Chapter 3 #2
A reluctant smile tugged at his mouth. “I am now.”
The silence that followed was brief.
Comfortable, even.
Not because either of them seemed particularly at ease. Quite the opposite. They were both painfully aware of one another. Yet there was a warmth beneath the awkwardness that Callum had not expected.
They looked, he thought, as though they belonged together.
The realization arrived with surprising certainty.
Before he could examine the thought further, Isabella glanced toward the far side of the ballroom.
A flicker of concern crossed her features. “My parents are looking for me.”
Nicholas followed her gaze. The disappointment that appeared in his expression was brief but impossible to miss.
“I should let you go, then.”
“You could come with me.”
The suggestion emerged so quietly that Callum almost missed it.
For a moment, Nicholas simply stared at her. “Oh.”
A faint blush touched Isabella’s cheeks. “If you wished.”
The transformation in his expression was immediate. “I wish very much.”
The answer arrived so quickly that Isabella laughed softly.
A genuine smile followed, brightening her face in a way Callum suspected had become increasingly familiar to Nicholas over the past several months.
For a moment neither of them seemed aware of anyone else in the ballroom.
Callum looked away.
Some things deserved privacy.
As they moved off together, disappearing gradually into the crowd of guests, he found himself watching longer than he intended.
It left behind a curious feeling.
Not envy. Not quite.
Rather, the distant awareness of something he had spent years convincing himself he neither wanted nor missed.
Watching Nicholas, however, made that certainty feel considerably less secure than it once had.
Unfortunately, uncertainty did not exempt him from necessity.
The reminder arrived scarcely ten minutes later in the form of another introduction.
Then another. Then another.
By the time the orchestra began a new set, Callum had been presented to three young ladies, two ambitious mothers, a baronet determined to discuss agricultural yields, and a gentleman who appeared convinced that railway travel would shortly bring about the collapse of civilization.
Callum was beginning to suspect the gentleman might have a point.
The evening blurred steadily thereafter.
Names were offered. Pleasantries were exchanged.
Several conversations expired natural deaths and were promptly replaced by new ones.
A young lady asked whether he spent much time in London. Another inquired whether Ashvale’s lake was truly as large as people claimed. A third wished to know if he intended to host house parties.
Callum answered each question as politely as possible while becoming increasingly certain that he would rather be standing chest-deep in freezing water.
By the end of the hour, he found himself trapped between two determined young ladies and a gentleman who had somehow transformed a discussion of dancing into a lengthy examination of parliamentary reform.
One of the ladies laughed. The other adjusted her fan.
The gentleman continued speaking.
Callum briefly considered throwing himself through the nearest window.
“Lord Ashvale.”
The interruption arrived like divine intervention.
He turned to find an unfamiliar gentleman approaching. The man carried himself with easy confidence, was impeccably dressed, and wore the sort of smile that suggested he found the world considerably more amusing than most people did.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Callum said.
“We haven’t.” The gentleman bowed. “Edmund Neville.”
Callum returned the gesture. “Neville.”
“I couldn’t help noticing,” Edmund continued in a lowered voice, “that you appeared moments away from staging an escape.”
Callum glanced toward the conversation he had just abandoned.
The gentleman was still discussing Parliament. One of the ladies was now describing her spaniel.
“I wasn’t aware it showed.”
“It showed magnificently.”
A laugh escaped him before he could stop it.
Edmund’s grin widened immediately. “I knew it. Another victim.”
“Of what?”
“Society.”
Callum considered the question with appropriate seriousness. “A persuasive argument could be made.”
“A persuasive argument has been made repeatedly throughout the evening.”
That earned another laugh.
For the first time since arriving, Callum felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. “I was beginning to think I was alone in that opinion.”
“Hardly.” Edmund lowered his voice further. “In fact, I happen to know where the host keeps the good bourbon.”
Callum’s interest sharpened at once. “The good bourbon?”
“The best bourbon.”
“That is a bold claim.”
“I am prepared to defend it.”
Callum glanced back across the ballroom.
Almost immediately he spotted another determined-looking matron steering her daughter in his general direction.
Dear God.
The bourbon was becoming more appealing by the second.
“Where?” he asked.
Edmund looked pleased with himself. “The library. I discovered its location years ago under circumstances that were undoubtedly respectable.”
“I find that difficult to believe.”
“As do I.”
For perhaps the first time all evening, the prospect of the next half hour seemed genuinely appealing.
A quiet library. A decent drink. No introductions.
Compared to another hour of polite conversation and strategic matchmaking, it sounded remarkably close to paradise.
“I accept,” Callum said.
“Excellent.”
They had scarcely crossed half the ballroom when Edmund stopped abruptly and muttered a curse beneath his breath.
“What is it?” Callum asked.
“My cigars.” Edmund grimaced. “I left them in my coat.”
“You forgot them?”
“Tragically.”
The answer carried enough genuine annoyance to suggest the loss was being taken very seriously indeed.
Edmund glanced toward the far side of the ballroom, then back again. “I shall be no more than a minute. The library is at the end of the west corridor. Second door on the left.”
Callum nodded. “And the bourbon?”
“Locked in the desk cabinet.”
“Convenient.”
“Remarkably.”
Edmund’s grin returned. “Go on ahead. I’ll join you directly.”
Under ordinary circumstances, Callum might have hesitated. Following a near stranger in search of hidden liquor was perhaps not the wisest decision he had ever made.
Then he caught sight of yet another ambitious mother steering her daughter purposefully in his direction.
His hesitation vanished.
“Take your time,” he said.
Edmund laughed and disappeared back into the crowd.
Callum turned toward the corridor without a second thought.
With every step, the noise of the ballroom receded behind him. Music softened. Laughter faded. The steady murmur of hundreds of conversations gave way to blessed quiet.
By the time he reached the west corridor, only a distant echo remained.
The silence felt glorious.
A row of lamps cast warm pools of light across polished floors and paneled walls. Somewhere deeper in the house, a clock ticked steadily in the stillness.
Callum found the library exactly where Edmund had described.
Relief settled over him as he reached for the handle.
At last. Peace.
He pushed open the door and then stopped.
A young woman stood bent over the desk, rifling determinedly through its drawers.