“Callum! But...” Rosalyn tried to speak. He shook his head.
“No.” He had to harden his heart. He could not allow her to persuade him that he was wrong, that he had been seeing things for the past few weeks. James’ interest in her had been clear since shortly after he arrived. It should have been plain to see that she returned his affection. “I have been a fool. All I can do, now, is free you from what must be an odious bondage. I shall do as my mother wishes. I shall choose another.”
“Callum! But...but...” Rosalyn was blinking at him, horror on her face. He turned away. He could not look at her. If he looked at her, then he would listen to her. If he listened, then he would be fooled. He did not want to be fooled. He walked to the door.
“Do not approach me,” he said, making his voice harsh though everything in him longed to take her in his arms, to believe her flattery. “I do not believe a word you say. I let myself believe you all too readily.”
“Callum!” she called after him. He pushed open the door. Philippa was standing beside it. Callum glared at her.
“You have done me a favour, but I cannot thank you,” he said tightly.
“As you wish, Your Grace,” she said, dropping a low curtsey.
Callum stood back for her to go into the ballroom. He pushed ahead of James, who was trying to speak to him.
“Your Grace! I...” The fellow’s eyes were bright with triumph, though his face was calm. Callum glared at him.
“You are fortunate I do not throw you out of here,” he hissed. “Get out! I should hurl you into the snow. You come into my own house and betray me? How dare you.”
“Your Grace. I did nothing,” James said mildly. “I broke no agreement with you. I merely pursued a beautiful woman.”
Callum gritted his teeth. The words were horribly true. James had broken no vows. The only person who had betrayed Callum was the only person he would have trusted, without question.
He turned away and stalked through the ballroom.
“I shall retire upstairs,” he told the footman at the door, who stood back for him and let him through. Callum stalked through the entranceway and out toward the stairs, not once looking back. He could not bear to return to the party. He had no doubt that many of the guests had overheard the exchange—the windows had been open, and he had made no attempt to speak quietly. And, he thought with resignation, if they had not heard, they would soon learn of it from those who had—perhaps from Philippa. Or James.
He marched to the drawing room and shut the door behind him. The place was set out for the guests to relax after the musical evening—low tables were set with tea and refreshments, a few extra tables had been brought in and the fire and lamps were lit. Callum marched to the window and looked out. The snow was falling, flakes drifting down towards the garden, where white snow showed in the light that fell from the well-lit room.
“What can I do?” he whispered to himself. His heart was recovering from the shock, and pain washed through him. He could not really make sense of what he had seen, even though he knew that it must be true—James had been pursuing Miss Rothwell for weeks, and he had made it perfectly obvious to everyone. The only fool was himself.
“Callum? Callum!”
The sound of his mother’s voice at the door made Callum spin around, anger mixing with hurt and the need for her not to vaunt herself for how right she had been.
“Mother. If I am in the way here, I will go elsewhere. I will retire to my chamber,” he said swiftly. He marched to the door. He should have gone there already. Of course, his mother would find him in the drawing room—but then, she would have no qualms about finding him in his chambers either.
“You are not in the way,” his mother said softly. “Harriet told me you were shouting outside. Whatever is the matter?” she asked. Her voice, to his surprise, was not harsh.
“Mother, I...” Callum blinked, tears suddenly flowing. “Mother. I was wrong. I was a fool.”
“Hush, Callum,” his mother said softly. “We can all be fools.”
Callum sniffed. Oddly, that was the kindest thing his mother had ever said to him. He coughed. “You were right. Mayhap everything I believe is wrong.” His throat was raw. He and Harriet had always laughed at the elaborate customs of society, at their empty politeness, at the notion that things like etiquette mattered.
“Mayhap,” his mother said with a sniff. “You know, part of me wanted to be wrong. Part of me wanted to think that mayhap these things, like breeding, do not matter. But sadly, I was right. That family is all a pack of worthless scoundrels.” She sniffed again.
“They are not worthless,” Callum said hotly. He recalled Miss Rothwell laughing as she handed out the oranges to the children. Her tender care for Buttercup. She was not worthless. She was a good person. That was why the betrayal cut so deeply. It was unbearable.
“You cannot argue that now,” his mother said tightly. “That woman has shown no decorum from the beginning.”
“You can hardly compare the improper depth of curtsey to...to this,” Callum protested.
“They are all wastrels and fools. I shall tell them to depart at once.”
“No. Not all of them,” Callum said quickly. “Mr Rothwell...Harriet...” Harriet would never forgive him. He could not let his mother hound them all out of Stallenwood Park.
“Do not change your mind, son,” his mother said firmly. “They are all scoundrels. Mr Rothwell took liberties that he should not have, inviting your sister alone in the coach. That was a dangerous risk to her reputation. I cannot approve of him.”
