Chapter 6

P ride goeth before a fall. A proverb as old as antiquity. Many philosophers and poets attempted to build upon that sentiment, expanding it into something more profound, but there was no need to embellish such perfect truth. But simply spoken advice wasn’t always simply applied, and Julian found himself lingering on the stairs that led to Miss Callaghan’s domain.

His trunk had been neatly deposited in his chamber. The family had dispersed. Julian had a moment to himself, and there was no excuse not to seize the opportunity. Yet he found himself grasping for any excuse to return the way he’d come.

The children weren’t a quiet lot, yet there was no noise coming from the nursery, so perhaps their aunt had taken them elsewhere. Yet Julian knew it wasn’t true. Besides, he ought to make certain of it—which meant knocking on the door. Forcing his feet forward, he mounted the landing and rapped his knuckles against the wood; a soft voice called to him, and Julian entered to find the feral pack tamed.

Two tables filled the center, with one being the perfect size for the little ones (who sat there, practicing their letters on slates) and the other suited for the older children and their teacher, though only the latter used it; the others sat upon the small cot against the far wall, their noses firmly pressed in books.

Despite the low roof, the room was surprisingly open. The attic had been converted for the use of the children, stretching the entire length of two of the cottage’s bedchambers and allowing it not only more space but more windows. Light filtered through the glass, reflecting off the plastered walls, upon which were affixed drawings and paintings, giving splashes of colors and textures to the spartan space. With a fire happily crackling away in the grate, it was far more pleasant than one might expect.

In fact, it was charming.

“May I help you, sir ?” asked Miss Callaghan without looking up from her work, and he was certain that only her seated position kept her from bobbing.

“I apologize, I was gathering wool,” he said.

“That seems to be a common occurrence with you.”

“It seems so.” Julian’s lips twisted into a half-smile as he chuckled at himself. Wandering over to her table, he nodded at an unoccupied chair, and she motioned toward it as she gathered up the papers she’d been scribbling upon, spiriting them away and placing them out of sight.

“How may I be of assistance?” she asked as she turned her attention back to him. Miss Callaghan’s eyes dropped to his fresh waistcoat, and she added, “I haven’t seen to your button yet—”

Julian’s eyes widened as he held up a staying hand. “Good heavens, that is not what I wanted to see you about. I gave the waistcoat to the maid.”

Pausing, he cleared his throat as his foot began to bounce in place; thankfully, with the table in the way, she couldn’t spy that nervous tick. Though he was making such a muck of things that his discomfort had to be clear.

“I wanted to apologize,” he said.

Miss Callaghan’s expression didn’t alter one jot—except her eyes. Though at a distance, they appeared to be a simple blue, in closer proximity they were a mixture of different hues with lighter ones around the iris drifting out into darker ones on the edge. And those striking eyes were laughing at him. Yet again.

Then her lips shifted, stretching into a warm smile. “You have nothing to apologize for, Mr. Knight. A mistake was made, that is all. And in all honesty, I ought to thank you, as it was quite amusing.”

Julian chuckled and shook his head. “I have been thinking back to my behavior and wondering if I did or said anything rude, and I’ve sent quite a few silent prayers of gratitude that my parents taught me to treat even servants with respect.”

“You needn’t fear on that score. You were commanding but not rude.”

The last of the tension released from his shoulders, and Julian gave her a wry smile. “Well, thank heavens. Though I have to wonder if my gratuity ever made it into Maggie’s hands.”

Miss Callaghan straightened, her head tilting to the side as she studied him with furrowed brows. “Did you give her one? I only recall you handing me several coins without any explanation. I did think it odd—though exceptionally generous of you—and I was quite happy to put it to good use.”

Julian’s brows rose at that. “It was intended for the staff.”

Affecting a puzzled expression, the lady blinked at him. “But you gave it to me, and as you know, I am not staff.”

“Yes, but I thought you were.”

“You didn’t say so at the time. All I know is that my father’s guest inexplicably gave me money.”

It was clear from her tone that the lady wasn’t going to budge, but Julian couldn’t help but wish to prod the issue once more. Try as he might, he couldn’t affect the same aloofness Miss Callaghan embraced so easily, but he attempted to stifle his smile at this ridiculous conversation.

“You would steal money from your maid-of-all-work?” he asked with a furrowed brow.

“Once more, I will remind you that the coins were never hers. At no time from the moment you entered our home to now did they ever come into contact with Maggie. You placed them in my hand without explanation or caveat. Had you given any indication that they were for the staff, I would’ve ensured that they were delivered to the appropriate person, but though I have attempted to develop my capabilities as a soothsayer and mind-reader, I fear I lack any talents in those departments.”

“And now that I have clarified my intentions?” he pressed.

Lifting her chin in mock challenge, she replied, “Then I would be shocked to discover that my father’s dear friend and guest is fond of stealing back the gifts he freely gives. I fear it would break my heart.” Miss Callaghan leaned closer and lowered her voice. “And I would admit that I have already spent the money.”

Julian huffed a laugh, his brows shooting upwards. “Already?”

“I had a shopping excursion planned, and though I had intended to use my coins, yours suited quite nicely,” she said with a prim nod. “They are gone now, and I am certain a gentleman of your esteem wouldn’t dare demand a lady surrender her funds to replace the ones he so foolishly lost.”

There was no helping matters. Julian laughed. It was the only thing he could do when such logic was wielded against him—especially when delivered in such a dry manner.

