Chapter 14

W ith a heaving sigh, Julian tossed the quill aside and rose from his armchair. His thoughts lagged, struggling to make sense of the words, and try as he might, he couldn’t set his mind to rights again. It felt as though two great weights were attached to his eyelids, and his jaw cracked as an all-encompassing yawn seized control of him. Scrubbing at his face, he tried to concentrate, but the thought of returning to the world of metaphors, alliteration, and rhyming structures was enough to make him want to leap from the study window.

Especially when the bright sound of the piano and the murmur of voices echoed through the cottage, promising that more entertaining things awaited him downstairs. Surely, it was better to surrender to those pleasures than to continue doing the creative equivalent of beating his head against bricks. Ernest hadn’t written a single word in days, and a professional poet knew more about managing one’s muse than a hobbyist, so if Ernest refused to struggle through such artistic blocks, then it was wise to follow his example.

Besides, this was a holiday, after all. A bit of fun.

Glancing at the pathetic lines he’d scribbled, rearranged, and rewritten, Julian cast the work away and strode to the study door, stopping just long enough to straighten a precarious stack of books that was about to topple. Anything more and Ernest would grump about “meddling,” so Julian restrained himself to that small act.

Catching the melody that floated on the air, Julian hummed along as he bounced down the stairs, his feet moving with the beat. The parlor rang with Callaghans. Ernest and his bride stood beside Mrs. Fitzherbert, whose fingers skipped along the keys, and Mr. Callaghan remained at his father’s side while the two youngest daughters flanked their mother.

Though Miss Ophelia ignored his presence, Miss Helen slipped him another practiced smile that Julian pretended not to see; he only hoped the young lady would soon grow bored of her attempts to catch his eye. The child was young enough to be his daughter, and though that appealed to some men, Julian shuddered at the thought.

The grandchildren were far less orderly than the elder set, with the two youngest dancing about on their toes; Gael met Julian’s gaze, and the lad pulled a face, sticking his tongue so far out that he nearly licked his chin. Meanwhile, the elder pair gave a decent show of maturity, though Carl required a nudge or two from his grandfather before embracing the song.

The sound was incredible. Despite having known Mrs. Fitzherbert boasted musical talent, Julian was astonished to hear how the voices blended in a complicated harmony that he doubted many carolers could manage, and they did so with practiced ease, their joy at the music shining in their expressions.

“Fine work, everyone!” the gentleman cried as the last notes drifted into nothing. “But children, you must concentrate and use the respectful expression I taught you, else no one will donate, and we need every coin we can gather.”

At that, the quartet all assumed pleading, simpering expressions whilst Gael and Alegría came forward with their hands pressed together as though praying. The whole affectation was so overdone that Julian couldn’t help chuckling. No doubt in their full costumes and with the incredible music accompanying it, the children would do quite well with such pitiable expressions.

On the far side of the parlor sat Miss Callaghan, a lap desk on her knees as she scribbled away with her quill. The others paid her no notice, and though they called for him to join them, Julian waved them away and wandered over to the sofa, slipping into the seat beside her. Miss Callaghan straightened, laying her hands over the writing as she sent him a questioning look.

“And how are you doing this fine afternoon?” he asked. “Working on anything…interesting?”

“It is personal, Mr. Knight.”

Julian gave a vague hum. “It’s been nearly a fortnight since I arrived, and every time you are by yourself you are scribbling away on secret things.”

“You make it sound like I have some lurid reason behind it, but I only wish for privacy,” she replied.

Holding up his hands in acquiescence, he said, “Peace. I am only teasing you. Yes, I am dying of curiosity, but you can keep your secrets. I only wish to come over and see how you are faring today. As a friend.”

Miss Callaghan scrutinized him for a long moment before her shoulders relaxed and the tension around her lips eased. “I am faring as well as one can expect.”

“Are you not going to participate in the festivities?” he asked, nodding toward the singers. “I am certain they would welcome you.”

“Why is everyone so determined for me to go caroling with the family?” she grumbled.

“Perhaps they wish to see you enjoy yourself a little more.”

Miss Callaghan gave a vague grunt in response and glanced down at her letter, though she kept her hands firmly fixed over the paper. “I do not sing.”

“I find that difficult to believe,” he replied with a grin. “And even if that were the whole truth, it wouldn’t matter in the slightest. Though your family treats it seriously, caroling is mostly about spreading Christmas cheer and collecting donations for the needy. They are having fun, and you should join them.”

“My thanks, but no,” she replied.

Julian leaned closer, nudging her with his shoulder. “I will join if you do. We’ll make a lark of it.”

