by Ava Devlin
He would never stand by awaiting his first child’s birth. He would never hear her speak her first words or stand upright for the first time. He would never feel the kicks through a belly and anticipate all the possibilities of the future: boy or girl, green eyes or black, jolly or determined.
Callie was already a fully formed human, at a stage in life that was wholly honest. Childhood was when you were most untethered to artifice, most true to your inner self, before you learned how unacceptable you truly were.
Since the night she’d gone to his room, every one of those silly little notes he still insisted on sending her had brought with it both a flush of pleasure and a twinge of guilt. The flowers she pressed into the book he’d sent her all those years ago, so that one day perhaps their daughter could have them, if he did not choose to stay once he knew of her existence.
She pushed the food around on her plate with the back of her fork, frowning down at a perfectly appetizing dinner as her thoughts consumed her. Her mother had insisted on a family dinner at the dower house tonight, so that they didn't entirely lose touch with normalcy.
Rose and Gideon had sent word that they were about a day's ride away, staying at an inn in the town where they'd gotten married. Rose’s progressing condition had rendered her a sight more fatigued than she might otherwise be, but they promised to return within the week. Like the Blakelys, they had been gone for far longer than anyone had anticipated. Such was the way of traveling this far north in the winter.
"I'm surprised Reverend Halliwell isn't here tonight," Alex commented, a taunting sparkle in his eyes. “He certainly has been a regular staple in your orbit, Mother.”
"Tonight is a family dinner, my love," his wife reminded him, placing a gloved hand on his arm.
Alex scoffed. "Then why is Sheldon here?"
Sheldon Bywater’s head snapped up, his expression deeply affronted. He jabbed the drumstick he had been eating in Alex's direction. "I've been a part of this family longer than you have, boy."
"It's true," Ruthie confirmed, motioning to have more wine added to her glass. “He spent more of his childhood here than at Moorvale.”
Alex was not satisfied, his gaze still keen and shrewd on their mother. Not having gotten the reaction he wanted, he opted for a more direct attack. "At this rate, I wouldn't be surprised if the reverend’s title changed to Step-Father Halliwell in short enough order ... or isn't that your intention?"
"Alex!" both Gloriana and Heloise hissed in unison, only broadening his grin.
Ruthie sighed, taking a deep drink of her wine and then setting the crystal glass back onto the tablecloth with as much dignity as she could muster. "Is there something you wish to ask me, Alexander?"
"I believe I've already asked it, in so many words," he replied cheerily, snatching up his own wine glass as he awaited the results of his prodding.
Heloise turned to her mother, admittedly curious. Sometimes Alex's complete lack of tact resulted in some rather satisfying information.
Was she imagining it, or had her mother stopped applying chestnut dye to her hair? In this light it looked as though gleaming strands of silver were beginning to show through, winding their way around her ringlets. It became her rather well, Hel thought.
"Yes, all right. The reverend has asked me to marry him," Ruthie said, as though it were the most casual information in the world. "I have tentatively accepted, so long as we can come to an accord on some of the finer details of the arrangement. I did not plan to make an announcement until your brother was returned and all the odds and ends had been stamped out."
Heloise turned wide-eyed to her brother, who tossed her a wink.
"What details?" Sheldon asked curiously. "Isn't the whole process rather straightforward?"
"One might note that you've yet to go through it yourself, Lord Moorvale," Gloriana said fondly, "and perhaps as such are innocent to its nuances."
"Just so," Ruthie agreed with a little shrug. "He expects me to move into that tiny parish house, which is absurd when my dower house is already outfitted and functioning and far more spacious. I said as much, but he is aghast at the idea of living here with me, and so we are currently at an impasse."
"Mother, you can't move a new husband into the dower house," Heloise said patiently. "Gideon would have heart failure at the sheer scandal of it."
"Oh, I can do whatever I like," Ruthie snapped back. "I'm rich, aren't I?"
