Chapter 31

G lancing at Miss Callaghan, Julian huffed. “I cannot believe that.”

Her shoulders fell, and in a quiet voice, she said, “That is Papa.”

“I am sorry he spoke to you in such a manner.”

Miss Callaghan’s brows rose at that, a spark of her usual light returning to her gaze as she held his. “After how he treated you? I know that must have pained you. Deeply.”

Tucking his hands behind him, Julian rocked back on his heels and considered the situation, his brows pulled low as he stared at the door as though that might supply some explanation for Ernest’s behavior. Certainly, his heart was unsettled. Restless energy coursed through him, demanding he go pack (as it seemed he no longer had a place to sleep), and the muscles between his eyebrows ached from the effort he’d put them through.

“I will not claim that was a pleasant conversation,” he said, carefully feeling his way toward an explanation. “But I have spent the past several weeks realizing that though I admire his work, I do not admire his behavior, and I want no part of this life. No wonder you have such a poor opinion of poets and artists.”

Turning his gaze on her, Julian found Miss Callaghan watching with so much concern, as though he had suffered the greater harm in that exchange. But it wasn’t he who would bear the consequences.

Julian shifted one of the chairs toward her and slid into it. “You’ve helped me to see that my life is wonderful as it is and that I ought not to admire such…”

“Selfishness?” supplied Miss Callaghan in a low voice.

“And laziness. Carelessness. Pride. Better to never achieve my artistic dreams than become that.”

Shifting in her seat, Miss Callaghan brushed at her skirts, her fingers fiddling with the fabric. “Thank you for saying so, Mr. Knight—” She paused as she drew in a shaky breath. “I think you may be the first to come away seeing the truth, and my heart breaks for all the many gentlemen my father has ensorcelled into believing the greatest joy comes from seeking one’s own pleasures.”

Leaning forward, Julian gave in to the impulse and took her hand in his, lending her cold fingers his warmth. “How do you bear it? I have only spent a few weeks in this madness, and if not for you, I would happily turn my back on it all.”

Miss Callaghan attempted her favorite wry smile, but there was such a thread of sorrow in her eyes that Julian’s stomach hardened at the sight.

“It is all I’ve ever known, Mr. Knight.” A whisper of a genuine grin crossed her lips as she added, “And though I find myself infuriated with him at times, I do love my father. You are seeing him at his worst, and though there are many things about him that I would never wish to emulate, he isn’t devoid of virtue and goodness.”

“None of us are.”

“And it does help to have an ally in this,” she added, holding fast to his hand.

Holding fast to his tongue, Julian longed to reply that she would always have one in him, but pressing his suit had not worked well for him in the past—and unlike Ernest, Julian was capable of learning from his mistakes.

“And regardless of how frustrating this is, we will sort it out eventually,” she said with a sigh. “Mama can sell her paintings at the summer festivals, and there are a few families interested in me teaching their children alongside my nieces. Maggie’s family depends on her wages, but if the worst comes, then we can let her go. This is not the darkest time our family has faced, and we will weather it.”

Miss Callaghan rattled these options off with the steadiness of one who had spent long hours considering such things, and Julian’s chest ached as he thought of the work and effort she put into ensuring the family “weathered” the troubles her parents willingly settled on their shoulders. Though she had never excused their behavior, neither did Miss Callaghan level reproaches at the position she’d been placed in.

But was it any wonder? Despite only knowing her a few scant weeks, Julian was certain that if one were to look into Miss Callaghan’s heart, the words “hope springs eternal” would be written on it. For all that her parents blithely danced through life, believing the world to be naught but sunshine and flowers, Miss Callaghan knew differently and chose to focus on the possibility it presented, rather than the hard reality it often was. She would weather this because she refused to surrender, and despite the rather harried picture she’d often presented this Christmastime, she focused far more on hope than despair.

“You are an incredible woman,” he murmured.

Stiffening, she blinked at him with a twist of her brows. “That is kind of you, but—”

“But nothing. The more I come to know you, the more impressive you are. Not because you are without flaw but because you refuse to be ruled by them.”

Bringing his other hand forward, Julian wrapped hers in a manner that could not be misconstrued as merely friendly or comforting. His pulse quickened at the feel of her skin against his, and his eyes moved to her lips of their own accord, which were nearly as perfect as her eyes.

“At first,” he continued, “I may have only found you amusing, but as the weeks pass on, I find I genuinely appreciate your perspective on things, and I feel more…”

He struggled to find the proper word, but not one of them seemed to fit the bill. The one that came back into his thoughts, again and again, seemed too impersonal and unromantic, and thus, he cast it aside—but when nothing else presented itself, Julian forged ahead.

“Balanced. As though with you, I am standing on firm ground even when the world around me is tilting upside-down. You are always honest with me, always quick to speak your mind.”