Miss Callaghan’s expression tightened as she stared at her hands with a determination as though she could read through the skin and bone. Those dark brows of hers furrowed, and when her eyes turned to meet his, there was such concern etched there.

“You must take care, Mr. Knight,” she whispered. “I know you are entranced by my family, but do not allow them to drag you into their world.”

“As it happens, I am enjoying this peek into their world,” he whispered in return (though with a wry smile). “I have no plans on leaving my position to pursue the poet’s life, but I cannot help but see the beauty of simple living and artistic pursuits.”

“You may be happy to return to your profession now, but that can change in a flash if you aren’t careful, and they will do their best to convince you to shirk your responsibilities.”

Julian studied her, searching for the telltale signs of humor that (though subtle) were always present when Miss Callaghan was teasing, but there was a seriousness to her gaze and expression that gave him pause. Julian considered the various conversations they’d had since his arrival, and though it was clear that she didn’t care for many of the things her family held sacred, she’d never spoken of them as though they were a plague to be avoided.

Was this because of the singing? For all that she did seem out of place amongst her siblings, Miss Callaghan hadn’t ever seemed dour or unfeeling. Yet she begrudged them a bit of holiday cheer?

“Perhaps you haven’t learned to enjoy all that your family has to offer,” he said with a frown. Then, nodding toward the piano, he added, “If you gave it a try—”

“I have said I do not wish to sing.” Miss Callaghan scowled and scoffed. “How many times must I be hounded to do so? Can I not simply say ‘no’ and be left alone without being made to feel like an unmitigated grump? I am not a villain because I refuse to participate, Mr. Knight.”

Muttering to herself, she gathered up her things, moving as though to vanish in another huff. But she paused as she clutched the writing desk to her, and her expression tightened as though considering what to say.

“I haven’t had the opportunity…” Miss Callaghan shifted in place, her cheeks pinking slightly as she drew in a deep breath. Then, straightening, she met his eye. “I have wanted to thank you for my bedchamber. I do not know how you convinced my parents to allow their guest to sleep on the floor—”

“You needn’t thank me for doing what is right, Miss Callaghan,” he said, raising his hand to forestall her gratitude. “It was bad enough that I forced you from your bedchamber, but I assumed you would be sharing with your sister, not sleeping on the floor on a pallet. As I am the interloper in this house and a gentleman, that honor ought to be mine. It is bad enough that I stole away space from your brother and his family.”

Chuckling to himself, he added, “I tried to join them at The Green Man, but as in that great story of old, there was no room at the inn. And as Fellburn is too far to make the daily journey back and forth to Stoneleigh Cottage, I am glad to have any place to lay my head—as long as it doesn’t require you to sleep on the floor.”

Holding tight to her things, Miss Callaghan stared at him as though he were speaking a foreign tongue, and Julian wondered what was going through her mind, which was an odd thought. The lady was so quick to share her opinions, yet she stood there, silently staring at him for so long that Julian felt as though he were an animal on display in a menagerie.

Patting the seat beside him, he added in a light tone, “If you wish to thank me, you need only stay and join me for the caroling.”

The playful prod had her lips pulling into a frown, and without another word, she swept out of the parlor, leaving Julian to wonder what had just happened (something that was becoming all too familiar during this trip).

A glutton for punishment. Julian hadn’t considered the full truth of that statement until Miss Callaghan swanned into his life. Or, he supposed, it was he who had swanned into hers. Either way, why did he keep seeking her out, despite her obvious determination to be miserable?

Yet Julian knew that was an unfair assessment.

Something more was going on. Miss Callaghan was too logical a creature to hate without reason, which left him scrambling to discover the origin behind her frustration. Did she begrudge her family’s humble lifestyle? Julian didn’t think her materialistic or greedy, and the Callaghans had food on their table and a roof over their head; neither was of the highest quality but was a great deal better than most.

More than that, Julian couldn’t help but wonder why he kept drifting to her side. Yes, she was terribly amusing in many ways, and her wit was exceptionally appealing. And then there was her unfailing honesty. Miss Callaghan wasn’t a lady to hide her opinions, which was what made the mystery of her correspondence all the more intriguing; someone so forthright keeping such an obvious secret was too tantalizing to ignore. Was that enough to seek her out again and again, despite her cold shoulder?

Perhaps Miss Callaghan had been correct and his interest sprung from a combination of the setting, opportunity, and her determined dismissals. Julian hadn’t thought himself the sort of fool to chase a lady simply because she rejected him, but apparently, he was.

A glutton for punishment, indeed.