Chapter 5

R eality righted itself, clearing the fog that descended on his thoughts, and Julian fought to keep from letting his misstep show. Behave as though nothing were amiss, and no one but the two of them need know of his blunder. But Julian’s insides roiled, his skin flushing in a manner that was impossible to hide. He searched for an excuse, but his mind was far too fixated on the mistake itself to find a reason to brush the reaction away.

It was only a simple misunderstanding. Nothing of significance.

Yet with Ernest’s arm still latched around his shoulder, Julian’s fears grew tenfold at the thought of the gentleman discovering the gaffe. His interactions with the lady flashed through his mind, searching for every misspoken word and condescending action—which only served to fluster him more whilst Miss Callaghan’s eyes shone as though thoroughly enjoying his misery. The heat in the room grew untenable, drawing forth a sheen of sweat at his temples.

“Is something the matter?” asked Ernest, his brows furrowing as he glanced between the pair.

Before Julian could consider what to say, the corner of Miss Callaghan’s lips pulled into the slightest of smirks. “Your Mr. Knight mistook me for Maggie.”

And with that, the entire gathering stared at Julian. Despite being unable to see those behind him, he felt their gazes on his back, and sweat gathered between his shoulder blades.

Julian struggled to know what to say to these relative strangers that wouldn’t compound his sin. He’d thought her so disheveled and poorly dressed that she must be a maid? For goodness’ sake, she stood in the corner like a little mouse, as though awaiting her orders!

Even knowing her connection to the family, Julian couldn’t see anything to suggest she belonged amongst the effervescent Callaghans—except for that spark of mirth in her blue eyes. Little of the emotion showed on her face, and one couldn’t help but mistake the dowdy creature for someone of the lower orders. The error was entirely understandable. Yet Miss Callaghan’s gaze teased him.

“She answered the front door, and I made an assumption,” said Julian as he covertly rubbed his palms against his thighs.

At that, the family all burst into fits of laughter. Ernest fairly shook beside him, trying to hold back the fits, and though Julian didn’t think it that amusing, he finally drew in a breath and allowed it to loosen the tightening in his chest. And as the crowd continued to titter, a responding smile twitched at his lips.

Though his embarrassment wouldn’t abate entirely, the situation truly was ridiculous, and when Miss Callaghan dropped a quick bob and mouthed a “sir,” Julian chuckled outright. Oh, saints above. He’d wanted to make a good impression and had managed to make a fool of himself; thankfully, the Callaghans seemed to prize foolishness over suavity.

“I suppose I did make a rather large assumption,” he said with a chagrined smirk. But then Julian’s eyes widened as he asked, “Is my trunk still sitting in the snow outside?”

That set the family laughing even more.

“I nearly broke my back hauling it up the stairs.” Miss Callaghan’s expression was serious enough that it added a level of gravity to her tone, and Julian’s brows rose.

“Good heavens! I—” he began.

“Do not listen to her fibs,” said her elder brother with a scoff and a shake of his head. “I brought it inside and set it in the corridor. I’ll help you bring it upstairs later.”

Rubbing at his forehead, Julian winced as he turned his gaze back to Miss Callaghan. “I do apologize for my presumption. And for thinking you a poorly behaved servant.”

That drew a true smile from the lady as Mrs. Callaghan took Julian by the arm.

“Do not fret. When my daughter insists on dressing like a servant, it is only fair that she is mistaken for one.” Turning a pleading gaze to the lady in question, Mrs. Callaghan pulled her brows together. “You have such a lovely figure and beautiful hair. It is a shame you neglect your toilette.”

“I am quite content with the effort I put into it,” replied Miss Callaghan.

“Nonsense,” said Miss Helen as she came to her sister’s side. “Mama is right. You needn’t dress like a fashion plate, but something more than a plain sack would do wonders for you.”

With two fingers, as though the offending article might dirty her, Miss Helen lifted the skirts with a wince.

Mrs. Fitzherbert clapped her hands and joined the others. “Oh, please allow us to do something with your hair! I would die to have your locks, and you do nothing with them.”

Miss Callaghan stood there as her mother and sisters circled her, gushing praise for her various qualities whilst giving gentle advice on the best way to enhance her assets. As Julian watched on, he couldn’t help but agree with the assessment. At first glance, Miss Callaghan appeared plain and dowdy, and even with great care, he doubted she would ever be labeled a beauty, but with the proper clothes and coiffure to soften the angles and edges, she could be pretty.

At the very least, she wouldn’t look like a servant.

*

They meant well. They meant well. They meant well.

Holding fast to her composure, Angelica repeated the assurances in her mind as the womenfolk circled her. Mr. Knight had chummed the water, and now they were eager to feast. The number of compliments far outweighed the criticisms, and the ladies were quite earnest in that appraisal, but acknowledging their good intentions was having less and less of an effect on her mood.

They loved her. They loved her. They loved her.

The Callaghans may not understand her, but Angelica knew she was one of them, and that bond wasn’t easily severed. Thomas had appeared after two decades, yet he was welcomed as dearly as any of the children, and the same was true of Angelica. Mama and her sisters simply wished her to adore fashion and beauty as much as they did.

“We can go into town and purchase a length of muslin,” said Mama with a clap of her hands. “We can bring Guinevere and make an afternoon of it with my girls.”

The others looked ready to expire from delight, and Ophelia made moves to swoon in ecstasy, positioning herself beside the sofa as though waiting for the feeling to overtake her. Not one of them proposed how they would pay for the excursion.

“We haven’t time today, and I see nothing wrong with my gown,” said Angelica, motioning toward it. “There is no use in spending the money.”

“But brown doesn’t suit you, and you could look so much better with a color that brings a rose to your cheek,” said Mama.

