Callum gazed out through the window in the corner of the drawing room. It was almost impossible to stand still, he felt so restless and impatient. Despite it being evening, a full day after the ride in the woods, his mood had yet to settle. Miss Rothwell filled his thoughts.
That moment, alone with her in the starlight, he had almost kissed her. He had wanted to. He had fought so hard not to press his lips to her own, not to draw her into his arms and hold her close. He did not want to frighten her—she seemed so diffident and formal with him, and he did not want to impose on her.
She had kept to her chamber the entire day. Callum had sought out her brother and father, inquiring as to her wellbeing, but they informed him only that she was too tired to get out of bed and that they feared she had a fever.
“Son? Could you come here a moment?”
Callum jumped as his mother asked him a question. He had been looking out of the window, gazing at the darkening garden and ignoring the guests that milled around, waiting to go down to dinner.
“Yes, Mother?” Callum asked. “May I assist you?”
“Yes. Might you fetch me that book there?” she pointed to a book on a shelf just above his head. His mother’s voice was stiff. She hated having to ask for any kind of help.
“Of course, Mother,” Callum said, more gently, and reached up to get the book she had indicated.
“Thank you,” his mother said with a touch of asperity. “And might I ask you to come and talk with Lady Bronham and Lady Millicent? You have been very chilly with them, and it is most unfair. She is a dear friend of mine.”
“Mother...” Callum began to argue, then sighed and followed her across the room.
“Gertrude? My son fetched the book for me. Here it is,” Mama was addressing Lady Bronham. She passed the book to Lady Bronham and gestured to Callum. “He is fortuitously tall enough to reach the books I cannot.”
“You are very tall,” Lady Bronham commented to Callum. He blushed, feeling desperately awkward. Hewastall, and he had never felt embarrassed about that fact, but in that moment he did. Opposite him, Lady Millicent gazed up at him.
“Tallness is a virtue in men, it seems. Less so in women.” She smiled self-deprecatingly. She was a tall woman, her figure willowy and well-suited to the wispy, fashionable muslin dresses. Mama made a small, disapproving noise.
“Why, Lady Millicent! Tallness in a woman is very elegant. Certainly, it must be called a virtue also,” the duchess remarked.
“Thank you, Dottie.Dotell her,” Lady Bronham insisted, smiling at Mother.
Callum glanced around, feeling terribly out of place. Mr Rothwell was nearby and, as he turned and gazed towards the door, Callum followed his line of sight. His heart soared in his chest. Miss Rothwell was in the doorway.
She was very pale, and she wore a pale blue velvet gown. Her hair was arranged in a tight chignon. She glanced warily at him for a second, her glance sliding to the floor. Callum winced. He felt responsible for how ill she seemed, and he wished that he could think of something to say or do that would help.
“...And I thought that we would decorate the hall tomorrow,” Mama was saying as his mind returned to the present.
“Oh?” Callum frowned. He had assumed that the servants would do that.
“Yes! It will be most festive. The staff will put up most of it, of course,” his mother demurred quickly. “But we canadd ribbons and holly and such things. Not so? It will bring a seasonal touch to our gathering.” She smiled.
“It will be most diverting,” Lady Millicent said lightly.
“Yes! And mayhap you could sing, Millicent,” Lady Millicent’s mother suggested. “Millicent has a beautiful voice,” she added, looking at Callum.
“Mama...” Lady Millicent protested, her cheeks flushing with genuine embarrassment. Callum bowed low.
“I am certain she has,” he said politely. “Now, if I may, I would offer to fetch you ladies some refreshment?” He gestured to the tea table, which, as usual, held tea, cordial and a few light pastries, even before dinner.
“Oh, that is kind!” Lady Bronham replied. “I would be delighted to have a glass of redcurrant cordial.”
“I will fetch it directly.”
He crossed the room, passing near Miss Rothwell. He was considering at least asking her if she felt well, when his gaze slid a little leftward, and he tensed. James was staring at Miss Rothwell again. Callum bridled. He glared at James, but the fellow must have seen him looking and he had already looked away. As Callum watched, James sat down beside Philippa, seeming to ignore the Rothwell family.
He took the cordial across the room to Lady Bronham, giving James another hard look as he walked past.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” His mother announced. Her crisp, icy voice made the guests fall abruptly silent. “We will proceed to dinner, but before we do, I would like to invite you all to join us in the drawing room for a game of acting charades after the meal.”
Callum shot his mother an annoyed look. He had always hated acting charades. The game involved breaking up a word into syllables and then acting out each syllable. The best oneswere witty and confusing. He found it a little silly, if he was honest.
