Chapter 25

H aving attended many parties in his life, Julian had thought that one was much the same as the others. But then, he’d never thought to attend one in a barn. Whether houses, coaching inns, or assembly rooms, Newcastle boasted many venues, and Julian hadn’t given much thought to how a village like Haydon would manage gatherings in the winter. Apparently, the answer was to convert a barn into a ballroom.

Julian couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to the machinery or livestock that were usually housed inside the hulking edifice, or how the Watkins had managed to clear enough of the stench to make it suitable for the evening. But regardless, the barn had been transformed into a Christmas haven.

On the side that had housed the stage not long ago, the dancers were enjoying the lively strains of music. Despite the doors and windows being closed, the gaps between the boards provided just a touch of a breeze; the drinks flowed, sending warmth rushing through him, and though he didn’t bother to stand up for a dance, the press of bodies was enough to stave off the chill, leaving him far more comfortable than was often possible in such a crowded gathering.

But then, the conversation was more enlivening than one often found; Haydon and Fellburn showed an unusual propensity for poetry (likely due to Ernest’s influence), and when Mr. Canning laughed at a Byronic pun, Julian felt as though he had finally found his people. The same jest had earned no more than a few pitying chuckles in Newcastle.

“Then you find our moors and forests quite inspiring?” asked Mr. Freeman before taking a sip from his drink.

“Despite having been run off my feet the past three weeks with all the holiday splendor, I’ve never written so much in my life,” said Julian, beaming. “But then, I’ve never had so many stimulating conversations before, either.”

“It doesn’t have to end, my boy,” said Ernest with a sly smile that he hid behind his glass.

Julian grimaced. “Unfortunately, my pocketbook says otherwise.”

“You are free to stay at Stoneleigh Cottage as long as you require,” added Ernest.

“That is a very kind invitation, but I fear I am required in Newcastle—”

“Nonsense!” cried Ernest, throwing an arm around his shoulders as the other gentlemen raised glasses in solidarity. “‘Away! away! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy.’”

“That is all well and good for Keats to say, but—”

“Come, now,” continued Ernest with a frown. “Can you truly say you wish to return to Newcastle? You’ve said many times before how much you enjoy Haydon.”

“And you haven’t even experienced our lovely summers,” added Mr. Canning with a fond smile. “Not only is it stunning, but there are picnics, games, and sports aplenty. The whole thing is a lark. Far better than anything we’ve offered during this trip.”

“One cannot breathe in the city,” added Mr. Freeman.

“Papa—”

Miss Callaghan’s voice startled all four men, making several of their drinks slosh over the side as the fellows murmured apologies to any shoes that had been dampened. Julian sent her a smile, and though she nodded in acknowledgment, her gaze returned to her father immediately as she drew him a few paces away and leaned close to whisper to him.

The other gentlemen continued to chatter amongst themselves, but Julian found his attention lingering on Miss Callaghan. Mr. Canning and Mr. Freeman asked a few more questions, making grand promises about the amusement to be had if he were to stay, and Julian gave a vague nod or two in response, though his brows furrowed as Ernest’s expression darkened.

Nodding back to his friends, the gentleman moved in that direction, but Miss Callaghan stopped him with a hand on his sleeve. Her expression held a touch of pleading, though with enough steel that it was clear to anyone who knew her that the lady wouldn’t surrender so easily. But then, neither would her father.

Julian murmured an excuse to the others and slid over to where the Callaghans stood as Ernest’s expression grew stormy.

“I will not be dictated to, Angelica. I have said that I will leave, and I will do so when I am ready—”

“But the Goodriches paid handsomely to ensure a first footing right after the strike of midnight. It will take time for you to arrive there,” she said.

“You are so anxious all the time, my dear, but a few minutes either way will make little difference,” he replied, downing the last of his drink. “I will leave shortly. I promise.”

