Chapter 7

T here was Northumberland, and then there was Northumberland. Uneducated Southerners (which, from their county’s perspective, included the entirety of England) believed there to be little difference between the vast stretches of moorland and forest that comprised their county, but in truth, Newcastle matched the likes of Bath, Sheffield, and Nottingham, and with their economy growing rapidly, Julian wagered it wouldn’t be long before his home numbered amongst the largest cities in England.

Newcastle was no country village, and Julian had been raised amongst the society there, which may not boast grand offerings like London but fared well in its own right. Yet Southerners often believed him to be a poor country mouse when, in fact, his birthplace was several times larger than theirs.

Julian had never understood why people believed such things, but crushed into the Callaghans’ parlor, he had to admit he’d been guilty of that same misunderstanding. As it was a village with no more than a few hundred to its name, he’d imagined Haydon’s festivities to be more subdued and quieter than his usual fare; however, though the Callaghans’ guests did not number as many as one might see at a grand party in Newcastle, what they lacked in numbers, they made up in exuberance.

Stoneleigh Cottage was not a large building, but the Callaghans had cleared away the bulk of the furniture and dedicated the entire main floor to their guests, and with the doors between the dining room and parlor thrown wide open, they managed to secure a decent space for entertaining.

With so many children and spouses, the Callaghans made up a good portion of the attendees, but at least another twenty were added to the mix. There was no space for dancing (which was bemoaned by more than one of their kin), but Mrs. Fitzherbert sat at the piano, demonstrating why she was the preeminent music teacher in the area—though if Julian were to guess, that was also due to her being the only one.

The sideboard in the dining room was laden with offerings, the scent of cinnamon, cloves, and fruit filling the air as cups of wassail and cider were passed about, and though it was still too early to festoon the cottage with Christmas greenery, the feeling of the holiday clung to every nook and cranny, making up for the lack of decor.

Julian had thought the evening would be bereft without parlor games or proper dancing, but the guests milled about with reckless abandon, moving from one room to the other as their laughter rang in the air. Ernest poured him yet another drink, and Julian quickly drank it deep, reveling in the warmth of the liquid as his friend’s beaming smile swept through him.

One could hardly think from the noise, yet Julian couldn’t stop grinning. Pockets of conversation cropped up throughout the house, each surrounding art, music, poetry, literature, and anything else that might delight the creatively minded, and the guests drifted from one to the other, basking in their shared love and the warmth of the holiday season.

“No, no, no,” said Julian, jerking his glass away as Ernest attempted to fill it once more. “If I have any more I shall burst.”

The fellow laughed and clapped him on the shoulder, nearly toppling Julian over in his exuberance. “I would rather die from such indulgences than live a long life without having tasted all that the world has to offer.”

“That may be, but I do not wish to perish tonight,” replied Julian, but before he could say another word Mrs. Callaghan began plying him with mincemeat pies and biscuits as Mr. Hepplewhite expounded on the imagery and themes of Donne and Marvell.

The home was thrumming with energy, the feeling zipping through him like a friction machine. Only three days so far into his visit, yet Julian felt as though a month had passed, for the Callaghans were always doing and enjoying something. Quiet was not a word one associated with Stoneleigh Cottage, and though Julian’s body cried out for a respite, his soul sang from the thrill of it all.

Until his gaze fell to his parents.

Hidden in a corner, they stared out at the gathering like gawkers at a menagerie. Though a few guests tried to engage them in conversation, any attempts died quickly, as Mother and Father seemed as approachable as skittish horses.

Julian glanced about, but no one seemed to notice the pair, and he struggled not to tug at his cravat as it tightened around his neck. He didn’t know why they’d accepted the invitation if they were going to turn their noses up at the offerings; simple though the evening may be, he longed for them to throw themselves into the revelries and embrace the havey-cavey nature of the Callaghans’ home. It mightn’t be all that was proper at times (the guests were a touch boisterous), but how could one look upon such joyful exuberance with disdain?

Setting his cup and saucer on an obliging shelf alongside several others that had gathered there throughout the night, Julian cast a look at his host. “Please excuse me, but I ought to speak with my parents.”

Ernest cast a look in their direction before leaning close, though he couldn’t lower his voice and still be heard above the din. “Do not worry about them. If they prefer to stand alone, then let them. They have a carriage to take them home when they wish it.”

Julian frowned and glanced at them once more.

“Trust me when I say that you cannot force another to enjoy themselves, and it is best not to try it,” added Ernest, placing an arm around his shoulder. “Some people are not suited for parties.” Pausing, the fellow reconsidered that with an impish grin. “Most especially a Callaghan party.”

