Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

J enny paused at the edge of the lake, hidden behind a cluster of trees, her breath catching at the sight of Caleb gliding through the water. His powerful strokes rippled across the lake’s surface, and when he looked up and spotted her, a heat filled his gaze, sending a quiver straight through her heart. With a smile, she dismounted, dropping the reins so her horse could graze freely. She kicked off her boots and slipped out of her dress, letting it and her drawers fall at her feet. Then, with a playful shout, she leaped into the cool embrace of the lake.

Caleb laughed as she surfaced, his laughter rich and warm. He swam over to her, gathering her close. Their lips met in a tender, lingering kiss, and she felt the world fade away. They floated together, circling each other lazily in the water, the silence between them filled only with the soft sounds of their breathing and the gentle lapping of the lake.

“I snuck into your room just now,” she whispered, her voice catching. “I left a letter for you on your pillow.”

Caleb’s gaze softened, and a flicker of sorrow touched his eyes. Her throat tightened, and the reality of his imminent departure struck her with a sharp ache.

“You’re leaving tomorrow,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

“Yes,” he replied, his tone heavy.

“Today…today might be the last day I’ll ever see you.”

Without a word, he wrapped her tightly against his chest, his embrace firm and unyielding. She laughed, squirming as he held her so fiercely she could scarcely breathe. “Caleb, you’re squeezing the life out of me!”

He grunted softly but didn’t loosen his hold. Instead, he pulled her closer, his voice gruff. “Could you ever see yourself in England, Jenny? Even for a few months?”

Her heart skipped, her body trembling within the warmth of his arms. She pressed her forehead against his, her fingers brushing his cheek as she whispered, “No…I couldn’t bear to leave my family behind.”

A look of understanding crossed his face, the tension easing from his hold. “I understand,” he murmured, though his eyes held a sadness that cut into her.

Then, without another word, he captured her lips in a kiss so deep and fierce it stole her breath. She melted into him, her hands slipping around his neck as she returned his kiss, pouring all her unspoken emotions into it. Tears mingled with the water droplets on her cheeks, slipping silently down her face, blending with the lake and the warmth of his touch.

As they held each other, entwined in the lake’s quiet embrace, Jenny wished this moment could last forever, even as she knew it was slipping away.

Silly , she whispered to herself. I am really falling in love with you, Caleb Callahan .

Two months later …

Grosvenor Square, London.

Caleb shifted restlessly, gazing out over the illuminated gardens from the terrace of his godmother’s townhouse in Grosvenor Square. The soft strains of music and laughter floated through the open doors, a stark contrast to the silence and vast, open skies of America that still haunted his thoughts. He allowed his gaze to drift to the flickering gas lamps in the garden, their light casting an amber glow over the trimmed hedges and topiaries.

It had been two months since he left Jenny and the rough landscape of the West behind him and two weeks since he disembarked the ship. Since his return to England’s shores, he’d been engulfed in a whirlwind of responsibility. His mother’s dearest friend and Caleb’s godmother, Lady Greystone, had planned this ball in his honor as soon as she heard of his arrival, sparing no expense in gathering the crème de la crème of London society.

Laughter and dancing filled the grand ballroom, the warm glow of chandeliers casting a golden light over the polished marble floors and walls. Women in jewel-toned gowns twirled, their skirts sweeping gracefully as they laughed, while gentlemen led them through intricate dances. The air was alive with lively music, laughter and facile chatter, with the scent of roses and perfume redolent in the air.

Caleb lingered in the shadows on the terrace, content to remain an observer, watching the swirl of gaiety from a distance. He’d nearly forgotten what it was like to attend these society balls—the finely honed etiquette, the polished glances exchanged behind fans, the practiced smiles and subtle glances of courtship. Everything was meticulous, every movement measured, a carefully orchestrated display of charm and elegance.

He found a peculiar comfort in the detachment, standing away from the crowd yet close enough to absorb the energy and music. It was as if he were watching a play, each guest an actor in a perfectly rehearsed drama of refined manners and whispered intrigue. From his vantage point, he could observe the beauty and splendor of it all, feeling both a part of it and somehow apart from it, his mind drifting to memories of a life less polished but infinitely more real.

