Chapter 16

Callum gazed out of the window. It was afternoon, the sky leaden grey over the garden. He was in the drawing room, trying to read a book and relax while most of the guests took a turn about the garden, but he was too restless for reading. His mind went back to the events of the morning repeatedly, thoughts of decorating the ballroom with Miss Rothwell lingering in his mind.

“Your Grace?” the butler’s voice in the doorway made Callum jump. He sat up straight, closing the book on his lap with some annoyance.

“Yes?” he asked briskly.

“Your Grace? What are your instructions should it snow? Mr Randell has asked for your direction.”

“Ah, you mean about the stables?” Callum got to his feet. “I shall attend to it directly,” he added, his heart thudding. It was dark outside and as he looked through the window, the first flakes floated down.

He hurried downstairs just as the guests who had been on an afternoon jaunt about the grounds, crowded into the entranceway.

“Oh! So enchanting!” Lady Bronham was saying loudly to Mother as they walked in.

“It is truly Christmastide now,” Lady Millicent said excitedly.

“I believe we should take a coach ride!” Mother declared, glancing at Callum as he hurried to the entrance to the staff corridor. “To view the estate beneath the snow. It is quite charming.”

“Oh! Oh, yes, Your Grace!” Lady Millicent exclaimed, sounding delighted. “Oh, do let us. What a delightful notion.”

Callum winced and shot an annoyed look at his mother, but the other guests—including Mr Rothwell and his father—were all chattering about it excitedly and Callum sighed. He would have to indulge his mother just this once. Besides, he thought, his heart thudding swiftly in his chest, he did own a barouche. Once the estate had started to show signs of prosperity, he had indulged his whims and purchased one for sightseeing jaunts. It would be the perfect coach for himself and Miss Rothwell to enjoy the wintry scenes together.

He hurried to the kitchen to meet with Mr Randell.

“Have the walls gone over carefully, and any chink where the air gets in filled up,” he instructed his stable master briskly. “If the snow is blowing in, have the windows shut, especially on Buttercup’s stall. If the snow falls straight down, leave them open for an hour so that the fresh air can circulate.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Mr Randell bowed low.

Callum thanked him and hurried upstairs. In the entranceway, he found a milling group of twelve or so guests, all donning pelisses or greatcoats and chatting in lively, happy voices. The sight of the snow had clearly lifted everyone’s spirits.

His gaze scanned the space, seeking Miss Rothwell. He heard happy laughter, and he spotted Miss Rothwell and her two sisters in the corner, hurriedly tugging on bonnets and pelisses. Harriet was with them. He crossed the room and bowed low.

“Miss Rothwell,” he addressed her politely. “If I may, I invite you to join me in the estate barouche.” His heart raced; hands damp with nerves.

Miss Rothwell stared at him, her cheeks going red. She looked away shyly, then her gaze met his once more. He could see delight in her expression and his heart soared. “I had thought that we would go in the family coach, but, well, I...” she stammered.

“Go with the duke,” Mr Rothwell said quickly. “Georgie and Isabel and I shall think of something.” He grinned. The duke looked at him frowningly, but he could not help but be grateful to him for persuading Miss Rothwell to say yes.

“Yes. I would be pleased to accept, Your Grace,” Miss Rothwell said seriously.

“Grand,” Callum said swiftly. He reached up to fetch his greatcoat from the hat stand and shrugged it on. Then he donned his charcoal brocade top-hat and hurried down to the kitchen to find the coachman.

Miss Rothwell was ready, her brown pelisse matched with a bonnet with brown ribbons. Callum’s heart soared. Her cheeks were flushed with the cold where she waited on the step, her eyes dancing with excitement.

The other guests were waiting as their own equipages were harnessed up. The big Landau was ready, and he watched as Mother clambered in, casting him a frosty glance. Next were Lord and Lady Bronham, followed by Lady Millicent and a young lord whose name escaped him, though he was the brother of Millicent’s friend, Lady Amelia. Both of them clambered in as well.

