Chapter 9

“I am certain you must be right,” said Miss Kerr, a hint of color coming to her cheeks as she ducked her face away from him. “You know a great many things, Mr. Knight.”

Julian couldn’t help but grin at the flattery. “I fear you give me too much credit. I do enjoy poetry, but I possess but a fraction of the knowledge I ought to have.”

“Nonsense,” she said with a shake of her head, the dark ringlets at her temples bobbing in time.

“But you haven’t answered my question, Miss Kerr. Who is your favorite poet?” he asked.

Her sweet lips drew together as she considered the question, her warm eyes drifting into the distance. “Like you, I find modern sensibilities are so much more entrancing than those of our predecessors.”

“As you have said, but who is your favorite?” Then he added with a teasing smile, “I will even allow you to choose more than one if you cannot decide.”

Miss Kerr’s considering expression came back in full force before she turned a coy grin at him. “Mr. Keats is sublime, and there is, of course, our very own Mr. Callaghan.”

“Both excellent choices,” replied Julian, though he didn’t bother to add that they were the ones he had highlighted not more than five minutes previous. It might mean nothing, as the former was popular and the latter was a local hero, but Julian couldn’t help but test her answer. “I would be remiss if I didn’t include Wordsworth in my list.”

An enthusiastic nod met that. “Of course. Such a brilliant poet.”

“But then, the classics are also inspiring. I cannot seem to go a few months without delving back into Spenser.”

Without hesitating in the slightest, Miss Kerr beamed and quickly contradicted her assertion just seconds ago. “I know precisely what you mean, Mr. Knight. Modern artists cannot exist without the past upon which to build, and Spenser’s work moves me so deeply.”

“And then, of course, there is Ellery. Simply magnificent,” he said, pulling the name from the ether.

The young lady didn’t miss a step as she nodded and heaped praise on Julian’s addition, never once showing the slightest hint that she didn’t know who Ellery was. No, she simply leapt into flattering both the fictional poet and Julian for having mentioned him.

From across the room, Ernest raised a glass in salute, and Julian forced a nod in response.

Miss Kerr was a sweet thing. All the young ladies he met were. Just as they were always accommodating, never disagreeable, and constantly eager to puff up whichever gentleman stood before them. Julian was not some blind fool; he recognized that conventional wisdom said men wanted agreeable wives, but just as he couldn’t imagine every lady enjoyed playing the role of a simpering doll, he didn’t care to be cast as a vain creature who couldn’t bear to be contradicted.

Surely disagreements were a good thing. In business, one was better served with partners and employees with differing opinions, for those perspectives often proved to be the catalyst for greater ideas. Yet no matter how he prodded Miss Kerr, the young lady remained firm in supporting every foolish and inconsistent thing he said. How was one to select a wife when so many pretended to be something they were not?

Miss Kerr gave him another adoring smile coated with honeyed words that were so sweet he was liable to get a toothache, and he silently thanked his luck when another guest interrupted the conversation, allowing him to wriggle free of it.

Turning in place, he glanced about the room; revelry and laughter abounded, allowing the last of his gloominess to subside. Miss Kerr was not the answer to his prayers as Ernest believed, but that did not mean Julian ought to surrender all hope. Mother was a sensible creature who did not demure to Father in everything, and Mrs. Callaghan seemed far too strong-willed to playact in such a manner. Surely there were others.

Julian caught sight of his mother through the doorway, standing in the corridor with someone beyond his line of sight. Though nowhere near as joyous as the others, she and Father were no longer clinging to one another as though the party might gobble them up. Shifting, he tried to see who had captured their attention, but the party was too thick, forcing him to draw closer. A peek from around the jamb showed someone was there, but it wasn’t until he was nearly atop them that he spied Miss Callaghan.

“Julian, there you are,” said Mother with a smile.

“Here I am,” he replied, glancing between the lady and his parents. “Have you been telling all my secrets to Miss Callaghan?”

That forced the lady’s brows upward as she met Julian’s eye with a scoffing expression that he was growing all too familiar with. “I know this may be difficult to comprehend, Mr. Knight, but your parents and I are intelligent people and quite capable of managing a conversation that does not revolve around you.”

