Fortunately, Papa had not lost his money on card games, or Callum would have refused to play it at all.
