Chapter 24

Callum stopped breathing. His eyes were riveted on the scene before him. Rosalyn was enveloped in James’s arms, her body pressed to his. She saw Callum and her eyes widened, staring into his.

“No,” Callum whispered. He felt as though he had run into a wall, the breath knocked from him. He had thought that Rosalyn cherished him, that she cared for him. But here, right under his nose, a different truth was revealed. And, much as he disliked her, Philippa had been the one to guess. Philippa had come to find him, wringing her hands. She had told him she was worried, that James and Rosalyn had disappeared onto the terrace together for quite some time. And this was clearly why.

“I have been a fool,” Callum said bitterly. Rosalyn’s eyes widened, and she pushed James away, though he had already stepped aside.

Callum rounded on him, and his anger must have shown in his eyes because James said nothing. Philippa stood where she was in the doorway, gaping at them.

“Callum?” Rosalyn whispered.

“I have been a fool,” Callum repeated, gazing bitterly at her. “I have trusted you, when I should have known that nothing so good could be true. I should have seen it. All the while. You and him. He was staring at you, walking with you, talking to you. I was a fool! I ignored it. I should not have. Now, what can I do? I cannot trust you.” He was close to tears and he stopped, looking away. The last thing he wanted was for her to see his tears. She had clearly thought him a halfwit for months. He had thought she cared for him.

“Callum, it is not...” Rosalyn began.

“Enough,” Callum interrupted. “I can see with my own eyes. I should have seen it weeks ago. I have been stupid. My mother said that I should never have invited you into my circle. Do you have to make it clear that she was right? That I cannot make good decisions?” His throat ached. “There is nothing left for me to do, then. I should have done as she wished all along.”

“Callum! But...” Rosalyn tried to speak. He shook his head.

“No.” He had to harden his heart. He could not allow her to persuade him that he was wrong, that he had been seeing things for the past few weeks. James’ interest in her had been clear since shortly after he arrived. It should have been plain to see that she returned his affection. “I have been a fool. All I can do, now, is free you from what must be an odious bondage. I shall do as my mother wishes. I shall choose another.”

“Callum! But...but...” Rosalyn was blinking at him, horror on her face. He turned away. He could not look at her. If he looked at her, then he would listen to her. If he listened, then he would be fooled. He did not want to be fooled. He walked to the door.

“Do not approach me,” he said, making his voice harsh though everything in him longed to take her in his arms, to believe her flattery. “I do not believe a word you say. I let myself believe you all too readily.”

“Callum!” she called after him. He pushed open the door. Philippa was standing beside it. Callum glared at her.

“You have done me a favour, but I cannot thank you,” he said tightly.

“As you wish, Your Grace,” she said, dropping a low curtsey.

Callum stood back for her to go into the ballroom. He pushed ahead of James, who was trying to speak to him.

“Your Grace! I...” The fellow’s eyes were bright with triumph, though his face was calm. Callum glared at him.

“You are fortunate I do not throw you out of here,” he hissed. “Get out! I should hurl you into the snow. You come into my own house and betray me? How dare you.”

“Your Grace. I did nothing,” James said mildly. “I broke no agreement with you. I merely pursued a beautiful woman.”

Callum gritted his teeth. The words were horribly true. James had broken no vows. The only person who had betrayed Callum was the only person he would have trusted, without question.

He turned away and stalked through the ballroom.

“I shall retire upstairs,” he told the footman at the door, who stood back for him and let him through. Callum stalked through the entranceway and out toward the stairs, not once looking back. He could not bear to return to the party. He had no doubt that many of the guests had overheard the exchange—the windows had been open, and he had made no attempt to speak quietly. And, he thought with resignation, if they had not heard, they would soon learn of it from those who had—perhaps from Philippa. Or James.

He marched to the drawing room and shut the door behind him. The place was set out for the guests to relax after the musical evening—low tables were set with tea and refreshments, a few extra tables had been brought in and the fire and lamps were lit. Callum marched to the window and looked out. The snow was falling, flakes drifting down towards the garden, where white snow showed in the light that fell from the well-lit room.

“What can I do?” he whispered to himself. His heart was recovering from the shock, and pain washed through him. He could not really make sense of what he had seen, even though he knew that it must be true—James had been pursuing Miss Rothwell for weeks, and he had made it perfectly obvious to everyone. The only fool was himself.

“Callum? Callum!”

The sound of his mother’s voice at the door made Callum spin around, anger mixing with hurt and the need for her not to vaunt herself for how right she had been.