Jenny Kincaid .

Caleb remembered every little detail about being with her. Sitting on that log watching the moon, her smiles, the pleasure of hearing her laughter, and making love with her. He slammed his eyes closed. The feel of how pushing into her, the hot, soft tightness of her body as he sheathed himself inside her, haunted his sleep. She had felt so delicate and soft beneath him, her smaller body dominated by his size, yet she had trusted him with her pleasure.

He scrubbed a hand over his face and blew out a harsh breath.

By God, when will I stop thinking about you ?

He had many duties to occupy his thoughts, and he ruthlessly wrenched his mind away from Jenny. Though the earldom burdens had been thrust upon him, Caleb found himself challenged and energized by it all. Lawyers, solicitors, members of Parliament, estate stewards—every day was filled with matters needing his attention, matters that gave him purpose. Yet, with his family still mourning his brother, the contrast between his duties and grief felt bitter. His sister and mother were not in attendance tonight because they were in mourning. How odd that society expected so little outward display of sorrow from men. Somehow, they were to endure silently while life went on.

Caleb lifted his champagne flute and emptied it in a single swallow. He’d been at the ball for two hours—long enough, he believed, to show his appreciation for his godmother’s efforts. Just as he prepared to exit, Lady Henrietta sauntered on the terrace.

“Oh, Lord Tallant! I’ve been searching for you all evening,” she said, her voice lilting with practiced charm.

Her gown, a shimmering shade of blue, gracefully hugged her figure, and her golden curls were artfully arranged. Yet, as lovely as she was, Caleb felt nothing stir within him.

“Lady Henrietta,” he said politely.

She stepped closer, her gloved hand resting lightly on his arm. “I cannot tell you how glad I am to see you returned safely. Though…you seem different, my lord. Harsher, somehow.”

“The West is a hard place,” he replied, shifting so that her touch fell from his arm.

She studied him briefly, seemingly unsatisfied with his answer, then brightened. “Well, may I expect the honor of a dance with you tonight?”

He met her hopeful gaze with a hint of a smile.

“No,” he replied, the word slipping out before he could soften it.

Her eyes widened, and she gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. “My lord, have you forgotten all principles of gentlemanly conduct and propriety?”

Lady Henrietta half-laughed, but the pink in her cheeks suggested her offense.

Lifting a brow, he replied, “As I recall, a lady is meant to wait until a gentleman offers the dance, not to request it herself.”

Her blush deepened, and she drew back, clearly mortified. The sight might have amused him once, but now he felt only an odd sense of detachment. With a formal bow, he excused himself, leaving her on the terrace, and went back inside, easily navigating through clusters of society’s finest. He nodded and exchanged a few polite words, but his mind remained adrift, far from the bustling ballroom.

No matter how many familiar faces he saw, he couldn’t shake the feeling of dissonance. Part of him had never left the West—never left her.

Bloody hell .

His godmother’s eyes widened when she saw his approach.

“You have the look of a man who is bored,” she said, her gaze curious and penetrating.

“I am leaving,” he said with a smile to soften his words. “I have many matters to attend. Thank you for the lovely ball.”

Her gaze flickered briefly behind him. “Lady Henrietta seems mortified. I was the one who told her you were on the terrace.”

Caleb lifted a brow and did not comment.

“Will you not dance with her?”

“No.”

His godmother sighed. “She made a foolish mistake, Caleb. You can forgive her for it.”

“I do not resent her,” he said, mildly surprised. “I simply have no wish to form an attachment.”

His godmother appeared to want to say more but held her tongue. Caleb kissed her cheek and left the ball, walking to his townhouse only a few minutes away. He entered his townhouse, noting its stillness and headed to the solitude of his study. Closing the door behind him, Caleb poured himself a glass of scotch, sinking into the armchair by the fireplace.