"You are," Alex agreed, "which is why I can't figure out what you hope to gain from marrying Halliwell. You'll lose your title and your status, inspiring no jealousy in anyone at all. It is like I barely know you."
"I can't think what you mean," Ruthie replied coldly.
"Mm," Alex commented, shaking his head with that typical incendiary smile. “I’m certain you can.”
Ruthie watched him through narrowed eyes as he returned to his meal with gusto, next to an aghast Gloriana. "It was Polly," she finally confessed, bringing his attention back to her.
"My mother?" Gloriana asked, confusion evident on her face.
"Yes, darling," Ruthie said without looking away from Alex. "Do you remember what I told you, Alex, on the night I gave you that ring that your bride now wears?"
"I do," he replied, some of the smugness melting from his face.
"It was a good reminder," Ruthie said. "She encouraged me to consider, if I married again, taking the path she had chosen rather than the one I'd already traveled. That is what I am doing, my son, as you did."
"For those of us not present for that conversation," Heloise put in, irritated by the sudden tense silence between her brother and mother, “perhaps you’d care to elaborate?”
"She likes him," Alex provided, turning to her wide-eyed. "She actually just really enjoys his company."
"As good a reason as any," Sheldon commented, startling everyone at the reminder that he was still there, eating his dinner, as though nothing at all was amiss.
It was later, as the same group enjoyed the warmth of the drawing room fire, that Alex, in his way, apologized to their mother.
"I should not have assumed the worst," he said, squeezing her hand as he knelt at her feet. "You will make a beautiful bride."
"Yes, fine," Ruthie tutted, pulling her hand away to pat his cheek. "Pour us a drink and we shall toast to better days ahead."
Next to Heloise on the settee, Gloriana gave a little sigh of relief, her eyes following her husband as he filled two tumblers from an ornate display by the fireplace.
Hel turned to her with amusement, scratching absently at Echo's ears as the dog stretched her limbs on the softness of the couch cushions. "I hope you are still going to scold him," she said.
"Oh, yes," Glory confirmed with a nod, "but now it need merely be a ceremonial scolding."
Sheldon was watching the two of them with a grim expression on his face. Echo seemed to catch wind of this disapproval, turning her warm, brown eyes in his direction and giving a whimper, but otherwise making no movement toward returning to his side.
His brows beetled together, eyes locked on his beloved companion.
Heloise hid her smile. She had noticed the bloodhound's uncharacteristic laziness about a week ago, and at first had also been concerned. She cooed to Echo, urging the dog to show her belly for a good rubbing, and confirmed again that what ailed Echo was nothing dire, after all.
"She hasn't been herself," Sheldon grumbled, attempting to disguise concern with discontent. "She sleeps all day and has no interest in a hard day's work."
"Women rarely wish to exert themselves when they're expecting," Heloise replied easily, raising her eyes to watch the shock wind its way through him. "Congratulations, Moorvale, you're going to be a grandfather."
"What!" he barked, coming to his feet, which only made his dog whine again. "How? When!"
"The night of the fire, I suspect," Heloise responded, aware that all eyes had been drawn to this poor, compromised dog in her lap. "You did put her in the kennels with the other dogs.
Perhaps she found one she likes."
He blinked, his mouth opening and closing in an attempt to reply, and instead just settled back into his seat. "What am I going to do with a litter of mutts?" he mumbled, passing a hand over his face. "What was she thinking?"
"The choices of parents are hardly the fault of their children," Heloise sniffed. "It isn't for you to assume the puppies will be worthless."
"They won't be purebred," he retorted. “They’ll be mongrels.”
"And I suppose that makes them undeserving?" Heloise snapped. "Perhaps Echo mated with a strong hunting dog or a shrewd tracker. Their progeny may have value you've not yet considered, and be worthy of their own merit."
"No one wants mutts!" he insisted stubbornly. "I don't see why you lot ought to take it personally."
"I will have one," Gloriana put in. "You did once promise me a puppy of my own, and I should love a mutt just as much as any other."