The barouche rolled out next, led by his favourite team, two pure black coach-horses. The hood was down, which was what he had requested. He helped Miss Rothwell up, then took the reins and set off at a slow walk down the drive.

The snow was falling fast, the grass already covered with a thin layer of white. The air smelled crisp and cool, and the snow fluttered down like feathers as they rode.

They moved through the front gate and then on down the road. He guided the horses left to where the road led through the estate parkland. Snow dusted the bushes and trees, flurrying down onto them. He turned to glance at Miss Rothwell. She was gazing, wide-eyed, at the woodlands, her cheeks pink and her eyes bright with wonder. Snow fluttered down onto her bonnet, and a light dusting of it settled on her pelisse. She looked so beautiful.

He was not sure where the Landau was—it had probably followed the other road that curved to the right. They were alone in a wondrous white landscape. The only sound was the shush-shush of the coach wheels on the snowy surface and the muffled tread of the horses. The world was a silent winter land, full of magic and silvery snow.

“It’s quite something,” he murmured as he slowed the horses to a walk. He gazed out over the landscape.

“It’s so beautiful,” Miss Rothwell whispered. “So, so beautiful.”

She was sitting close to him, her shoulder pressing against his. The coach jolted, making her slide closer to him. He stopped breathing for a moment.

He altered his grip on the reins, slowing the horses to a walk. They passed by a snow-covered field, the expanse pure, unmarked white. Miss Rothwell gasped and pointed.

“Look! A hare!”

Callum smiled as he spotted the furry creature darting across the white expanse, leaving a trail of delicate footprints behind it. He glanced at Miss Rothwell, her radiant smile lighting up his soul.

The coach continued down the road, moving through the forest.

They reached a crossroad, and Callum swore under his breath as another vehicle passed them. The coach was also a two-seater, but a smaller, lighter one than their barouche, and his eyes widened as he recognised it. It belonged to his sister. Mr Rothwell was holding the driving reins. Callum saw Mr Rothwell’s eyes widen in alarm as he spotted their coach and who was driving it.

“Perdition take him,” Callum said softly, not sure whether to be impressed by the fellow’s audacity or annoyed. Mr Rothwell was risking Harriet by riding in the light coach that could turn easily on a slippery path, but then, he had to agree that he was driving at little more than a walk, and doing well with the pair of coach-horses. He knew how to drive a coach, that much was clear.

“Sebastian has always been a little, um...” Miss Rothwell said with a small smile.

“Cheeky?” Callum asked.

Miss Rothwell laughed. “A good word,” she replied. “And a fairly accurate description.”

They both laughed. The small two-seater coach was ahead of them on the road, and Callum kept a good thirty feet or so behind, both to maintain the sense of being alone on the road and to avoid Mr Rothwell being tempted to go faster.

They rounded a corner, moving past a stand of fir trees, all covered in wintry white. The other coach was out of sight, and they were alone in the wintry landscape.

“So beautiful,” Miss Rothwell murmured.

“Mm.” Callum stared around. The coach had slowed to a walk, and they moved slowly, each new vista unfolding at a gentle pace before them. The snow was falling more slowly, the flakes drifting down silently past their wide-eyed gazes to dust the trees and bushes like powder.

They rolled past an inn, the windows spilling bright golden light onto the snow, then crossed a bridge and moved down a hill, moving back towards the easterly boundary of the estate. The road moved under dense trees and Callum let the horses have their head for a moment, the ground beneath them snowless and firm footing.

“Oh!” Miss Rothwell gasped, the fast pace tugging at her bonnet and causing it to fall backwards to rest on her shoulders. She giggled, her thick hair tugging partly loose from the confining bun. Callum slowed the horses and then turned to her.

He stopped breathing for a moment. Her lovely hair was tumbled around her face, her cheeks flushed, breathless from the excitement and intense cold.

“Are you quite well?” he asked softly, unable to look away. Her hazel eyes locked with his and he gazed into their depths. She was indescribably lovely, and so close that he could so easily have put his arms around her shoulders and drawn her into a kiss.

“I am quite well,” she said in a soft tone.