Miss Callaghan caught sight of Julian, her eyes meeting his with a silent plea, and though he didn’t entirely understand the context of what was happening, that didn’t stop him from stepping up to them and smiling at his friend.

“What is all this, Ernest? Are you being difficult, despite all the work your daughter puts into keeping you on task?” he teased.

Ernest turned his gaze back to Miss Callaghan. “And I am thankful for it, but you needn’t be so insistent all the time—”

“Even with my insistence, you are still tardy more often than not, Papa.”

“And everyone knows to expect it,” retorted Ernest.

“That doesn’t make it right,” said Julian with a frown. “If they are paying for your time, then you’d best honor their wishes. Your daughter is a stalwart voice of reason and truth, and you should listen.”

With a playful scowl, Ernest glanced at his now empty cup. “Do not say you are going to join forces with her to hound me.”

“That I am. Miss Callaghan doesn’t badger without reason, and even in my three weeks here, I have seen how troublesome you can be,” said Julian, employing a heavy dose of humor in his voice, turning Miss Callaghan’s demands into something just a touch sweeter and more inviting.

“I suppose I am,” said Ernest with a laugh.

“What is it that you have to do?” asked Julian.

Swaying on his feet ever so slightly, his friend gave an airy wave of the hand. “The first footing. It’s an old tradition here in the North that says whoever crosses a house’s threshold first on New Year’s Day is a portend for the future. A tall, dark-haired man is considered the luckiest, and I fit that description the best of anyone in the village. Silly tradition, but people pay me a few coins to pay a call at midnight and bring them gifts that supposedly guarantee good fortune for the coming year.”

“Quite a few people, in fact, and they are all expecting you,” said Miss Callaghan.

Ernest waved her away. “Fine, fine. You win, Angelica. I will go.”

“Carl is waiting outside to accompany you—”

“I am not a child.” Ernest scowled, his legs wobbling beneath him in a manner that made Julian bark out a laugh.

“He has accompanied you for years, Papa,” murmured Miss Callaghan.

Heaving a put-upon sigh, the gentleman turned his feet toward the door, though he bumped into Mr. Canning on his way, causing the other to spill his drink and eliciting laughter from all the gentlemen.

“Here!” she said, catching Ernest before he wandered away again. Pressing a slip of paper into his hand, she added, “This is the list of those who you are to visit, and the order. And Carl has the tokens you are to bring to each one.”

“I know all this,” said Ernest with a pitying smile. “Must you always fret, my dear? Your life would be so much happier if you could simply learn to enjoy it instead of always fearing the worst.”

But as the gentleman staggered toward the exit, Julian couldn’t help but think the written instructions and an escort were necessary as Ernest struggled to find his greatcoat and the door.

“Have you had anything to eat, Mr. Knight?” asked Miss Callaghan in a low voice, drawing his gaze to hers.

“We did it,” he said with a broad grin.

Raising a finger to her lips, she hushed him before saying in a lower voice, “Yes, we did. But you ought to have something to eat.”

“I am not hungry.” Julian shook his head and waggled his eyebrows at her. “We make a good pair, you and me.”

Miss Callaghan huffed and took the cup from Julian’s hand. “I wasn’t suggesting it as a nicety, Mr. Knight.”

“Are you saying I’m tipsy?” he asked with a scoff.

Holding out her hands as though placating a fractious animal, she nodded toward the far table. “You’re not as bad off as Papa, but you’ve gotten swept up in his antics, and you’re quickly moving that way.”

Stilling, Julian stared at her, his thoughts sluggishly sorting through the words, but when he wobbled, his mind snapped to attention. In a low voice, he asked, “I am making a fool of myself, aren’t I?”

“Not yet,” she replied.

Julian nodded and moved in the direction she pointed, grateful his footsteps were even—though as he focused on his equilibrium, he realized it was not what it ought to be. How many glasses had he drunk? The fact that he couldn’t recall was answer enough, and his face warmed from more heat than the spirits provided.