Angelica’s heart stung. The lady meant well. She loved her daughter. Both were true, yet the criticism was like a thorn amongst the roses. Why did she need to make herself over in their image to be acceptable? What was so very wrong with her natural complexion? Need she be at her best every hour of the day to have value?

“As I am clean and neatly turned out, what does it matter?” asked Angelica with an arch of her brow.

“You wish to be mistaken for a servant?” asked Emily.

“Is it of any significance if I am?” replied Angelica.

“Don’t be a goose,” said Mama with a huffing laugh. “Surely you wish to be admired.”

Something wriggled within her heart. Angelica refused to acknowledge it or name the sentiment, but neither could she eradicate it whilst that last word echoed in her thoughts.

“Is beauty the only manner in which I can be admired?” asked Angelica with a frown. “I had thought you valued my intelligence and talents—”

“You are being obtuse,” said Mama with a delicate frown. “You know I do not mean that. Of course, you are brilliant and worthy of admiration, but that is not the admiration I meant.”

At that, Papa released his hold on Mr. Knight’s shoulder, and moving in unison, Mama stepped to her husband’s side as he drew that arm around her.

“How do you ever expect to find love if you run away from it?” asked Mama.

“How do you expect me to find love at four and thirty?” murmured Angelica.

“Pardon?”

Angelica smiled at her mother, raising her voice enough to be heard. “You claim love can withstand any hardship, so why can it not withstand a dowdy dress and plain coiffure?”

Mama scoffed and shook her head before sending an exasperated look at her husband. “You speak sense to her.”

His arm tightened around his wife, and Papa’s expression softened as he held her eyes; his free hand took hers in his and lifted it to his lips, his gaze never straying from hers as he placed a kiss on her knuckles with all the tenderness of a courting youth. Beside them, Mr. Knight shifted in place, the hint of color in his cheeks returning as he averted his eyes, and Angelica almost felt sorry for the fellow. If that little display disconcerted him, he was bound for an uncomfortable visit.

“When I saw your mother, I was seized with such love,” whispered Papa, though his gaze never turned from his wife. “In an instant, I knew I would do everything in my power to make her mine. To spend my days by her side. To pass every minute in this mortal coil basking in her beauty.”

A sentiment, both odd and familiar, struck Angelica as her gaze drifted around the parlor, seeing the others in varying states of admiration. Helen looked eager to run off with any man who dared look at her in that fashion, and Ophelia appeared in need of smelling salts. Meanwhile, Emily pressed a hand to her stomach, her expression crumpling in the manner it always did when thinking of Rawden, whilst Thomas drew his bride closer to him, his daughter resting against his shoulder.

Could they not see the darkness seeping from Papa’s words?

How could one possibly admire a person’s heart and soul without having exchanged a single word? With everyone else sighing in contentment at the superficial declaration, Angelica couldn’t help but question her sanity; either everyone else was blind, or she was the only one intelligent enough to see the truth, and though she longed to accept the latter, it was entirely too prideful to believe herself the paragon of clear thinking and wise decisions.

Yet Father’s declaration felt wrong.

Could only beautiful people inspire such depth of affection? Surely not. But then, what did she know? Her parents had made a happy life and were devoted to each other, so clearly love at first sight bore some merit. Yet Angelica knew of a dozen other similar matches that ended up equally miserable.

Only then did Papa turn his eyes to her. “We only want you to find such felicity, our darling girl. Just as so many of your siblings have done.”

Mama gave a sigh worthy of Ophelia. “Aloysius’s wedding was so lovely that I hoped it might inspire you to shake off your stubbornness.”

“With nine siblings, there’s been a wedding at least once a year for some time, and it has yet to sway me,” replied Angelica. “I am what I am, Mama.”

A sensible spinster. Angelica’s spine straightened. Whatever doubts she might have about her philosophies, that was one she needn’t question. No matter what her parents believed about romance being a necessity of life, hers was quite happy without it. Thank you very much.

Mama’s expression fell, and Papa’s arm tightened around her. Angelica held back a sigh. This was her fault for allowing the conversation to go on as it had. Such discussions never ended well, for neither side was willing to relent, and it left the pair looking as though the worst of burdens to bear was having a daughter with an aversion to matrimony.

Then Alegría shouted, shoving Gael, and the four children fell to fighting, drawing Angelica’s attention. Reaching for the pocket watch on her chatelaine, she glanced at the hour—though it mattered little, for she was going to use the children as her escape regardless.

“The hour is growing late, and we must see to your lessons,” she called, motioning toward the door.

“Can we not stay a little longer?” whined Gael.

“If you wanted to, you ought not to have drawn my attention by fighting,” said Angelica, giving the child an arched brow.

“But I am on holiday,” grumbled Carl.

“ Fac et aliguid operis —” she began, and with all the enthusiasm of the condemned, every one of her students (both current and former) finished the saying with her, “— ut semper te dialous inveniat occupatum .”

Helen huffed. “You know better than to argue with Angelica. She repeated that phrase so much that I still find myself saying it when I’m sitting about with nothing to do.”

Though her sister said it like a condemnation, Angelica’s heart lightened at the thought. Paraphrasing the translation, she said to the children, “‘The devil likes nothing more than idle minds.’”

“Surely even the devil is allowed a holiday,” grumbled Carl.

Lowering her voice, Angelica gave him a sympathetic smile. “Yes, but the rest of the children have no such holidays. Would you help me with their lessons?”

At a hesitant nod from Carl (though the lad had no choice in the matter), she stepped around her parents and herded the children, though Ophelia’s pleadings won over Mama’s heart enough to allow her to remain. The rest of the condemned moaned and groaned, but soon, she had the four out the door, leaving the conversation behind.