Father (the traitor) laughed out loud at that, and Mother didn’t bother hiding her smile as Miss Callaghan’s eyes flashed with a challenge, which made Julian chuckle in turn.

“You do know how to humble me, Miss Callaghan,” he said, placing a hand on his chest as though to cover the wound to his pride.

“I find most of my father’s house guests require that at regular intervals,” she replied, that hint of her dry humor slipping into her tone. “Poets are too convinced of their own superiority, as though their work dwarfs all others in its importance. Even doctors, farmers, and builders ought to bow in appreciation to those grand artists. What does it matter if we are fed, housed, and healed if we have not poetry?”

Julian straightened, and though he hadn’t been entirely certain during their previous “conversation,” that quick statement brought the truth to the forefront. Miss Callaghan thought he was a poet. And it was clear she held little respect for the profession.

Mother seemed to notice the slip as well and began to speak, but Julian hurried to ask, “And what have you been discussing if not my brilliance?”

There was no need to reveal the truth quite yet. Miss Callaghan had eagerly allowed him to flounder in his misconception, and it might do her some good to suffer the same fate.

“Miss Callaghan was sharing some recommendations for our visit,” said Father. “Apparently, there are quite a few sights to see near Haydon.”

“She has been so very generous with her time,” added Mother with a bright smile for the lady in question, which Miss Callaghan returned.

“There are limited options during the winter months, but if you bundle yourself up properly, there are some lovely walks and drives,” she offered.

Mother held up a tiny notebook she’d tucked away in her reticule, which bore several pencil scratches on it. “I have to say that you’ve made them all sound so lovely. Even if we were to finish the list, we most certainly need to return in the summer to see them in other lights.”

“In August when the heather is blooming,” added Miss Callaghan. “That is when the moors are at their finest.”

The pair continued to discuss plans as one does in such situations, with grand visions of the future that one knows will not come to pass, and Julian couldn’t help but feel a stirring of kindness toward the lady who had engaged his parents in discussion.

Miss Callaghan straightened and glanced toward the dining room door. “Maggie has arrived with more of those biscuits I was telling you about, Mr. Knight. Let me fetch you one.”

“Nonsense,” he said with a shake of his head. “I have two perfectly good legs and can do so myself.”

“And would you bring me a cup of cider and another slice of that orange cake? And some more of the fruitcake,” asked Mother before turning to Miss Callaghan. “Which was positively delicious.”

“Maggie will be delighted to hear it,” she replied with a grin. “And I believe she was bringing an apple tart as well, which you ought to try. It’s heavenly.”

Those were magic words, indeed, for Mother couldn’t resist anything baked with apples. Slipping her arm through her husband’s, she said, “I’d best accompany you and see this tart for myself.”

“As you wish, my dear,” he said, patting her hand as they wandered after the Callaghans’ maid like the fabled children of Hamelin followed the Pied Piper’s tune.

Miss Callaghan watched them go with a faint smile gracing her lips, and Julian felt the strongest urge to needle her. It was an odd sentiment, yet he couldn’t help wondering what her reaction would be if he prodded her a touch.

“If you wished to get me alone, you needed only to ask,” he said with a rascally grin. “There’s no need for this pretense.”

The lady sighed as though his company was the greatest burden a person could bear. “Are you going to be absurd now?”

“You speak as though it is a given fact that I will resort to absurdities, yet you do not know me well enough to suppose such a thing.”

“I know the sort of men my father attracts, Mr. Knight,” she replied in a dry tone. “And I cannot decide if you are attempting a flirtation because you have an incessant need to make every woman fall in love with you—like so many of your kind—or if you are attempting to win my favor because you wish to remain in my father’s good graces—which I assure you isn’t necessary, for he likes who he likes, regardless of my feelings.”

“And it cannot be because I find you amusing?” he asked with a raised brow.

“Even my family—who adore me—will be the first to say I am not amusing.”

“And I cannot have a mind of my own?”