Sheldon looked baffled, turning his head toward the other woman. "But why would you want a mutt when you could have your pick of tested breeds, certain to be suited to your desires?"
"Perhaps because bloodlines do not necessarily determine our value nor our compatibility," Heloise replied sharply. "And if you love Echo, you will love her young."
Alex rubbed his hand over his mouth, obviously attempting to suppress laughter, while Sheldon looked from woman to woman with pure befuddlement.
"It was her choice," Heloise persisted, fire in her voice. "You might expect it was a good one."
"Fine!" he grumbled, crossing his arms across his chest. "She just ought to have consulted me first, is all. I only want what's best for her."
"Oh Sheldon, my dear boy," Ruthie chuckled. "You have much to learn about women."
18
Callum couldn't resist checking his reflection every few seconds and attempting one last time to make himself presentable to a peer. Of course, every time he turned to look into the mirror hung on the drawing room wall, he found another hair out of place, another speck on his coat. It was only making him more nervous.
If you want someone's permission, she'd said, you'd best ask my mother.
The parlor maid who'd shown him in had assured him that the dowager viscountess would be returned shortly if he wouldn't mind waiting. He wondered now if he ought to have just come back at a later time.
The thought occurred to him too late, of course. He could hear voices now, one of which was markedly Yankee and speaking with the authority of a woman who has never been questioned. He straightened his posture just in time as the door was pushed open by Ruthie Somers herself, trailed by scandalized maids who she tossed her gloves to as she spoke.
"Have the chocolate sent up immediately so that it has time to cool," she told them, reaching to her throat to unclasp the cloak she wore. "Once they're dry and dressed, bring them back down here. We will enjoy the fire together."
"Yes, My Lady," both maids murmured, backing out of the room with quick glances darted at one another.
"Ah, Lieutenant!" Ruthie said, clasping her hands together, her cheeks bright with color. "What wonderful timing. You must stay for hot chocolate and tea cakes. The children will join us momentarily. We've just been enjoying some of the fresh snowfall together out of doors, though between you and me, warming up is the part I always look forward to the most."
He hesitated, overwhelmed by the way she pelted other people with her rapid-fire words. "I wished to discuss a matter of some importance with you," he said, perhaps a little lamely.
"Yes, of course." She motioned to the couch opposite the fire, sweeping into a seated position on its far end without awaiting his acceptance. "I imagine you are here to report on the rehousing. How is it coming along? I hope my absence is not a hindrance, but you understand one has other duties to attend when running a household."
"It is going well," he said, perching himself on the cushion farthest from Lady Somers. "The patchwork was done on the houses that could manage with simple repair, and the church is far less crowded now that some people are able to return home."
"Mm," Ruthie said, motioning for staff to bring in the trays for teatime. "I expect Mrs. Collins in particular was beside herself with relief that her daughter would have at least a few days of proper confinement."
"They were returned home as our first priority," he confirmed. "Lady Heloise insisted."
"Naturally," Ruthie responded with a little quirk of her lips.
They fell into silence as sweetened hot chocolate was poured into two mugs for the adults and two small cups with spout attachments for the children, both left open to cool, curls of fragrant steam rising from their centers.
Callum wasn't sure if it was simply for want of distraction, but the first taste of the chocolate did seem to fortify him, calming some of the anxious buzzing that had begun roundabouts his midsection. He took a deep drink as two very young children were ushered in by their nannies, a boy and a girl, neither more than a handful of years old.
"Ah," Ruthie said happily, holding her hand out. "Come meet the lieutenant, children."
Only the boy came forward, the other shying behind her nanny's skirts and hiding her face in them.
"Oh, Caroline," Ruthie said unhappily. "You must learn to be a brave girl. You promised to try!"
The child gave a muffled response that sounded something like, "Sorry, Granny," but made no move to depart the safety of the starched skirts she had folded around herself. The other one, the boy, had blown right past his grandmother and up to Callum's knee, which he gripped in his tiny hands as he peered up into this stranger's face.
