Chapter 26

Callum sat in the drawing room. The snow fell in a flurry down onto the garden. It was the day before Christmas and the house was silent. The guests were still all at the manor, but Mother had the decency to take them on an outing to the lake, which had frozen, so that those who wished might go ice-skating. Callum watched the snow. When he stared at it, he did not have to think. The world became small and silent, and it blotted out his thoughts.

“Brother?”

Callum blinked. He thought he heard a voice, but he must have imagined it. Harriet had gone with Mother to the lake to ice-skate, so it could not be her. He kept on looking out over the snow.

The sound of the butler pushing the tea trolley—rattling, clanking—broke his concentration. He cursed softly as memories of Miss Rothwell surged unbidden into his mind. He recalled her laughing in the snow with her sisters, her cheeks flushing as she sat in the coach beside him. He remembered her tenderness on the night when he had needed her help. He swore under his breath.

“Brother! I had to talk to you!” Harriet’s voice was loud. Callum spun around. His eyes widened.

“Harriet! I thought you were ice-skating?” he asked swiftly.

“I was,” Harriet replied. “I chose to come back earlier. But Mama and the others are on their way. I have to tell you something. Please, listen!”

Callum frowned. He had been shutting himself away in his study for the entire day and night since the Rothwell family departed. He knew that he had been unfair to Harriet, who must be as upset and confused as he was himself. But he could not bring himself to talk to anyone. It was all he could do to keep his own thoughts locked up, unable to hurt him.

“What is it?” he asked gently. He gestured to the chair opposite. There was a teapot and some cups there. Perhaps she needed him to comfort her. He hoped he could find words.

“Callum, I need to tell you something,” Harriet said firmly.

“What is it?” Callum asked.

“I overheard something. It is something you have to know. James. Philippa. They planned this. It was all their idea. They did it on purpose. I don’t know why, but they did. You have to talk to them!”

Callum held up his hand. His head had been pounding all morning, and his sister’s words were confusing him and worsening his headache. “Wait, sister. What was their idea? What was their plan? What did you hear them saying?”

Harriet drew a breath. “Sorry. I just had to tell you. James and Philippa. They planned that you would see Miss Rothwell and James like you saw them. They planned that. They wanted you to think that James and she were...were in love,” she said uncomfortably.

“They planned it?” Callum’s heart soared. He clenched his fingers into fists, fighting against the fragile glimmer of hope. What if it was a lie? He couldn’t allow himself to believe something so wonderful, and yet so improbable, all at once.

“James and Philippa staged the embrace. They wanted you to believe that Miss Rothwell was in love with James. That was why Philippa knew to come and call you! Because they had planned it all along,” Harriet said urgently.

“Please calm yourself, sister,” he said gently. “Why would they do that? James was clearly interested in Miss Rothwell; I saw that from the day that he arrived. But what would it benefit them to stage something like that? No, I believe that he is in love with her and that she returns his affections.”

It was painful; it was horrible. But at least, if that was true, then he could feel noble by allowing her to have what she truly wanted. It was the last way he could think of saving himself from the pain.

“Wait! Listen,” Harriet said urgently, but there were footsteps in the hallway and their mother strode in.

“Callum! There you are,” his mother said briskly. “I was looking for you. Millicent was asking to speak with you, and I cannot deny her any longer. You have been moping around miserably for far too long now. Come and join the party. It’s the night before Christmas!” She gestured to the hallway.

Callum swallowed hard. “Mother,” he said carefully. “I am in no mood for company and I would make a terrible one myself, especially on a festive occasion. Please, let me remain here as I wish.” He gritted his teeth. He wanted to shout at her to leave him alone.

“Millicent is here, and I demand you speak to her,” his mother insisted. “You are doing yourself no favours by skulking away. And you have duties to do. This manor needs a duchess. And you have spent enough time ignoring the ideal person for the job.”

Callum drew a breath. He pushed back his chair and rose from it. His mother tensed. He cleared his throat.