Miss Callaghan huffed, her lips pulling into a smile of disbelief. “I am not saying it is impossible, but I have seen plenty of your kind parade through our home, and in my experience, most ‘artistic’ types believe themselves to be utterly unique and individual, yet somehow they end up mimicking the same behaviors and tastes as the rest. People are fairly predictable, Mr. Knight.”

Julian held back a laugh, for though he would agree in many ways, her argument presupposed that he was something other than a man of business with a fondness for poetry.

“Though I do wish to be in your father’s good graces, Miss Callaghan, I assure you I am teasing you purely because I find you amusing.” Julian paused as he considered the situation. “And to hopefully soften you enough so that you will accept another apology without turning me out on my ear again.”

“Do not tack an insult to the end of your apology, and I shan’t do so, Mr. Knight,” she replied.

Julian huffed, a chuckle escaping at that snappy retort, for her expression made it clear she wasn’t jesting, and he couldn’t say he didn’t deserve it. But then, though Miss Callaghan merited another apology, she had earned a little retribution as well. If she thought him a poet, then perhaps he ought to play the part.

“Please, my lady, I do beseech thee that thou mayest grant me thy favor and forgiveness,” he said, drawing upon every expectation she might house for the poets she disliked so very much. Julian kept from sweeping into a kneeling position before her, but only just. Cobbling together a few hasty lines, he said in his best tone of melodrama, “Oh, friend, whose heart I’ve wounded deep—By words unthinking, rash, and steep—Forgive the tongue that spoke amiss, And let our souls find peace in this.”

Miss Callaghan watched him with narrowed eyes. “Is that your attempt to win my good opinion? I am more tempted than ever to toss you out on your ear.”

Lifting his hands, Julian covered the threatened organs, and for all that she affected an annoyed countenance, a smile brightened her eyes at that moment.

Lowering his hands once more, Julian dropped the act and added, “Truly, I am sorry for having spoken so rashly. I hadn’t intended to offend you.”

“That is more like it,” she said with a regal nod, her eyes still sparkling with a hidden smile. But when she spoke no further, Julian cleared his throat, nodding at her. Miss Callaghan merely watched him in return.

“Is there nothing you wish to say?” he prodded.

That quiet mirth faded as her ever-judging brow rose majestically. “Are you wishing for an apology? I did not lose my temper nor speak unkindly to you, Mr. Knight, so I have no reason to do so. I am not ashamed of my behavior, and if your feelings are bruised because you disliked the truths I leveled at you, that is your burden to bear. Not mine.”

Julian didn’t know what to say to such a resolute statement, for Miss Callaghan was not jesting nor did she appear to waver in the slightest.

“You required a lesson in etiquette, and I was quite amenable to delivering it,” she added.

“What lesson was that?” asked Mother, her hands now laden with drinks and treats. Father came up beside her, and the pair glanced between their son and Miss Callaghan; Julian opened his mouth to explain, but he hesitated a fraction too long, and the lady eagerly filled the silence.

“A lesson on why it is unwise to tell a woman she might be appealing if she put more effort into her appearance,” said Miss Callaghan with her usual dry delivery, her eyes sliding to his with that wicked humor gleaming there.

“Julian Knight, you said that?” asked Mother, her tone filled with the sort of horror one reserved for the very gravest of confessions. Meanwhile, Father’s eyes widened, and he stared at his son as though bidding him a final farewell.

But once again, Julian spoke too slowly, for Miss Callaghan eagerly unraveled the tale, starting from the initial mistake that had required him to apologize the first time, recounting the basic components with embellishment befitting her father’s profession. Not a lie, to be certain, but it left Julian looking like the worst of villains in a Gothic tale. And with each gasp from his mother and reproachful look from his father, Miss Callaghan’s eyes brightened in that quiet way of hers when she was enjoying a good tease.

Julian had come looking to twit her, and she’d turned the tables on him.

“My thanks, Miss Callaghan,” said Mother, handing over her plate to Father so she could grab the lady’s hand. “He may be a grown man of six and thirty, but he still requires a firm hand to guide him from time to time.” Then, sending him another scathing look, Mother scowled at him. “And you, Julian! You ought to know better than to comment about a lady’s appearance unless it is a compliment.”