"Reggie," Ruthie said patiently. "This is Lieutenant Laughlin. He is a soldier!"
The child's large, golden eyes widened, his thick lashes blinking rapidly as he examined Callum’s face. "Stay," he commanded, then turned over his shoulder to peer at the tray. "Chocolate?"
"Yes, chocolate and then a nap," Ruthie told him. "Just as I said before."
The child drew his lips down in an exaggerated frown, whipping his hand out and knocking over one of the small cups, which flooded the tray with liquid chocolate. "No nap!" he announced.
"Master Reggie!" his nanny scolded, rushing forward to attempt to mitigate the mess. "That was very naughty!"
He turned those furious eyes up to Callum, as though he were looking for an ally in this war, and whispered loudly, "Hate naps!"
"Yes, well, life is very difficult for us all, Reggie. Now you have to wait for your chocolate to cool down again because you spilled it," Ruthie tutted. "Go sit by the window and wait until I call you."
"Come along, Master Reggie," the other nanny coaxed, holding her hand out to be grabbed by the willful little boy as he jerked her with a rather surprising amount of gusto toward his punishment spot.
Callum watched him go with a sort of impressed shock. "That is the viscount’s son?" he asked, just to be certain.
Ruthie gave a beleaguered sigh. "That's what I was told, but I'm just as skeptical as you are. If he weren't the spit of a Somers, I'd have Rose interrogated on the matter of his origins."
Callum coughed, some of the chocolate he was sipping finding its way into the wrong portion of his throat at such a statement.
The other child was standing with her head down, her ringlets covering her face and glimmering with red strands against a darker base, dutifully awaiting her cup of chocolate. He noticed that she had a rag dolly tucked into her side. It was not the fine dolls one usually bestowed on children of status, but instead a well-loved, stain-speckled craft of common goods that the girl seemed to clutch by habit.
"Yes," Ruthie said as though she could read his thoughts, "Callie is much easier."
"Callie," he repeated, his eyes on the shy little girl. "Why, we almost have the same name, little one."
She seemed to take a deep breath, perhaps building up enough bravery to face an interloper, and turned over her shoulder to look at him. "What is your name?" she asked in a feather-soft voice.
> "It's Callum," he replied, in the instant before the wind was knocked from his body. He was frozen into place, his skin prickling with a deep, eerie recognition as she turned that little face toward him.
He knew that face. He'd know it anywhere.
He forced himself to set his mug down before his hands began to shake and crossed to the other side of the table. He lowered himself to his knees, opposite the little girl, who blinked shyly but did not cower from him. "How old are you, Callie?" he managed, though his throat was very dry and he knew what the answer must be.
"Three," she whispered back, seemingly relieved that he had come close enough that she need not project her voice, "and a half."
"No need to rush to age four, young lady," Ruthie responded jovially.
The little girl blushed at this correction, turning her eyes up to meet Callum's by way of apology. Her irises were a brown so dark that it was nearly black, blending into the darkness of her pupils so well that he knew, in her later years, that some people would find it unsettling. Those were his mother's eyes. Those were his eyes.
He reached out with trembling hands and touched the side of her face, hot tears welling up in his own eyes. He traced her plump little cheek down to the sharp point of her chin. How was this possible?
It was only then that Ruthie seemed to become aware that this was not a simple introduction between child and adult. She sucked in her breath, the ceramic of her mug clattering into its saucer, but did not otherwise move or speak.
He ran his fingers down the soft lines of the little girl's arm, and held her delicate hand in his own. She looked back wide-eyed, but did not resist this touch. Instead, she reached forward and brushed the tear off his cheek with her other hand, and whispered softly, "It's okay. Don’t cry.”
He laughed. Or sobbed. The sound was somewhere in between the two. He wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her tight to his chest, but he did not wish to frighten her.