“Mother,” he said in a tight, clipped tone. “I am miserable, as you yourself have pointed out. I am sunk into despair. My heart has been betrayed by someone who, treacherous and cruel though she may be, is also the woman I love. I cannot simply turn from that and develop affections for another to whom I feel indifferent.”

“Indifferent! To a young lady who is beautiful and accomplished, as well as your social equal?” his mother demanded. “It is not possible.”

Callum drew a breath, rage dispelling his pain. “Love does not work like that, Mother, and I believe you know that. Love cannot be called forth by social status, or wealth, or manners. It cannot be won by pretty conversation or fine looks. Love is something that grows between two people, a sharing of souls. It is not a reward; it is a gift. And it cannot be earned. It must be received.”

His mother gaped at him. She stared, eyes wide, as though he was speaking a foreign tongue, as though he expressed ideas that she could not understand. He continued.

“I love Miss Rothwell. I always shall. She might be treacherous, and deceitful, and Heaven knows what else. She is also kind, and loving, and gentle. She is amusing and witty and diverting. And she is herself. I can love no other as I love her. I shall love her all my life.” He turned away. “She rode away from this manor and took my heart with her, and I cannot give to another what I no longer have.”

There was no sound in the drawing room when he turned to face his mother and Harriet. They both stood silent. Harriet was gazing at him, eyes shining. His mother was looking at him with a shocked, hurt look.

“Son...you...” she began. Harriet interrupted.

“Callum! You have to listen to me! I heard them. Please. If you mean what you say, do something.”

Callum took a deep breath. He turned to Harriet, his heart aching. “What, Harriet?” he said caringly. “What must I do?”

“Confront James.” Harriet gestured to the hallway. “He was saying it when I walked past. At the lake. He was talking to Philippa at the lake’s edge. I was behind some trees. I had hurt my foot while skating, and I wanted some peace and quiet. I heard them. He said it all. He said how he had staged the embrace to make you think that Miss Rothwell was in love with him. They wanted you to think that, to hurt you.”

Callum gaped at her. “You truly heard that?” he demanded.

“I swear,” Harriet said firmly.

“Harriet, what are you saying?” their mother demanded. “You must be mistaken, or imagining things. You have not been well since they left. Mayhap the afternoon exertion was too much for you.”

“I did not imagine it!” Harriet protested. “I heard it. I swear I did. If you do not believe me, then confront him yourself. He said it. He really did.”

“James is a good man,” Mother began firmly. Callum interrupted.

“It was certainly noble of him to seduce my betrothed right in front of me. That is certainly the action of a morally superior person.”

His mother blinked. That, at least, seemed to make her see sense for a moment. Callum inclined his head. Though he had said the words simply to contradict his mother, they were accurate.

“You know,” he said, turning to Harriet. “I think I might go and talk to James. I think he might have something to tell me.”

As he strode down the hallway, Harriet beside him, their mother’s dire warnings about not making a scene still ringing in their ears, Callum tensed. James was coming up the hallway towards them. Philippa was with him.

They were chatting together, clearly in good spirits, and when they saw Callum and Harriet, they fell quiet. James bowed low.

“Lady Harriet! Callum, old chap. I did want to apologise, but...”

“I would not wish you to apologise,” Callum said carefully. “For then you might have to tell me what, exactly, you are apologising for.”

James frowned. “But, Callum, surely that is obvious?” he asked in a soft tone. “I am apologising for the pain that I have caused.”

“Why, pray, when that was precisely your intent?” Callum asked.

“I say!” James began, his face flushing. Philippa held up a slim hand.

“I would like to know what you mean,” she said in a thin, even tone to Callum. Callum shrugged.

“I believe you already know. However, should you wish to explain, I invite you both to the Green Room to do so.” The Green room was something akin to a parlour downstairs, so called because of the green curtains. It was the one room in the house where nobody was likely to overhear what they said.

“This is preposterous,” James blustered. Philippa, though, seemed calm. She walked ahead, leading the way down the stairs.

Callum walked with Harriet, a little behind James, who, though he seemed reluctant to go, nonetheless walked down the stairs with Philippa to the entranceway. They turned left at the library, entering the small, warm room that their parents had sometimes used for informal gatherings. Callum shut the door.

