“So beautiful,” he murmured to the empty space. She seemed not only astonishingly lovely in appearance, but her character, too, seemed more and more appealing. Her bright idea had saved his horses, and that mattered more to him than he could express.
“Callum? There you are,” Mother called him, just as she was walking into the breakfast room as briskly as he had ever seen her move in his life. Her white hair was carefully styled but some of it had come loose from its elaborate chignon and fluffed around her face. Her severe grey-blue velvet dress was ruffled in a way that suggested she had walked swiftly all the way to the room. Callum got to his feet, heart thudding. “I was looking everywhere for you.”
“I am here, as you see,” Callum began. “What is it, mother?” he asked swiftly. For her, moving quickly was a level of agitation she bestowed on nothing.
“Recall that I said that we would hand out the gift-boxes to the craftsmen and villagers today, not the traditional St. Stephen’s Day?” she asked.
“No,” Callum said truthfully, but held his peace when she shot him a hard glance.
“Well, I did. How are we to involve our guests when half of them will travel back home again on St. Stephen’s Day?” she demanded. Callum inclined his head.
“True.”
“Quite so,” his mother said firmly. “And now the guests will be down any moment and all the hampers are not packed yet and there’s no way of readying the coaches because they’re all over the place!” She gestured to the door.
“It will be well,” Callum began soothingly, though his mother glared at him.
“I would appreciate it if you could go down and tell the coachman to find some way of harnessing half a dozen coaches that are halted all over the lawn. Then I shall be satisfied.”
He stood. “Yes, Mother,” he answered swiftly and hurried downstairs.
In the entranceway, he was met with a chaotic scene. Half a dozen baskets filled with food lay strewn around the floor, while boxes that contained blankets and bolts of fabric were lined up somewhat casually against one wall. Three footmen were working there—one completing the baskets with oranges and other things from the kitchens, and another two beginning to carry them outside.
“Your Grace!” The butler spotted him and sounded relieved.
“The coachman will begin harnessing the coaches,” Callum assured him swiftly. “In the meanwhile, direct the men to arrange the goods on the terrace beneath the overhanging roof.”
The butler bowed. “Yes, Your Grace.”
Callum instructed the man, then hurried back up the servants’ corridor. As he reached the stairs, he tensed. He could hear James talking.
“...and it will likely snow more heavily this evening.”
“Perhaps it will,” Miss Rothwell’s voice replied.
Callum bridled at the thought of her talking to James. He had seen the fellow stare after her with what he could only name hunger in his gaze. His cheeks flushed with anger and he stalked up the stairs after them.
He slowed down behind them. Miss Rothwell wore a blue gown, her hair styled with a blue ribbon into a simple bun. James walked attentively beside her, his dark trousers and brown jacket sombre in the darkened space of the stairwell.
“It would be grand for sledging. Though I reckon we are all too old for that. A fast sledge might already give me an apoplexy.” James continued calmly.
Miss Rothwell laughed. Callum’s jaw stiffened. He marched up to them as they reached the second floor.
James smiled smugly. Callum glared at him.
“I trust you slept well,” Callum greeted Miss Rothwell abruptly. He heard the abruptness of his own voice and winced.
“Yes. I did,” she stammered, sounding confused and upset. Callum groaned inwardly. After all her help and kindness, and the connection they had shared, such a rough, rude greeting was much less than she might have expected.
“Thank you. As did I,” he managed to say.Dash it,he thought wildly.I must sound quite the fool!James was staring at him, amusement playing at the corners of his mouth, brown eyes gazing sardonically at him.
“Have you visited the horses?” Miss Rothwell asked conversationally, walking beside him up the hallway.
“No. I was helping my mother. She is organising the hampers for St. Stephen’s Day. Yes, I know.” He made a wry face, seeing her gaze widen in surprise. “It is a little unconventional to give out the charity hampers a few days before Christmas, but Mother wished to do it before the guests return home, and so it must be so.”
Miss Rothwell smiled. “It will be a most pleasant morning,” she said. Callum raised a brow, but her smile was genuine.
“I am glad you will find it so,” he replied.
