Chapter 16

W ith only the four children, their grandparents, youngest aunts, and mother in attendance, the group of carolers wasn’t large, but they sang with all the fervor of a choir. Each wore a crown of Christmas greenery, and Ernest held up a lantern as though shining the light of their joyful song; with so many candles burning, it was a feeble thing, but the expressions of adoration on the Callaghans’ faces were enough to warm the audience through.

With slow steps, the two youngest stepped forward, shaking their collection boxes as they passed through the crowd. Affecting the pleading looks their grandfather had helped them perfect, they held them out, waiting for coins to fall. Gael was on his best behavior, not even crossing his eyes at the sight of Julian, and in his robes and evergreen crown, the lad looked like a little cherub.

Then the moment arrived and the adults lowered their voices, dropping into accompanying hums as Alegría and Gael took center stage. Each sang their line of the song, and on the chorus, the adults all joined in, blending their voices with skill. The children began the second verse, all the while shaking their collection boxes at people as they passed, their sweet little faces pleading for generosity.

Humming along with the melody, Julian dug into his waistcoat pocket, but when he maneuvered toward the box, he spied the other guests staring at the children. Murmurs rumbled through the gathering, and though a few deigned to drop a coin or two, they did so with disgruntled expressions. His cheeks heated as little Alegría struggled to hold onto her composure, seeming to shrink beneath the glowers of these grown men and women.

Shouldering past the others, he pulled out every last coin he had on his person (which wasn’t much, to be certain), and dropped them through the slot before turning to the crowd and adding his voice to theirs. Julian stumbled over some of the words but kept singing as a few more guests deigned to add their coins to the donation box.

What was wrong with this village? What sort of people remained unmoved by heart-warming displays of Christmas cheer? No wonder Miss Callaghan wanted nothing to do with the caroling if they were going to be greeted by such disdain and judgment.

Just as they began their second song, the footman swarmed, herding the Callaghans from the drawing room, but the family continued to sing, their music echoing through the room as they disappeared from whence they came. Though not before Alegría gave Julian a broad grin, waving at him from over her shoulder.

“Adorable, aren’t they?” asked Julian as he glanced at his mother, and though she nodded, there was a tightness to her smile that had him excusing himself for a bit of punch.

Rubbing at his forehead, he tried to ignore the pain now spiking through the back of his head. Before he knew what he was doing, he drank deep of the Christmas punch—only to sigh when he realized it wasn’t strong. Thank all the saints above. Perhaps he could even have an early night as well and wake rested tomorrow morning to get plenty of work done on his latest poem.

“Is everything well with you?” asked Father, appearing at his elbow.

“Just a megrim,” replied Julian. “I have half a mind to retire early tonight.”

Father shifted, glancing out at the crowd, though no one stood near enough to overhear. “I hadn’t meant your health, though I am sorry to hear it. We knew we wouldn’t see you much during this trip, as you were going to be some miles away, but whenever we do, you seem out of sorts. A little distressed perhaps?”

That brought a certain lady to mind, and Julian brushed the thought aside. He was not overwrought by Miss Callaghan or his troubles with finding a wife. It would settle itself in time. Hopefully.

“I am merely a bit fatigued of late,” said Julian with a wry smile. “Traveling is always an ordeal, and the Callaghans have been doing their level best to include me in all their adventures. It’s been wonderful but exhausting.”

Father nodded, his grin matching his son’s. “I feel the same. Though I adore the Wallises, I long for my own bed. However, we’d best enjoy the time we have here: we will be home before we know it.”

Julian opened his mouth and quickly shut it again, but his father didn’t miss the movement.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I have been considering extending my stay in Haydon,” he replied, but he quickly added, “Or taking a trip abroad, perhaps.”

Father nodded. “You’ve worked hard and been frugal, so there’s no reason you cannot do a little traveling. Why not spend a few weeks on the Continent?”

“I was considering something longer than ‘a few weeks,’” he said, shifting from foot to foot.

Pausing, Julian sorted through what to say; life was far easier when one could edit one’s words before anyone else read them. “My time here is so inspiring. Even with how busy I’ve been in the evenings, I am getting so much done, and I think it might be helpful if I spend some time seeing the world. It is difficult to write much when my life consists mostly of ledgers and accounting.”

“For how long?” asked Father with a narrowed look.

“Six months? A year? I do not know. Not yet, at any rate. I haven’t given it much thought, but Ernest has been telling me about his son Aloysius, who is a sculptor and traveling the Continent with his new bride, hoping to broaden his knowledge and improve his craft. That is a very appealing prospect.”

Father’s gaze bored into him. “I thought you were happy with your position.”

Julian nodded. “I am. I enjoy my work, and I do not wish to give it up, but it’s been so wonderful to dedicate significant time to my poetry. This time in Haydon has opened my eyes to so many possibilities, but with all the holiday festivities, I still cannot dedicate as much time as I would like.”

“To your hobby,” said Father in a flat tone.

“To my passion.”

With a huff, Father crossed his arms, shaking his head. “Your mother and I are very supportive of your poetry. We always have and always will be. You are talented, and I do not doubt that if you continue to learn and grow, you will be published. But it isn’t a stable profession, Julian. You’ve worked hard to establish yourself, and now you wish to cast that aside? It makes no sense, son.”

Drawing closer, Julian forced himself not to get defensive, though his instincts kept pushing him in that direction. The fellow was concerned. It was entirely natural. That was all. A simple conversation and then Father would understand.