“What exactly do you think you are doing?” James demanded as Callum stood in front of them, arms folded.

“I think you are aware that you have something to tell me?” Callum inquired.

“You’re being ridiculous,” James blustered, but Harriet interrupted.

“I heard you. You said that you were glad that you had made a fool of my brother, made him suffer like you wanted to. I heard you!” she said firmly.

James’ eyes widened. His cheeks turned an ugly shade of red and he rounded on Harriet. Callum stepped in front of him. His hand made a fist. He took a deep breath, trying to resist the temptation to hit the man. James paled.

“I suggest that you do not turn your ire on my sister. Do not dare.”

James went quiet. Philippa spoke up.

“I think perhaps Harriet has misunderstood. Yes, my cousin was pleased to have hurt your feelings, but that stems from childish jealousy,” she said smoothly. James whipped around, a surprised expression on his face as he stared at her, but she shrugged and looked at Callum appealingly.

Callum winced. That was altogether too possible. James probably had been jealous—though that was the first time he had heard about it—and the words Harriet heard could easily be interpreted that way. He turned away. He had longed for Harriet’s story to be true. But he was left to believe the evidence of his own eyes, and that was that she was mistaken. Philippa must be right about what she had heard.

“There is nothing to say,” he began, but Harriet interrupted them, voice high-pitched.

“Wait! Wait! You said that James was pleased because he was jealous. But that isn’t what he said. He didn’t say that. He said he was pleased because the plan worked as he intended. That the plan to humiliate and hurt my brother had worked. That means it wasn’t an accident. It was intended to hurt him all along.”

Callum caught his breath. James gasped. Philippa turned on Harriet, gaze icy.

“She is lying,” Philippa began, looking at Callum, but he shook his head. He had been prepared to forgive them, to believe Philippa’s words about James having been jealous of him. But her response changed that.

“My sister,” he said thinly, “does not lie. I think you are the one with little regard for the truth. And I want to hear what really happened.” He rounded on James.

“You saw what you saw,” James said stubbornly. Philippa was silent.

“I think I saw what I think I saw,” Callum countered. “I thought that I saw you and Miss Rothwell embracing. But now, I am not so certain. Was she willingly embracing you? Or were you forcing yourself on her?” He shut his eyes. It had happened so fast that he, himself, could not have said which version of the story was true. He had not even thought to look more closely.

“She embraced me,” James said firmly. “She was crying, and I went to comfort her, and she clung to me.”

Callum drew a breath. That, too, could have been true. Miss Rothwell had certainly been crying—her face had been streaked with tears. But why had she been crying? Another thought struck him, hitting him as though a cannonball had been fired at him.

“She was not embracing you.” He gaped, his jaw dropping in shock at the realisation. “Her arms were at her sides. She was not clinging to you. You are lying.”

James looked up at him. Callum saw fear in his eyes. Fear and anger. Joy surged forth in Callum. They had staged it! His sister had not been misunderstanding their words. They truly had planned to hurt and humiliate him. It truly was a plan.

“You did stage this,” Callum said when James did not speak. “You intended to hurt me. All those glances, all the moments I caught you together with her. Those were deliberate.” His heart raced as he realised the depth of how they had fooled him.

James did not look at him. After a long moment, he raised his eyes to Callum’s. The expression in them was so angered and so bitter that Callum blinked in surprise.

"What if I did?” he asked with a small shrug. “You have so much. Why should I not take from you the one thing that you would care about losing? You have everything, but it doesn’t seem to mean a lot to you.”

Callum’s frown deepened. He felt utterly baffled. “What do you mean?” he asked after a long moment.

“Hah! You see?” James demanded. “You see? You have everything. But you don’t even know it. A house. Land. Titles. Wealth. A family. You have a purpose in those wretched horses. You have respect. And then, on top of it all, you have someone you love? I wanted to take at least some of it from you. What I could take. The one thing you seemed aware of.”

