Caleb halted at a book with a burgundy spine – a favourite he intended to re-read; ‘Castle Rackrent’. Flipping through a couple of pages, he indulged in the musty scent of paper and leather. His fingertips were dry from the softness of the book and as he replaced it on the shelf, aligning it with other volumes of the same stature, the door to the library suddenly opened, blowing in a chill of air from the corridor. Caleb suppressed an ironic smirk as it struck him how paradoxical it was that they should be attending a party when he could instantly feel the weight of his Mother’s mood, which depicted that of somebody attending a funeral.
Caleb turned to see his Mother, Lady Anne Exley, the Duchess of Montwood, standing in the doorway, clutching a decorative bejewelled bag in both hands at her waist.
‘The Barouche-Landau is waiting,’ her shrill voice cut through the comforting stillness of the library.
‘As am I,’ Caleb bowed his head.
‘Come, then,’ Anne stood aside, holding the door expectantly for her son, who lowered his head and drew a deep breath before taking a final look at the bookshelf and striding decisively toward the door.
‘Such reluctance,’ Anne observed as Caleb held the door for her to pass through.
Caleb chose not to respond; silence was often his preference.
‘Lady Felicity requested an evening call. I was devastated in my obligation to decline,’ Anne declared, pouting somewhat.
Her heels clicked on the marble hallway as they walked side by side. Her footsteps echoed up into the stairwell as they passed the sweeping banisters.
‘I am quite sure there will be plentiful opportunities for Lady Felicity to visit,’ Caleb placated his Mother’s trifling.
She shot him a sideways glance, disappointed that – as usual – he would not rise to her baiting.
‘Such a cold evening, though,’ she blustered, ‘I must request Sally retrieve my fur. Really, how I would rather be restful by the fire,’ she attempted once again to agitate some reaction from him.
‘Fear not, the ballroom for certain will be densely populated - we can trust there will be a resulting warm environment,’ Caleb furrowed his brow, working hard to shield his irritation.
Anne clicked her tongue and turned abruptly to face Caleb, her jewellery clanging together as she did so. Caleb stopped walking and turned to her, preparing a stoic expression, anticipating her onslaught.
‘Caleb, it is not mandatory to attend.’
‘Mother, itis.’
‘You do notwishto attend,’ she insisted.
Caleb paused, breathing deeply. He was much taller than his mother and looked down his nose haughtily at her before responding.
‘Mother, weareattending.’
Caleb continued to walk toward the main entrance hallway and Anne trotted slightly after him, appealing to the weakness she swore she had identified in his resolve.
‘Alternative prospects have been presented to you, Caleb. If you would only consider-’
Caleb turned rapidly.
‘It was Father’s wish and I will honour his request.’ He spoke firmly with the intention of closing the conversation, but Anne pressed further.
‘Your Father was a stubborn man,’ Anne began.
‘May he rest in peace,’ Caleb added, knowing his Mother would not deem to waste her breath uttering it.
‘He would fixate on fancies, Caleb. I cannot imagine how he came to preoccupy himself with the Haworth family and why he might effectuate agreement on such an ill-advised union,’ she continued.
‘Lord Vincent Haworth is a good man,’ Caleb asserted.
‘I daresay thegamekeeper at Montwoodis a good man – I would not have you marry his daughter!’ Anne was losing her composure and a blush rose upon her cheeks.
‘Mother, with respect, I will not query my Father’s intention. He would have me marry Lady Hannah Haworth and it shall be so.’
Anne took an intricately patterned fan from her small bag and began to flit it lazily around her face in a gesture of nonchalance.
