Chapter 8

The hallway was silent, the pale greyish daylight seeping in through the windows. Callum felt the cold air through his shirtsleeves and wished that he had brought his tailcoat. It was warm in his bedroom, heated by a small fireplace in the corner, but in the corridor it was icy. He walked briskly and quietly past the closed bedroom doors of the guests and towards the breakfast room.

It was eight o’clock in the morning, but the corridor was silent. The guests had obviously been too weary after the ball to venture down to breakfast that early. His head hurt, his eyes dry and scratchy. He had lain awake for hours, thinking about Miss Rothwell. Her spirited words in the entranceway mixed with her softer, warmer discussion at dinner and her excellent performance at whist. She was no shallow society lady, but a complex woman with hidden depths. He could not stop thinking about her.

Callum walked the short distance to the breakfast room and paused in the doorway, then tensed.

The room was empty, except for one person. His mother sat at the table; the morning light soft on her white hair. She was sitting hunched over and she looked weary. Callum’s heart filled for a moment with compassion, but he tensed again as she looked up.

“Son! Come in,” she said softly, clearly aware, like himself, that the guests were sleeping.

Callum hesitated, unsure of whether he felt comfortable eating alone with his mother, who he expected to be full of criticism about Miss Rothwell, but she seemed affable enough, so he walked hesitantly in.

“Good morning,” she greeted him affably.

“Good morning, Mother,” he greeted her, inclining his head and then settling in the chair beside her. The breakfast room was more informal than the dining room, with three round tables, capable of seating six guests each, taking up most of the floor space. Callum reached for the porcelain teapot and gestured to his mother’s cup. She inclined her head.

“Thank you, son. I trust you had a good night’s sleep?”

“It was reasonable,” Callum said, not quite truthfully. He had barely slept at all.

“Mm,” his mother murmured. “And yet you woke early, as I did.” She shrugged. “I could not sleep any longer.”

“I, too,” Callum replied. He contemplated a piece of toast, though he felt a little queasy.

“It was pleasant to see James here,” his mother continued, reaching for a slice of toast herself and buttering it.

Callum frowned, not sure what to say. He had never liked the man, though he had never said that to his mother, since she felt sympathy for Lady Winbrook, who was an old friend of hers, and he did not want to raise his mother’s ire by stating that there seemed to be something not quite honest about her son.

“Poor fellow,” Mama sighed. “He was always a good boy. Quiet, reserved. And their estate suffered so.”

“Quite so,” Callum said cautiously. He did not like the fact that his mother felt sorry for James. It made him feel a certain amount of resentment, given that the estate that James had inherited had not been nearly as ruinous as his own. If she had sympathy for James, he thought crossly, she might as well have some for himself too. “Do you think it will snow today?” he added, glancing out of the window. The sky was blanketed with a dense layer of grey cloud, of the sort that brought snow. He sat up straighter. He needed to hurry over breakfast and go down to the stables. Preparations had to be made if heavy snow was likely to fall.

“Mm?” His mother frowned, then glanced at the windows, and nodded. “Mayhap. Lord Bronham said he thought that it would not snow today. His leg hurts terribly before a snowfall, he said. Old injury from the war.”

“Lord Bronham was in Portugal?” Callum asked. The most recent war was the Peninsular War against Napoleon. She shook her head.

“No. He was with Nelson in the navy.”

“Oh.” Callum inclined his head. He had not known that the earl had a naval past.

“Mm. Millicent must have been a small child when he went away to the war,” Mama commented.

“I suppose,” Callum said carefully. He had wanted to avoid the topic of Lady Millicent, but his mother seemed to insist on raising it.

“Now, she is a fine young lady,” his mother said warmly. “Poised and graceful. And so charming! What a fine conversationalist she is.”

“Mm,” Callum said noncommittally. He glanced at the window again. “I need to meet with Mr Randell. Even if it does not snow, I must speak to him about preparations. The stables need to be made ready for the snowfall.”

“Later, son,” his mother said, flapping a dismissive hand. “You must at least break your fast.” She glanced at the table, where a toast rack and a bread basket stood, the basket filled with pastries. Callum’s stomach twisted queasily. Even if he had an appetite, he felt sick, both because of worry about the horses and because of how confusing the entire situation was. He did not understand his feelings for Miss Rothwell, and he wished his mother would stop trying to convince him to approve of her friend’s daughter. Lady Millicent.

“I am not hungry,” he said quietly.

As he pushed back his chair, his mother shook her head.

“Must the stables always come first? You have guests to meet. I am certain some of them will come to break their fast very soon. You could wait for half an hour, at least!” She sounded strained.

“The horses need to come first,” Callum said tightly. “I have a fine stable. I intend to keep it like that. It is the one thing I can adequately maintain.” He could barely get the words out, so tight were his jaw and his throat.

“You are not a stable master, Callum Alexander Stanhope,” his mother said stiffly.

Callum glared at her, not sure what to retort, anger clouding his mind. As he stood, he heard footsteps and the sound of conversation in the hallway, and he was glad that at least he would not need to have his mother sitting alone in a silent room. He inclined his head politely.

“Good day, Mother,” he managed to say. “I must go down to oversee the stables.”

Callum walked briskly down the stairs, breathing in the cool air of the hallway. It was a relief after feeling stifled at breakfast. He strode to the front door, pausing to put on his greatcoat before stalking out into the freezing cold. He breathed in sharply. The air really was freezing cold outside, and his fingers ached. He put his hands in his pockets and strode to the stables.

“Easy, old fellow,” he murmured to his horse, Firelight, who whickered a greeting as he walked in. The scent of hay and horses surrounded him, and Callum breathed in, enjoying the scent. It reminded him of his childhood. The roan thoroughbred always greeted him, always expecting to go out for a ride if Callum was there. Callum walked over to his stall, glad to note that the air in the stable was at least not freezing. He took his hands out of his pockets and rubbed the horse’s nose. Firelight snorted and stamped. Callum grinned.

“No apples today, old boy,” he said gently, scratching the horse between the ears. “And I don’t know if we will have time for a ride. Perhaps later.” He frowned. Since arriving back from Sussex, he had barely had time to take his horse out for a run. Between thoughts of Miss Rothwell, preparing for winter and his mother’s Christmas party, he seemed not to have a second to himself.

“Dash it. This wretched party,” he swore, but his horse stamped, and Callum winced. “Sorry, old boy.”

His bad mood was going to affect the horses, he knew that. He did not want them to be restless.

“I need to find Mr Randell,” he told the horses. “I’ll be back soon.” He scratched Firelight between the ears, patted Merry, one of the mares, and then walked swiftly out of the stable.

He breathed in, drawing the scent of the fresh, cold air into his lungs. The smell reminded him of his youth. He had come up to the country estate from Berkshire, where he attended Eton College, every winter for Christmas. Arriving at the estate had always made his stomach knot up with excitement. His Christmastimes were full of snowball fights with neighbouring boys—among them James—eating hot mince pies and sledging down the hill that adjoined the estate. Of course, he had always found time for exercising the horses; a job he took seriously.

Things were so straightforward then, Callum thought sadly. His responsibilities had been easy, his days carefree and his nights full of deep sleep in a silent, snow-blanketed house. His world had become so complex and confusing. He shut his eyes for a moment. Sometimes, he found himself yearning to ride across the fields, to leave it all behind and find some place where the weight of his duties might feel lighter. Perhaps to Ireland, where he had some distant relatives.

He dismissed the thought hastily and opened his eyes again, his heart thudding, body instantly tense, nerves straining as he listened to the noise that he had just detected. Someone was coming around the corner, running swiftly.