The West was gone. Bravo was miles away. And yet, as the flames flickered and danced, he couldn’t stop himself from imagining Jenny’s face and the tender look in her eyes whenever she stared at him.

It was only a matter of time before he’d have to stop running from those memories, but for tonight, Caleb let himself indulge just a little longer.

The next morning, Caleb sat in the quiet of his library, a ledger open before him, columns of figures demanding his attention. He leaned back, fingers idly tapping the page as he absorbed the gravity of the situation. The estates were in severe debt. Just then, the door swung open, and his mother stepped inside, a faint flush in her cheeks and an energy about her that made him set the ledger aside.

“Mother,” he said, standing as a rush of emotions surged within him.

Though she was fifty, her beauty was unlined, a delicate elegance still framing her face. The years had left her with grace untouched by age. She glanced at the ledgers, a hint of exasperation in her expression.

“I hear you were less than social last night,” she admonished, sitting in the armchair closest to him as she studied him with a disappointed gaze. “Not a single dance, Caleb? That won’t do.”

“I see godmother as already called,” he said drily.

“Not only did Linnet call upon me to tell me about your reception, but the scandal sheet had much to say about it. They called you aloof and mysterious. What nonsense is this? Why did you not dance with anyone?”

Caleb arched a brow. “I may be willing to mingle, Mother, but I’ll only dance with a lady I admire.”

As he spoke, a familiar image flashed unbidden into his mind of Jenny laughing as he taught her the waltz in that cabin. His heart twisted, and he forced himself to shove the memory aside.

His mother pursed her lips. “Perhaps you might consider Lady Henrietta, then. She is accomplished and lovely, and her family connections are solid. You shared a tendre once, and she is truly delightful.”

Caleb said nothing, and his mother closed her eyes with a sigh. A moment passed, and he noticed a shadow crossing her face before she looked at him steadily.

“Have you realized the full extent of the mess yet?” she asked.

The quiver in her voice informed him of his mother’s anxiety.

“Yes,” he replied, tapping the ledger. “I’ve been studying the books to see where we might trim the estate’s expenses.”

His mother gasped, clearly taken aback. “Trim expenses?”

“We currently have three estates in England and another in Scotland, all fully staffed. The house in Bath could be closed, and no one has visited the estates in Scotland or France for two years, yet they remain staffed and yield no profit from tenants or the framing lands. However, I hesitate to close them as the staff rely on their positions.”

“Daphne and I were planning a week in Bath,” his mother said faintly. “Caleb, I cannot imagine a life of such…austerity.” She leaned forward, desperation flashing in her eyes. “The only sensible solution is to marry an heiress. You must understand that.”

He stared at her before shaking his head, jaw set. “I won’t be taking a wife anytime soon, Mother.”

Her expression hardened, though worry still clouded her gaze. “You don’t yet realize how precarious our situation is. George didn’t inherit under the best conditions, and the debts far exceed yearly profits. A suitable marriage is the most certain way to save the earldom. George himself planned to select a countess this season.”

A shadow of grief crossed her face, and she took a shaky breath. “Daphne is one and twenty. She’ll need a new wardrobe and encouragement to participate in the season. Our staff are loyal, and it would be a tragedy for them to lose their income.”

“I agree,” he said, his mind churning through options. “I found a letter from Drummond’s Bank demanding a payment of twenty thousand pounds.”

His mother winced. “George took many loans over the years to bolster the estate, yet profits still fell short. There are others, and they have been knocking on our doors since his…passing.”

Caleb had already assessed that his brother had resisted modern methods, ignoring the wave of industrialization and relying solely on outdated farming and mining practices. George had missed key opportunities to invest in rail and machinery, leaving the estate underfunded and behind the times. Caleb would have to work hard to turn things around, which would take years. But many dependents needed immediate assistance, particularly tenants with leaky roofs and crumbling homes. According to the reports from his principal estate in Hertfordshire, over a hundred homes that required urgent repairs have been neglected for the past four years.

Bloody hell .