“It would be a sabbatical,” said Julian. “I don’t wish to leave my profession—not only does it provide for me, but I enjoy the work and have no desire to throw myself entirely into poetry. However, I’ve worked hard for so many years, and I would love the opportunity to immerse myself in the thing I love most.”

Father stared at him a few moments more before shaking his head once again. “I apologize, but I find this all so startling. This isn’t like you.”

“I didn’t think it was something I wanted until I came here. I see the Callaghans and the way they live. It is simple and quiet, but there is such contentment in their home. They reject the obsession with wealth and making one’s name,” said Julian, his smile growing as he considered the past few days. “Ernest and I spent an entire afternoon discussing the punctuation in a single line of Chaucer and how it altered the entire rhythm of the sentence and meaning of the words.”

“Yes, it is quite fun to sit about, focusing on the parts of life we enjoy most, but it isn’t so wonderful when one is struggling to feed one’s family,” replied Father.

“Does it have to be one or the other?”

“Of course not, but that is precisely what you had before all this talk of sabbatical. A profession you enjoy that provides a steady income, and evenings spent with your poetry. Both, together. What you are proposing is turning entirely to the latter and ignoring the former—”

“I said it was a sabbatical, Father,” said Julian with a scoff. “You aren’t listening.”

The gentleman’s brows rose at that, and his son forced out a breath before murmuring an apology.

“I am trying to be calm and reasonable, Julian. I am trying to listen to what you are saying, and I am trying to help you understand what a mistake this course of action would be,” he said in an even tone. “Do you think your clients are willing to go such a long time without having their man of business on hand? You cannot monitor their investments and properties from afar for so long. When you return, all the work you’ve done will be gone. Decades of sacrifice undone in a matter of months.”

Drawing nearer, Father gave him a pleading smile and settled his hand on his son’s shoulder. “Surely, you would be better off continuing the balance you’ve struck, and then in a few years, when you have a partner or clerks to assist in the day-to-day operations, you can dedicate more time to your poetry. But if you do it now, you will lose everything you have built.”

For all that the gentleman’s advice was sound (and precisely the sort of thing Julian, himself, would say if a friend or brother were proposing this scheme), thoughts of the hours spent in Ernest’s study glowed bright in his mind. Long, diverting conversations. Searching for inspiration. Meditation. There were just some things that were far more enjoyable here in the countryside without his business looming over him, and to return to Newcastle would be to lose those precious experiences.

“Where is this coming from, Julian?” asked his father with a puzzled frown. “You don’t sound like yourself.”

There was a pause as Julian tried to express his thoughts and feelings, but the progress he was making ground to a halt when Father posed another question.

“Does this have anything to do with Miss Callaghan?”

“Pardon?” asked Julian with raised brows, but Father merely leveled a knowing look at his son that held just a hint of a smile beneath it.

“You speak of her as often as you do her father, and it is clear the lady has made an impression on you.”

“That she has,” said Julian, offering the only morsel he was willing to divulge at present.

Father nodded, drawing in a deep breath as a frown worried his brow. “I am concerned about you, Julian. I know you are a grown man capable of making your own decisions, but I feel I must warn you about the path you are setting yourself on.”

“Because of Miss Callaghan?”

“Because of the hold her family has on you.”

Julian’s brows shot upward at that. “The Callaghans are good people. They do live a bit unconventionally, but they are not wicked—”

“‘Not wicked’ is not the same as being good,” replied Father.

“True, but you saw them here minutes ago, collecting money for charity,” said Julian, nodding toward the door from which they came and went. “The rest of us are reveling, whilst they are doing their best to help the poor of the parish. One good deed does not a good person make, but I would say that is clear evidence that they are more on the side of right than wrong.”

Drawing in a deep breath, Father let it out in a long sigh as the furrow of his brow deepened, but before he could speak, Julian hurried on.

“You and Mother seemed quite taken with Miss Callaghan when you met her. I was worried you might trade your son for a daughter.” But the jest did not draw any hint of humor from the grim man standing beside Julian.

“Your Mother and I have heard some concerning reports about that family. Their sons have a reputation for carrying on with local girls in a manner that is unbecoming of a gentleman, and your mother has heard quite a few tales about their daughters as well. Then there is their parents’ shocking elopement—”

“They have been happily married for decades. Surely there ought to be a limit on how long scandal can taint a name when all other behavior is irreproachable.”

“That is precisely what I am saying, son. I do not believe their other behavior is irreproachable.” Pausing, Father rubbed at his forehead and turned his gaze fully on Julian once more. “I will not repeat the gossip, as I cannot say for certain what is truth and what is lie, but there is enough of it to give me pause, and I caution you not to take advice from Ernest and his family. You have done incredible things with your life, and you can continue to do so, but not if you veer off the path.”

Placing his hand on his son’s shoulder, Father gave him a smile that was tainted with worry. “I am proud of you, my boy, and this is a decision you have to make on your own. But choose carefully.”

And with that, Father turned away, leaving Julian lingering near the punch bowl and clinging to the cup in his hand—and feeling like a ten-year-old boy. Being nearly forty years of age and financially independent meant he didn’t require his parents’ approval, and regardless of what he chose, his parents would remain his greatest allies throughout his life. But that child inside him longed for their blessing.

Setting down the glass, Julian wandered around the gathering, considering the conversation. In his twenties, he likely wouldn’t have appreciated such blunt advice from his father, but the impetuousness of youth had faded enough to give him an appreciation of the wisdom and experience that drove his parents’ counsel.

They were right about a great many things. Were they right about this?

And Miss Callaghan?