“I concede, my dear Miss Callaghan. It seems my money is well and truly gone, and I shall have to ensure that Maggie is properly compensated for the extra work she will have to do on my behalf,” he said.

“That is for the best,” she replied. “I would hate for her to neglect your button.”

“Is she known for taking out her vengeance on the mending?”

“Hell hath no fury like a maid denied her gratuities.”

Julian’s smile broadened, and he chuckled. “I see now that you were most certainly mocking me whilst I was bumbling around earlier. It seems you have quite the wit, Miss Callaghan.”

The lady’s brows rose. “You find that surprising?”

“Only because your humor is subtler than your family. At first glance, you do not seem the type to enjoy teasing,” said Julian with a shrug.

“Ah, yes. When one has a dowdy appearance, then one cannot possibly enjoy a laugh.”

The shift in tone was slight. So much so that Julian nearly missed it. But the warmth of her restrained laughter fled, leaving a chill to those words. Furrows pulled at his forehead as he considered yet another faux pas he’d stumbled into.

“I hadn’t meant to imply any such thing. And I do wish to offer my apologies for the conversation earlier…” Julian stumbled over the words, wondering how to describe the situation without wading further into uncomfortable territory, but when Miss Callaghan merely stared back at him, he forced himself ahead. “I wanted to express my…discomfort over your discomfort when your family were…”

Silence hung for a moment, and Miss Callaghan’s expression slackened, though a hint of a smirk played at the corner of her lips. “When my family criticized my fashion preferences, which make me so homely that it is little wonder you mistook me for someone who spends her days scrubbing chamber pots and cleaning fireplaces?”

Julian winced. “When I imagined my stay with your family, I hadn’t thought to begin it on such poor footing.”

Miss Callaghan’s lips pulled into a true grin. “You needn’t worry on that score, Mr. Knight. I found it quite amusing, and you realized your mistake quick enough.”

“Not quick enough for my liking,” he replied with an answering grin that grew as Miss Callaghan’s eyes sparked with mirth. “But I do hope you weren’t embarrassed by it or what followed. Their critique was kindhearted, but it grew too pointed for my comfort.”

“They mean well, but it is an old argument,” said Miss Callaghan with a dismissive wave. Her elder niece peeked up from over the cover of her book, and the lady playfully narrowed her eyes at the girl. “My family cannot conceive of someone who prefers comfort to fashion.”

Bella snapped her book closed, holding it tight to her chest as she watched her aunt with an eagerness that couldn’t be denied. “Blue would be so becoming on you.”

Miss Callaghan arched her brow at the girl. “So your mama has told me since she could first form words.”

Julian glanced between the pair as they teased each other back and forth. “They are right, you know.”

Stiffening, the lady turned her gaze back to him. “Pardon?”

Examining her features, Julian nodded. “Blue would suit you beautifully, as your eyes are your best feature. You needn’t bedeck yourself in ribbons or spend hours curling your locks, but a better cut and color of gown would do wonders.”

Bella clutched her book as her brother’s wide eyes rose to match hers, and the pair stared at him with a hint of surprise in their gaze, though their aunt watched Julian with the same impassable expression she’d worn since the moment he’d arrived at Stoneleigh Cottage.

“You think I might finally land myself a beau if I put a bit more effort into my toilette?” she asked with such a pronounced note of curiosity that he recognized the danger ahead even without Bella and Carl shaking their heads at him.

“I hadn’t meant to imply another insult, Miss Callaghan—”

The lady rose to her feet, cutting off his words, and Julian moved to follow, his manners pulling him upright without his needing to think about it.

“I allow my family that liberty because they are my family,” she said with a narrowed look. “You, sir, are barely an acquaintance. Just another of my father’s beloved acolytes, who has come to worship at his feet and waste away his life with poetry. You know not a single thing about me and haven’t earned the right to give me any advice—let alone criticize my appearance.”

Miss Callaghan stepped forward, driving Julian backward to the door. His hands lifted between them, but it didn’t stop her.

“I hadn’t meant it as a criticism,” said Julian with a frown. “Quite the opposite. Your features could be quite fetching—”

“Do not say another word, Mr. Callaghan, unless you wish to spend the rest of your visit here apologizing to me,” she said, her eyes growing steely as the children pretended to be thoroughly occupied with their schoolwork. “I know this may be difficult for a poet to understand, as your sort prizes beauty over substance, but I do not dress for anyone’s pleasure but mine.”

Julian didn’t dare speak as she paused, and he allowed himself to be herded toward the door as she narrowed her eyes on him.

“Do you spend hours at your looking glass?” she demanded.

The answer seemed obvious, but the lady waited for him to speak—though not long enough for him to place the period at the end of his answer. “No—”

“No, you do not. So why should I?” she asked. Julian recognized the question was rhetorical, so he remained silent. For once. “Your kind views romance as sacrosanct, but I have no interest in trusting the fickle feelings of a man who will only deign to consider me a prospect if I flirt and flounce about, pretending as though my beauty is a natural gift from On High whilst hiding pots of rouge in my reticule. Fool that I am, I prize character and intelligence far more than a porcelain complexion and a fetching figure.”

Julian didn’t know when they’d arrived at the threshold, but there he stood in the corridor, staring at her through the doorway. Never once did the lady look to lose her temper, though there was a flash of it burning in her gaze as she shut the door in his face.

Shoulders falling, Julian stared at the wood impediment.

“I didn’t claim appearance was more important than strength of character,” he called. But that earned him no response, and Julian couldn’t say whether he was relieved or disappointed.