Miss Callaghan watched him with wide eyes, her expression showing only surprise, though he didn’t know how she could be shocked after having rejected him twice now. The memory of those rebuffs caused his ribs to constrict, but Julian batted the sentiment aside. He was leaving Haydon soon, and there was no point in pretending his feelings had changed.

If hers remained firm, then so be it. But Julian knew he would regret it for the rest of his life if he didn’t speak up.

*

When one was four and thirty, it was easy to believe one understood oneself. Angelica wasn’t so haughty as to suppose herself infallible even when it came to that most personal of subjects, but neither did she think she could surprise herself so entirely. Though unexpected, Angelica couldn’t say Mr. Knight’s declaration took her utterly unaware; the gentleman hadn’t been subtle in his attention. But the happy skip of her heart had her breath fleeing her lungs.

Angelica knew better than to allow a gentleman the liberty of holding her hand, yet here she sat, her fingers not only wrapped in his but brushing gentle caresses across his skin; a shiver ran from her hands and settled in her stomach as a voice that felt entirely unfamiliar—yet identical to her own—told her just how nice it might be to hold him forever.

With it, more memories surged into her thoughts, bringing with them the sentiments she’d tried to deny. Each fluttering heartbeat. Each caught breath. Each flush of her skin. No matter how she tried to deny it, something inside her was trying to break free of her control, and it was drawing her ever closer to him.

This was why ladies were warned not to spend time alone with gentlemen, but with Mr. Knight living under her family’s roof, such strictures couldn’t be followed. Yet Angelica longed for something or someone to interrupt.

“I am not asking for your hand, Miss Callaghan,” he continued. “Simply an opportunity to court you. To see if we might suit as more than mere friends.”

More. Such a tempting word, and at that moment, it wriggled its way into Angelica’s heart, ushering forth grand promises of what could be.

And somehow, she found her voice. “I won’t lie and say I am not intrigued by the prospect, Mr. Knight.”

“Only intrigued?” he asked with the rascally smile that had so often lightened her spirits of late. And it did so again.

With a huffing laugh, Angelica shook her head. “ Very intrigued—but that is all I will admit to.” The humor died as she considered her next words, forcing them out: “But I do not think myself capable of love.”

Mr. Knight raised his brows at that. “Not capable? I have seen time and time again how untrue that is.”

“I do not mean familial love or the platonic sort,” she said with a shake of her head. “As I said before, I do not want passion and romance in my life, and even if I did, I do not think myself capable of feeling it.”

Leaning back, Mr. Knight gave her a considering look (though his hands did not release their hold on her, and she was ashamed to say she wouldn’t have slackened her grip if he’d attempted it). Those eyes were such an intriguing mixture of colors today that Angelica couldn’t say whether blue, green, or brown was more prominent.

“So, your reticence isn’t because of me specifically?” he asked.

Angelica slowly shook her head, sensing a trap being laid around her, but she couldn’t allow him to think it was he who bore the blame. Mr. Knight gave a considering hum low in his throat, his brow lowering as his gaze drifted to the wall; thoughts spun through his mind for a heartbeat before his eyes snapped back to hers with a nod of the head.

“I accept, Miss Callaghan.”

Brow arching, she said, “I didn’t think I needed your permission to reject your offer.”

“I meant that I accept your offer.”

“I didn’t make one.”

“Nor did you reject mine,” he retorted.

Angelica frowned. “I believe I did.”

But the fellow merely shook his head with a quirk of a smile. “You insisted it wasn’t me that you found distasteful but marriage itself. In most cases, a beau is trying to convince a lady to accept his hand, and I simply have to go a step further and convince you to accept any hand first. It may not be the most conventional of courtships, but that seems in keeping with my time in Haydon.”

Another spike pulsed through her, sending her heart racing and her skin flushing, and Angelica couldn’t deny that some illogical part of her longed for him to try.

“I will remind you that my namesake was pursued by many knights in her story, and she didn’t marry a single one of them,” she replied with a lift of her chin.

Even without her putting much emphasis on the word, Mr. Knight caught the play on his name, and it made his eyes sparkle with laughter. In a low voice, he said, “Only because they rushed in with brute strength, hoping to force the issue. But I can be very patient, my lady.”

Shifting his hold, the gentleman twisted her hand around, lifting it to his mouth. His eyes held hers, watching for any sign or warning, and though Angelica knew she ought to put an end to it that very moment, she couldn’t find her voice. His breath tickled her skin, and she couldn’t break free of his gaze as he paused with his lips a hair’s breadth from touching it. The rascal had the faintest smile at the corner of his lips, as though he knew how much it was affecting her.

And then her hand moved closer of its own accord—

The front door slammed downstairs, jolting the pair, and Angelica shot to her feet when a voice bellowed her name. For the first time that she could recall, she hesitated to answer, unwilling to manage whatever dire trouble had befallen the family. Not if it meant leaving this wonderful, albeit confusing, moment.

“Angelica!” That booming voice sounded like Clarence, though she didn’t know why he would be shouting for her like that—but the accompanying cries of his children forced her to move.