“Are you sure?” he asked gently. His hand moved off the reins—the horses were walking, and he could guide the coach one-handed—and wrapped his fingers around hers. She wore gloves, but despite the thin leather, her fingers were freezing cold. “You’re cold.”

“It’s so lovely out here,” Miss Rothwell protested softly, her eyes holding his. “We do not need to go back yet.”

“We should head indoors,” he said in a quiet tone. “It is truly bitter out here.” He shivered, the cold seeping into him. Snow had built up on the collar of his greatcoat and even through the high collar of his shirt, he could feel the cold dampness. He lifted the reins, urging the horses into a trot.

The horses, it seemed, were also pleased with the idea of returning and as they neared the estate, he let them trot back down the road and up the drive. He gazed up at the manor as they neared it. Light blazed from the windows, pouring out onto the snow-laden garden. He could not recall when it had seemed to welcome him as it did. He jumped down, reaching up to help Miss Rothwell down.

“Thank you,” she murmured softly as his fingers closed around hers.

“My pleasure,” he whispered.

Miss Rothwell gazed into his eyes and for a moment he forgot all about where they were. The coachman had come out to lead the horses into the stable, and he could hear a distant coach approaching, but all he could think of was her closeness, her flushed cheeks and those bright eyes, full of wonder and excitement.

He rested his hands on her shoulders, holding her gaze. Snowflakes fluttered down to settle in her hair. She smiled at him, and in that instant, Callum lost his breath, his heart swelling with joy and longing as he looked into her eyes.

Miss Rothwell glanced towards the door, and Callum, reluctant to break the moment, reached out to take her hand. His mother and her coach party were already there, divesting themselves of soaking wet coats and bonnets, stamping snow off their boots.

“We will retire to the drawing-room,” she announced as they entered the space, though whether she was speaking to Callum or to her other guests, he was unsure. She was ignoring him, untying her bonnet to pass to the butler. “I shall order chocolate to be served.”

Callum smiled. Chocolate—with its rich warmth and velvety texture—would be most welcome after the cold snowy trip.

The other guests chattered excitedly about the prospect and the sights they had just seen. Callum gazed at Miss Rothwell as she undid her bonnet, shaking out her damp hair. It had come loose, and he drew in a breath, staring at the beauty of her. She saw him looking and looked away, shyly. He hastily transferred his gaze to the wall opposite, to save her embarrassment.

When he looked round at the others, he went suddenly cold. James was staring at him.

Callum frowned. He had caught James looking—many times—at Miss Rothwell. Never before had he intercepted the fellow studying him, though. The look he levelled at Callum was one of such hatred that Callum shivered. He looked away and, when he looked back, James had turned to Philippa and was whispering something. Philippa smiled.

What in Perdition are those two gossiping about? Callum asked himself. He shivered again, thinking of the undiluted hate in James’ stare. He had never seen such a look before.

Miss Rothwell stepped into his line of sight. His heart tightened with an emotion he had never felt before. His eyes widened as she saw him and smiled. He watched her drift up the stairs towards the drawing room. His gaze did not leave her until she was out of sight, and he blinked, shaking himself.

Am I in love? Is this what this strange, wondrous feeling is? He asked himself.

Mr Rothwell barged into the entrance, greeting the other guests loudly and distracting Callum. Harriet was with him, her eyes bright, her cheeks flushed as she was laughing.

Callum drifted towards the stairs. When he saw Mr Rothwell and Harriet together, he could see what he and Miss Rothwell must look like. It was obvious to him that the two of them felt more than fondness for one another. His heart skipped, shock mingling with joy as he realised that what he was beginning to feel was love. He was falling in love with Miss Rothwell.

He walked up towards the drawing room, his head spinning in confusion and wonderment. He had never imagined he would fall in love He had thought he never would. It was a wondrous, terrifying prospect, a million times more frightening than the first time he had ridden at a gallop. Like galloping, it felt uncontrolled, wild, terrifying. But galloping also felt incredibly freeing and magical.

I need to speak to someone, he thought distantly. He needed good counsel, and soon.