Callum swallowed. “I don’t have everything, James. Like you, I nearly lost it all.” His throat tightened as the memory of that fear resurfaced—the looming threat of losing everything. He and Mother had been cast out of society, working tirelessly to restore the manor despite the scandal that had barred them from entering society without shame. There had been years of hardship, as he fought to repay the debts and rebuild their family’s standing in the world.

“Ha! As if your situation and mine were anything alike. Your father was the one who ruined my father! It was his fault ! If he had not led my father down a bad path, my father would never have ruined us. And you got it all back! I lost half my estate. We were rejected from society and we remained rejected thereafter. Can you imagine the humiliation? Having to depend on charity from my uncle and from your mother? It was shameful!” He spat.

Philippa blinked and cleared her throat. She had remained entirely silent throughout the time. Callum had forgotten she was there. “That is not fair, James,” she said quietly. “My family was happy to support you.”

“They should not have had to!” James yelled. “Can you imagine how terrible it was for me? Needing charity? I am a viscount!” He drew himself up. “I should have to depend on nobody! And your family reduced me to begging from my relations like a pauper.” The last sentence was directed at Callum, the words roared angrily at him.

“What happened between your father and mine,” Callum said softly, “was between your father and mine. It should remain there. I cannot pretend to speak for either of them. But I do know that it was not my fault. Or yours,” he added gently. While he was shocked, and hurt, by what James and Philippa had done to him, he could not help but feel sorry for the man. Besides, while part of him tried to understand how someone could have come to hate him, another part of him could not stop thinking about the fact that it was not true. Rosalyn had not run into the open arms of James. He could not contain his delight.

James blinked, and Callum watched closely as his words took effect. The stunned look in James’ eyes suggested that, for some unfathomable reason, he had sought revenge because he believed—wrongly—that he was responsible for what had happened. He had blamed himself for the ruin of the estate, and again when he had failed to repair it.

“Maybe that’s true,” James blustered. “But I still wished to hurt you. And I am not sorry that I did it.”

Callum sighed. “You did hurt me,” he said honestly. “And if my sister Harriet had not overheard you, you could have done a lot worse than that. You could have changed the course of my life. But that was not meant to happen,” he added wonderingly. For the first time since his father’s death, faith was stirring within him. Someone—some higher power—had decreed that Harriet would overhear that snatch of conversation. And the same Someone had brought James and Philippa to this place and made them confess their wrongs.

“What will you do?” Philippa asked. She was gazing at him fearfully and Callum frowned, then understood that she meant to ask if he was going to punish them. He sighed.

“You were both foolish. And I hope that you never come to experience firsthand the depth of hurt you caused or the horror that you could have wrought on me. I would not wish that upon anyone. But it did not happen. And you told the truth—eventually, at any rate.” He sighed. “Now, leave the manor. I forgive you, but do not seek me out or call on me again.”

“You forgive us?” Philippa gaped.

James just stared at him. Callum could not guess what the man was thinking.

“I do,” Callum said wearily. “Be gone. I wish you well, and I forgive you. But I pray our paths never cross again.”

The two of them gaped at him and then, slowly, they went to the door. Callum stood and watched as they walked out into the hallway. Then, when their footsteps had gone, he went and shut the door. He leaned back against a wall, breathing heavily. He was exhausted.

“Brother? Brother?” Harriet asked gently. “You forgave them. It was the right thing to do.” Her blue-eyed gaze was solemn.

“It’s Christmas,” Callum said wearily.

“Yes,” Harriet agreed. “It’s Christmas.”

Callum sighed. “It’s Christmas, and I have much to do.”

Harriet frowned. “Where are you going, brother?” she asked as he walked towards the door.

“I am going to ready the coach. Sussex is five days’ journey from here and they cannot have got far.” He opened the door. Harriet ran after him as he went briskly down the hallway.

“You’re going to Sussex?” she demanded.

Callum nodded tiredly. “I am.” He had never been more convinced about anything in his life. He had to find her. He had to tell her that he knew the truth.

Harriet walked with him, and they went upstairs to prepare for the journey.