With a wry smile, Julian shook his head. “When you listed the guests for tonight’s soiree, I didn’t believe you could fit them all in.”

Ernest shrugged. “It is always better to invite too many than too few.” Then, with a nudge toward another part of the room, the gentleman nodded toward a young lady. “I have someone I wish to introduce you to.”

And that was when Julian’s cravat tried to strangle him. “Pardon?”

“Don’t be missish,” said Ernest with a laugh as he downed another cup of cider. “A gentleman like you ought to have married long ago. I don’t think a poet can truly understand the vastness of experience without finding love, and you’d best do it sooner rather than later. I do not know why you’ve waited so long.”

“I haven’t had the means to marry,” said Julian with a grimace.

“Surely, love cannot be constrained. Nothing should stop a person from pursuing it—for what is life without it?” he asked with a wrinkle of his nose.

“True, but it is irresponsible to pursue a lady if you haven’t the means to provide for her, and I fear it has taken me quite a few years to be financially stable enough to support a family.”

Ernest’s head jerked back, his brows rising. “I know you have some rather fastidious notions, but I hadn’t thought you so restricted as to believe you must have a lavish home before you are willing to consider the prospect.”

“No, but neither do I wish to subject my wife to vagrancy and starvation,” replied Julian.

At that point, Mrs. Callaghan passed by with more sweets and biscuits, plying Julian with several more, and Ernest seized the opportunity and took hold of his wife.

“What does that matter?” asked Ernest, placing a kiss on his wife’s neck, his lips lingering on the skin. Julian’s cheeks heated, his eyes darting away from the intimate gesture, though the couple seemed not to notice in the slightest as Mrs. Callaghan stepped further into his embrace, her eyes meeting her husband’s with an invitation that one didn’t expect to see in mixed company. It was both heartwarming and disconcerting to witness.

Turning his attention back to Julian, Ernest added, “Love is more important than money. Income is naught but a minor detail and should never be a deciding factor in your plans. You’ll sort it out. Even now, our family struggles to make ends meet, yet we are happy as can be.”

“I do agree with the sentiment, but I would argue there is a balance between prudence and recklessness,” replied Julian as he gently avoided Mrs. Callaghan’s attempts to stuff more sweetmeats into his hand.

“But why are we talking about such somber subjects?” asked Ernest, straightening before stealing another nibble of his wife. “As you have said, you are well established now, and we have a bevy of beauties for you to choose from over the next few weeks. Perhaps one of them might catch your eye.”

Julian couldn’t help smiling at that as Ernest put an arm around his shoulders and led him toward the waiting Miss Kerr.

***

The air rang. Or perhaps it was just her ears. Angelica couldn’t say for certain, as it was impossible to think amid this chaos. Even squeezed into a corner of the dining room, she felt forever in the way, always trodding upon others or being trod upon.

Why must their gatherings be a crush? It was a ridiculous thing to ask even in her thoughts, for the answer was the same any time she questioned her family’s reasoning. To their thinking, anything less was insipid, lacking exuberance and a variety of conversations; but to hers, what was the purpose if one couldn’t hear what one’s neighbor was saying?

Straightening, Angelica tried to release the strain from her back, but it was hopeless.

She rose to her tiptoes to spy the food, reassuring herself once more that everything was in order; Maggie couldn't manage all the guests’ requests whilst also refreshing the food, and though assisting in that fashion did land Angelica in the role of “maid” of a sort, she was happy to have something to do. For all that she’d known the people in this house her entire life, she had little in common with those whose company her family prized.

The cider required refilling soon, and Angelica made note to fetch another basinful from the kitchens. Not even an hour into the evening, and they’d already refilled it once—which was easy enough to see from the raucous laughter surrounding her. A burst rang out to her left, causing her to flinch away, and she rubbed at her forehead, though it did nothing to ease the strain.

Just a few more hours, and it would be over. And then she would need to face an entirely new gauntlet when the Christmas celebrations began in earnest.

Yes, her head was starting to pound.

Drawing a breath through her nose, Angelica struggled past the writhing mass stuffed into their overly small dining room and stepped into the corridor. While it was equally cramped, there was a sanctuary that allowed her a moment to herself without committing the cardinal sin in the Callaghan family of leaving the party early. Weaving through the crowd with a constant string of apologies on her lips, she ducked up the stairs, which were empty.

Climbing to the landing, Angelica slipped out of sight—and straight into her sister. Guinevere stood nearly chest to chest with a gentleman who was most decidedly not her husband, her hand resting upon his lapel as she fiddled with the edge of the fabric. Their voices were low enough that Angelica couldn’t catch their conversation, but the words were inconsequential in the face of their cozy situation, tucked away from the crowd.