Gripping the edge of the desk, Caleb felt the weight of responsibility heavily on his shoulders. He knew his mother was right; his father had left obligations, and George had done little to address them. But the notion of choosing a wife purely for her wealth left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Lady Henrietta—”

“Is a woman I have no affection for. She would never be a suitable wife for me.”

His mother’s shoulders sagged, her mouth forming a thin line. “Affection…” she echoed softly as if the word were unfamiliar. “You are young enough to think you can afford such luxuries. But in time, you’ll see that duty comes first. Always.”

He held her gaze, feeling the battle lines drawn between them—duty on one side and his beliefs on the other. A knock sounded on the door.

“Come.”

Daphne entered, looking as lovely as ever yet still cloaked in an air of fragility. She smiled, her blue eyes twinkling. “I see Mother is trying to convince you to marry. The horrors.”

He chuckled while their mother glared at them.

“Will you…will you seek a countess?” Daphne asked, settling on the chaise.

There was a hopeful glint in her eyes, and his gut tightened. “Why is this important to you?”

She flushed, looking away briefly before lifting her chin to meet his gaze. “I…I want to marry and find my own happiness. There is…someone I admire. He is good-natured, gentle, kind, and has a wonderful sense of humor.”

Their mother gasped, her gaze narrowing. “Are you speaking about the Honorable Andrew Tremayne?”

His sister’s blush was answer enough.

“He is the second son of a viscount! He is not suitable—”

“He is,” Daphne said, that stubborn look entering her eyes.

“I sense a ‘but,’” Caleb said softly.

His sister’s eyes glistened with tears. “My dowry…the dowry Papa set aside for me had to be used. George had plans to…”

She broke off, pressing trembling fingers to her mouth. The weight of responsibility bore down on Caleb even more heavily.

“Your brother was not in a position to replace the money from your dowry,” their mother said, sighing. “And from what I understand, financial worries also burden the viscount. His sons need to marry well.”

Daphne’s mouth trembled, her emotions barely contained. Caleb closed his eyes, leaning back against his chair.

The most sensible course now to save his family was to secure an immediate connection within the ton. A lady from a powerful family with a respectable dowry and connections would open doors that were currently closed—especially with banks and future investments.

I shall only marry a man if I love him with every emotion in me.

Jenny’s aching voice drifted through his mind like a summer breeze .

I cannot imagine leaving my family.

Caleb raked his fingers through his hair. He had to let her go. They were worlds apart, and perhaps they could have found happiness together in another life.

“I am aware of the stakes, Mother,” he said. “I know my family needs me, and I am considering finding a suitable countess.”

Fucking hell . The loss that tore through him was so raw, so visceral, that a hiss slipped from his lips.

His sister’s smile brightened, easing the dread in her eyes, while his mother’s expression softened with approval.

Caleb stood and moved to the window overlooking the garden, thoughts of Jenny filling his mind, of the life he yearned for but could never claim. His hand slipped into his pocket, retrieving her letter, and he unfolded it slowly, letting her words wash over him once more.

Dearest Caleb,

I like you. I laughed as I wrote that because it’s far more than just liking you. I’m surrounded by family who love me deeply and whom I love with my whole heart. Yet, each morning when I wake, my first thought is of you; each night, you fill my dreams. I believe I’m falling in love with you. It’s a bit frightening, but it’s also wonderful. I understand you must leave, and I admire your commitment to your family and honor. I will miss you dearly and hope you’ll write to me often. You didn’t ask me to wait, but given my stubborn nature, I’ll do so unless you tell me you’ve found happiness with a wife and children of your own. My hand trembles as I write this, but I can only allow someone else into my heart by knowing you’re truly beyond my reach. I’ll always look at the moon and remember the magic of laughing with you, our kisses, and how I welcomed everything about you into my heart. I pray for your safe journey as you return to England.

Yours in friendship,

Jenny Kincaid

Caleb closed his eyes, willing himself to sever the lingering thread that bound him to his yearning for her.

Dear Readers,

If you encounter any issues with your book, please email me at [email protected].

Warm regards,

Stacy