Chapter 19

A fternoon sunlight poured through the window, staving off the chill seeping through the glass and making Julian’s eyes slide closed beneath the warmth. For all he’d intended to have an early evening last night, Miss Callaghan’s undivided attention had been too intoxicating to retire at a reasonable hour. Especially, when conversation had proven far more diverting than reading side-by-side.

Julian’s latest work sat atop a tower of books that he’d adjusted to serve as a desk in the cramped confines of Ernest’s study, but his eyelids kept slipping closed of their own accord. If not for the fact that the chair was entirely too uncomfortable for a proper nap, Julian would’ve surrendered to the impulse.

Two vines entwined, their tendrils softly creep,

Each day their roots grow strong and deep.

A gentle breeze, a whisper in the night,

Sparks a flame that burns with steady light.

It seemed even his muse was quite pleased to fixate on Miss Callaghan, and as much as Julian tried to concentrate on his work, his thoughts couldn’t formulate into anything useful. Beyond considering just how much Miss Callaghan’s wit made him smile.

Across from him, Ernest sat with a book of poetry in his hands, his eyes drifting over the page as he soaked in the words.

“Are you going to work on your ballad?” asked Julian, straightening and stretching until his back cracked.

“The muse is not with me today,” said Ernest with a vague wave as though dismissing the idea altogether. “Besides, this time of year is so busy with all this work to be done that I rarely indulge in my writing.”

Julian couldn’t help but wonder what sort of “work” he was referring to; as far as he could see, Ernest merely attended parties, spent an hour or two reciting poetry or ghost stories, and then ate, drank, and made himself merry. And as the gentleman had already confessed to preparing little for these outings, Julian wasn’t certain what Ernest found so taxing that he required a rest.

Rising to his feet, Julian struggled not to topple the books and tea trays that were scattered around the space before surrendering and returning to his seat. His thoughts swirled with possibilities, sorting through what he might say, but there was no point in delaying the conversation. Ernest needed a nudge in the proper direction.

“I do hope you won’t think me impertinent—”

“Honesty is never impertinent,” replied Ernest with a smile from over the top of his book.

Julian nodded, though his thoughts struggled to coalesce. “I have noticed how much effort you put into supplementing your income with various performances and how much you dislike it, and I believe I may have a solution.”

With that, Ernest snapped his book closed and straightened. “Is that so?”

“I require a clerk.”

Sputtering out a scoff, Ernest waved his arms and settled back into his seat. “I do not require employment.”

“I am speaking of a little supplemental work,” he insisted. “Such things pay much better than your performances, and I’ve been giving it some thought and believe I can hire you on to do work from Haydon via correspondence.”

“And why would I do that?” asked Ernest with a wince. “My family is managing.”

Drawing in a deep breath, Julian considered Miss Callaghan’s example and forged ahead, wielding the truth boldly. “You do so by begging. Surely there are better ways to feed your family than extorting your neighbors.”

“Extorting? Begging?” scoffed Ernest. “We are being compensated for our work. That is all.”

“Work that you were not asked to do. You entered the Reddings’ home and refused to leave until you were paid enough. Were you even invited in, or did you force your way past the footman?”

“The village knows our Christmas tradition, and they haven’t spoken a word against it, so I do not see why you should take umbrage with it. I certainly will not mar my work and deaden my creative mind by taking on such mundane employment.”

Rising to his feet, Ernest dusted off his sleeves and straightened his jacket, then strode out the study door without a backward glance.

Despite having known that the offer was going to be a difficult sell, Julian couldn’t help gaping at the empty study. Ernest had dismissed the idea without an ounce of consideration—and all while leveling a hard judgment on Julian’s life and his “mundane employment.” Not a surprise. Not in the slightest. Yet a weight settled into Julian’s chest, pressing down on him with enough force that it was difficult for him to rise to his feet.