“Mother. If I am in the way here, I will go elsewhere. I will retire to my chamber,” he said swiftly. He marched to the door. He should have gone there already. Of course, his mother would find him in the drawing room—but then, she would have no qualms about finding him in his chambers either.

“You are not in the way,” his mother said softly. “Harriet told me you were shouting outside. Whatever is the matter?” she asked. Her voice, to his surprise, was not harsh.

“Mother, I...” Callum blinked, tears suddenly flowing. “Mother. I was wrong. I was a fool.”

“Hush, Callum,” his mother said softly. “We can all be fools.”

Callum sniffed. Oddly, that was the kindest thing his mother had ever said to him. He coughed. “You were right. Mayhap everything I believe is wrong.” His throat was raw. He and Harriet had always laughed at the elaborate customs of society, at their empty politeness, at the notion that things like etiquette mattered.

“Mayhap,” his mother said with a sniff. “You know, part of me wanted to be wrong. Part of me wanted to think that mayhap these things, like breeding, do not matter. But sadly, I was right. That family is all a pack of worthless scoundrels.” She sniffed again.

“They are not worthless,” Callum said hotly. He recalled Miss Rothwell laughing as she handed out the oranges to the children. Her tender care for Buttercup. She was not worthless. She was a good person. That was why the betrayal cut so deeply. It was unbearable.

“You cannot argue that now,” his mother said tightly. “That woman has shown no decorum from the beginning.”

“You can hardly compare the improper depth of curtsey to...to this,” Callum protested.

“They are all wastrels and fools. I shall tell them to depart at once.”

“No. Not all of them,” Callum said quickly. “Mr Rothwell...Harriet...” Harriet would never forgive him. He could not let his mother hound them all out of Stallenwood Park.

“Do not change your mind, son,” his mother said firmly. “They are all scoundrels. Mr Rothwell took liberties that he should not have, inviting your sister alone in the coach. That was a dangerous risk to her reputation. I cannot approve of him.”

“It isn’t as though nobody could keep an eye on them. I saw them,” Callum said quickly, springing to Harriet’s defence. His mother made a disapproving moue.

“That is hardly decorous. Anyone could have seen them and noticed how improperly they behaved,” she added. “No, I have entertained that horde of provincial nobodies for long enough. I shall require that they leave immediately.”

“It’s cold,” Callum said tightly. “You cannot make them leave in this cold.” It was a winter’s night. Miss Rothwell would suffer on the coach ride, and what if there were no inn for them to stay at? He recalled how she had suffered in the cold, how she had shivered that day when she fell in the snow, falling into his arms.

“It will be just as cold tomorrow,” his mother began, but she saw Callum’s expression and her posture softened. “I shall require that they depart the manor before breakfast in the morning.”

Callum turned away. “As you see fit, Mother,” he said tightly. “I have been wrong in every respect—I begin to wonder if I know anything at all.”

Callum kept looking at the fireplace. He heard the door open and he heard feet in the hallway and he did not turn around. Whatever his mother did, he would simply allow her to do it. He did not trust himself anymore. He had made one choice without any contribution from anyone, and it had proved to be pure foolishness.

He could not believe it. He could not believe that her sweet smile, her care, her gentleness—that it had all been a ruse, a game. He could not allow the weight of that betrayal.

He stood up and went to the door. It would only be an hour before the guests flooded in to relax after the performances. He absolutely did not want to be there. He could not bear the house party, the playful afternoon games, the festivities. He stalked to his bedchamber and shut the door. It was darker in there, the lamp burning low, the fire red embers in the grate. He leaned back and shut his eyes.

Wild plans raced through his mind. He would run away and bestow the manor on his uncle. There was a relative in Ireland—his mother’s uncle. Perhaps he could escape the dukedom, the responsibilities, and the pain that weighed on him.

“Don’t be a fool,” he told himself harshly as he stood up to unfasten his cravat. He opened his wardrobe, took out a thick greatcoat and tugged it on. The horses could do with a visit, and that was the one place where he could find solace and be able to think clearly. As he walked down the stairs, thoughts of Miss Rothwell cannoned into him and he pushed them away with a groan. He could not let himself think of that. Not anymore. He had to think ahead and decide whether to remain the duke and follow his mother’s orders or run away and seek his fortune somewhere abroad. He could not stay and hope that he had, again, been mistaken. However much he might wish to. He had to do something befitting a duke. It seemed he had done so little of that.