“Of course, old chap. I thought that you, myself, Rothwell and Chesterford might take a jaunt. What say you? Not necessarily a festive activity, but a fine one for a day like this.”
“A jaunt? Where?” Callum asked. He looked out of the window. The day was still clear-skied, but the estate was freezing cold, especially in the hollows that were perpetually in the shade.
“Oh, anywhere you care to name. It’s your estate, old fellow. Just a shame to waste the sunlight. What say you?”
“Of course,” Callum replied, distractedly. He was gazing across the drawing-room again, to where Miss Rothwell was seated. Her big smile drew him in. He glanced sideways, aware of his mother’s critical gaze on him. She had been furious when he and Miss Rothwell had drifted in a few minutes late,obviously together and clearly distracted. She had not said anything, but her censorious gaze had followed them through the door and over to the chairs in the corner. He had done his best to ignore it, but he knew that the moment she had time, she would demand to know the cause.
“Capital! Shall we go after tea?” Lord Grassdale asked Callum, bringing him back to the present. A young viscount, Lord Grassdale had a slim, serious face, reddish hair and at that moment, a bright grin. Callum tried to focus.
“Yes. A fine idea. We still have an hour of daylight before sunset,” he added, trying to plan a route. The horses did need exercise, and a ride was a good idea.
“Grand! Your mama shall not mind if we depart a little earlier, I think. The longer we have in daylight, the safer. I’ll go and tell Rothwell, shall I?”
“Who?” Callum blinked. That part had escaped him, but he recalled that the name Rothwell had been mentioned.
“Mr Rothwell. He’s a keen rider. He will want to come out with us for certain. He already expressed admiration for your stable.”
“Oh?” Callum blinked in surprise. He did not recall taking Mr Rothwell around their stable. Harriet. That had to be it. He hid a scowl. When had she sneaked down to the stable with Rothwell? That was his fault. His preoccupation with Miss Rothwell was distracting him from his duties.
“Indeed! Indeed, old chap. Well? Shall I ask him?”
“Yes. Do so,” Callum replied distractedly. He had been glancing over to Miss Rothwell and her sisters, to see if he could locate Mr Rothwell, when his eye fell on someone in particular. James was seated a few paces away, his gaze fixed on Miss Rothwell. He was staring at her. Callum’s blood boiled.
As he watched, James turned to Lady Philippa and whispered something in her ear. Whatever it was, she laughed.
Perdition take you!Callum thought angrily. He glared at them, some of his ire directed at his mother. She had not needed to invite two such unpleasant people to her Christmas party. He watched the two of them, glaring at James as his gaze moved again to Miss Rothwell. His anger dampened swiftly as Lord Grassdale approached, Chesterford—an older baron—and Rothwell in tow. Mr Rothwell’s father, Lord Cranfield, was with them. Callum inclined his head politely to the older man.
“Your Grace,” Lord Cranfield greeted him respectfully. “I believe my son is going for a ride with you? I would like to join him, if I may. I have an interest in seeing your stable.”
“Of course,” Callum said with an easy shrug. In many ways, having more riders was a good thing. They could exercise more horses, and it was always safer to be in a bigger group.
“Grand,” Lord Cranfield said lightly.
“Well, we are all ready, then,” Lord Grassdale said, sounding pleased. “I will just go and explain our departure to the duchess.” He tilted his head in the direction where Mother stood, holding court with Lady Bronham in the corner by the tea table.
Callum nodded and stood with Lord Chesterford, Lord Cranfield and Mr Rothwell. He shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot. He knew none of the men well, and he disliked Rothwell, while Lord Cranfield he had to admit he found a little intimidating. He was very quiet, very serious: in many ways unlike his son and daughters, who were lively, merry people.
“I say,” Mr Rothwell said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “I reckon Rosy would like to come with us. Shall I ask her?”
“Rosy?” Callum shrugged and nodded. It was only after Mr Rothwell had disappeared into the drawing room that he realised he meant Miss Rothwell, who was called Rosalyn.
His heart thudded rapidly. He had agreed to the ride thinking that it would be himself and a few other men. He hadnot planned how he would feel if Miss Rothwell were with them. That was an entirely different matter. He would worry about it getting dark, about the paths being unsafe, about which horse would be safe for her to ride. Mr Rothwell had already reached her, and she was standing up to join them. Her gaze met his, and he blushed.
She came over to join them, and then Lord Grassdale came back to the group.
“Her grace said we were welcome to go,” he told Callum. “Shall we make our way to the stable?”
“Of course,” Callum agreed.
He followed the group downstairs and to the door, walking a pace behind Miss Rothwell, who walked with her father. She moved with a light tread, a curl of hair falling from its style to brush the back of her neck. Her skin shone in the soft daylight that poured into the stairwell. He looked away, frustrated with himself.
James seems to have no qualms about staring,he reminded himself. That still angered him. He had been surprised by the magnitude of the rage that it raised in him. He had wanted to stride across the room and hit the fellow. He did not understand it.
He was opening the front door when he became aware of footsteps behind them. Two sets of footsteps. Mr Rothwell was hurrying downstairs, Harriet beside him. Her face was flushed, and she smiled at her brother a little shyly.
“Now, Harriet. I do not think...” he began hotly. Grassdale and Chesterford were there, and Grassdale smiled at Harriet.
“Lady Harriet! How pleasant. Do let her come along. It will be good for Miss Rothwell to have another lady with us.” He smiled appealingly.