Is that what Ernest thought of those who chose honest work? That they were pitiable or even revolting? Something to be avoided? There were plenty of things that needed doing in this world, which were performed by those who would rather pursue other passions, and without them, the likes of Ernest Callaghan wouldn’t survive.

Julian doubted Maggie had chosen her position because she adored being a maid. Greengrocers needn’t adore the vegetables they dedicated their lives to. Julian had never met a cooper whose heart was utterly captivated by making barrels. Few in this world were lucky enough to make a living off the things they love. Life was full of responsibilities, and one couldn’t pick and choose which to perform.

The walls of the study pressed down on Julian, and his lungs felt like they were choking on the dust clogging the room. He needed air. Forcing his feet to the door, he took the stairs down and turned into the corridor—to see Miss Callaghan standing there. With an envelope in one hand, she reached for her cloak and gave a start when he spoke.

“Are you going to the post office?” he asked.

In a trice, Miss Callaghan had the cloak around her shoulders and the letter tucked in her pocket as though it had never existed. “I require some air and wanted to go for a walk.”

“Perfect, that is precisely what I am planning to do as well,” he replied, reaching for the peg that held his greatcoat. “May I join you?”

The lady shifted in place, her eyes darting around the corridor, touching everything but him. “I wanted some time alone to clear my head.”

“Believe it or not, Miss Callaghan, but I am capable of being quiet,” he said with an impish grin. “I welcome the company, and should you wish to talk—”

“My thanks, but I must decline.” And with that, Miss Callaghan swept out the front door, leaving Julian to stare at her fleeing form.

Slipping on his winter things, Julian stepped into the crisp afternoon. The sun was a great golden orb that hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the snow-coated fields and buildings; the distant sound of Miss Callaghan’s footsteps and the faint strains of birdsong were the only reminders that life still existed in this frozen landscape.

The sun glinted off the snow with dazzling beauty, and Julian could well imagine that a meandering walk might be just the thing to clear his thoughts, but his eyes followed after Miss Callaghan, who strode in the opposite direction of the local postmaster. The bend of the road pulled her out of sight, and Julian’s thoughts raced with questions as to why the lady was so distant today.

Had their evening together been distasteful? Though not a prideful person, he couldn’t accept her dismissal as a personal rejection. And hadn’t they spoken last night about not assuming the worst of the other?

Yet Julian’s mind thought back to the letter she’d hidden away. How many times had he spied her writing secret messages? For all that Miss Callaghan swore they were not letters, the paper she’d held had been folded in the distinctive manner of a missive. So, maybe not a letter to be mailed, but a secret note for a beau? Julian tried to deny the possibility, yet Miss Callaghan never entertained friends or acquaintances she might write to. And there was no need for sneaking about if her actions were innocent.

Regardless, he had no interest in speaking to Ernest at present, and remaining in Stoneleigh Cottage would force him to do so before his temper was properly cooled. And if he walked deeper into the village, he might run into some new acquaintance, who would wish to gab. Miss Callaghan’s direction was the only clear option.

So, Julian turned his feet in that direction, forcing his steps to remain at a sedate pace as Miss Callaghan didn’t want company. But even if he caught the lady in some tryst, what did it matter beyond satisfying his morbid curiosity? It wasn’t as though she owed him an explanation. Yet for her to espouse a dislike of matrimony whilst carrying on a liaison with a mystery beau would make her a hypocrite of the highest order.

Apparently, Mr. Julian Knight was determined to continue in his gluttonous self-flagellation, for despite his good sense telling him to turn away, he followed Miss Callaghan at a discreet distance. He paused as she rushed into the forest, slipping out of sight.

A hypocrite. No. That couldn’t be. Pain pulsed in his chest as he considered the disappointments he’d suffered in the past few days, and his thoughts refused to believe he had been wrong on all fronts. Miss Callaghan wasn’t like her father. She couldn’t be. Having Ernest exhibit such selfish behavior was heartbreaking, but in the short time he’d known her, Julian thought she’d proven herself to be a lady with more strength of character than most.

Snapping from those thoughts, he forged ahead.