Father grimaced at that, offering the only consolation Julian was going to receive from this group, for it was the look of someone who had made many such mistakes throughout his life and feared on behalf of the rising generation, who were bound to fall into the same traps.

“You have turned my mother against me,” said Julian.

“You did that on your own,” replied Miss Callaghan.

“Too right, my girl,” said Mother, before turning her attention to her son with a lift of her chin. “And I want you on your best behavior for the rest of your stay. I do not want to hear of you telling Miss Callaghan that she looks fatigued or some other nonsense.”

The whole situation was ridiculous, but that only made it all the more amusing. In her reserved manner, Miss Callaghan was smug and mocking as his mother scolded him, and Julian fought to keep himself looking properly repentant. Here was no demuring lady, bending to his every opinion and whim. Even if it was in a reserved manner, Miss Callaghan was lively and quick-witted, and as she’d just proven, the lady wouldn’t lie to soothe his feelings.

Father pulled out his pocket watch and turned it to his wife, whose eyes widened.

“My goodness, it has grown late. We ought to be on our way back to Fellburn,” she said.

“It is still rather early,” said Julian. “Not even midnight yet.”

“We told the coachman to have the carriage ready now,” said Father. “We didn’t want to risk getting stuck on the winter roads.”

Miss Callaghan nodded. “At this time of year, it is best to be cautious, and if need be, do not hesitate to return. We can find you a place to sleep should you require it.”

“You are a dear,” said Mother, patting Miss Callaghan on the arm. “I do hope we will see you again before we return home.”

In quick order, the pair bade their farewells, and Julian was left standing alone with Miss Callaghan. But before he could think what to say, she turned on her heel and pointed her feet toward the stairs.

“Are you leaving, as well?” he asked.

“I am.”

“But this is your family’s party.”

Miss Callaghan gave him a half-smile. “That may be, but I oversee my nieces’ and nephews’ education, which means I am required to rise early. Not all of us spend our days reading and lazing about. Some of us have responsibilities to see to.”

“Such as paying me back the coins you stole from me,” he said, hiding his smile as her eyes brightened.

Leaning close, she whispered, “The coins are gone, sir. You must give up this fixation.”

“Is that so?”

Miss Callaghan nodded, her gaze sparkling with laughter.

“What if I offered a trade? I will forgive the debt if you agree to go on a drive with me tomorrow.” The words came out before he knew he was going to speak them, but Julian was quite pleased with the prospect. Miss Callaghan was far more interesting than any of the ladies he’d met of late, and even if they spent the entire time teasing one another, it would prove diverting.

Julian watched her closely. He’d seen enough to know he wasn’t going to get a grand display, but there were little signs—most especially in her eyes. Which were fixed on him at present. A spark of interest? A flash of amusement? Or might they warm with pleasure?

Miss Callaghan gave a heavy sigh and patted him on the chest. “And now you’ve gone and done it, Mr. Knight.”

With a shake of her head, she turned on her heel.

Julian’s brow furrowed. “What have I done?”

Pausing, she turned to look at him with pity in her eyes. “You’d almost convinced me you were different from Papa’s other houseguests, but you are as unoriginal as the rest. No true imagination whatsoever.”

Miss Callaghan swung about and stepped onto the lowest stairs, but Julian was on her heels.

“I don’t understand what you mean,” he said.

Gripping the banister, she glanced over her shoulder at him. “You are not the first to arrive at Stoneleigh Cottage, meet Ernest Callaghan’s many daughters, and anticipate some whirlwind romance to inspire you and your work. I am relieved you set your sights on me rather than Helen, as she is far too young and eager, but the urge will pass soon enough. I promise.”

And without another word or backward glance, she swept up the stairs, her head held high. The party boomed around him, and Julian stood there like a dunce as one question bounced about his thoughts, demanding an answer that he knew he hadn’t the means of securing.

“‘Not the first?’” he called.