He wasn’t going to make mention of the fact that Reid’s claim to the position of singer had been presented to the rest of the group as a fait accompli.
“And is he the one who is also managing the business of securing bookings for your musical group?” asked Sir Thomas.
Callum shook his head. “No, that work is being undertaken by Lady Eliza. As you know, she is very well connected, and dare I say quite persuasive when she puts her mind to something.”
His father pursed his lips and studied the floor. “And how is Lady Eliza coping with a houseful of guests? I have always found her to be a delightful young woman, and I know that your mother has a soft spot for her. Poor girl. She suffered such a tragic loss for one so young.”
“Lady Eliza runs the house and estate like clockwork. None of us have anything to complain about. And the breakfast table is always full.”
Not that he was often in the right condition to fully partake of the generous spread. Most days he managed a cup of tea before lazily pushing his breakfast around on the plate with his fork until it was time to leave.
Thomas cleared his throat. “As I recall, Lady Eliza had a bit of a thing for you at one point when she was younger. Did you ever find yourself returning those affections?”
Bloody hell. Is there anyone in London who doesn’t know that Eliza was in love with me? And how many of them think she still is?
He met his father’s hopeful gaze and his heart sank. Sir Thomas had matchmaker written all over his face. It was best that he crushed all hopes his parents may privately have for a union between the Follett and Sharp families.
“I think it was only a girlish infatuation on the part of Lady Eliza, something which no doubt sputtered out as she grew older. As for myself, she has always been just a friend. She is Reid’s sister, nothing more.” The words sounded hollow even as he spoke them. For as long as he could remember, Eliza had meant more to him than simply being Reid’s sister. From an early age he had found himself attracted to her.
After the death of her parents, Eliza had become quiet and withdrawn. She had given up on much of the things in life which brought joy. She forwent pretty gowns and parties, even setting aside her love for playing the violin.
His first attempts at forming a real connection with her had been simply to try and bring a smile to her face; but over time, a spark of something stronger, a deeper emotion had sparked to life. An affection which still burned bright.
He wanted her—still ached for her touch, for them to recapture the passion of those stolen moments they had already shared. He would never stop loving Eliza.
Callum drew his hand into a tight fist as he fought with his primal urge to set all polite dictates aside and claim her as his; he knew full well that if he marched out of here right this very minute and went back to Windmill Street and demanded that she marry him, Eliza would agree without hesitation.
It was up to him to hold the line, to ensure that kind of madness never happened.
You have to stop thinking about her like that. It’s over. It has to be.
Reid might be a stubborn prick, but he was right; Eliza deserved happiness. Something he could never give her. Not while he remained held fast in the grip of his demons and his addictions.
You are not in command of your own life. There is no hope in heaven that you could be good for Eliza.
But what if you could get yourself sorted?
No, it’s impossible.
“Some more cards congratulating you on your knighthood arrived this week. Your mother has kindly responded to them on your behalf.”
“I shall make sure to thank her before I leave today,” he replied.
Thank heavens, a change of topic.
Talking about Eliza was hard at the best of times.
Sir Thomas pointed a finger in Callum’s direction. “You know if you had a wife, that task would fall to her. I hear the Duke of Banfield is pushing Kendal to hurry up and get married. I have heard rumors that the Marquess of Lowe has already set things in motion to see Owen wed by the end of the summer. And if Lowe can get his recalcitrant son in front of a priest then there is hope for you all.”
“Yes, that is what I have been led to believe,” he replied. Callum was at pains not to add to his father’s minor interest in the marriage plans of his fellow Noble Lords.
“You might want to start thinking of finding yourself a nice girl to settle down with. Your mother would love to have grandchildren on whom she can dote, and to be honest, so would I,” added Sir Thomas.
He could understand where his parents were coming from, but as far as he was concerned, they had little understanding as to the low state of his mental health. Of how much he struggled to live anything which resembled a normal life. He was ill-suited to take on the role of a husband when he could barely take care of himself. No woman deserved to be burdened with him.
When the door opened and a footman appeared carrying a tray laden with tea and toast, Callum sent a silent thank you prayer to heaven. His father loved his marmalade and toast for elevenses, and once he got a cup of hot tea in his hands, the talk usually moved on to the baron’s favorite topic: gardening.
Callum didn’t really care what they talked about, as long as it didn’t involve marriage or his mess of a love life. He smiled as his father picked up the teapot.
“So how are your strawberries doing this week?” asked Callum.
Two hours later, a relaxed Callum bade his father a good afternoon and headed back to Windmill Street. As he walked, the tea and several generous slices of toast bounced around inside him. Sir Thomas’s homemade marmalade jam was apparently blessed with medicinal properties and had settled his stomach.
It was a warm day; a bright sun shone overhead. There was the hint of a spring in his step. He was almost beginning to feel human again—something he had not felt in a very long time.
His head cleared as he walked, and he quietly began to make plans to join the other Noble Lords for supper before catching a play at one of the theatres which were close to Follett House.
But as he started thinking about the rest of his day, a small door opened in his mind and dark memories rushed in. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a flash of scarlet as a woman with a ruby colored parasol stepped in front of him. It was only for the briefest of moments, but it was enough. Callum stopped dead in the middle of the street.
Scarlet. Red. Blood.
He was suddenly thrust back into the noise and fury of battle, bellowing orders to his men to follow him up the ridge and secure ground. When he turned, the soldier closest to him had dropped his rifle. The man’s hand waved in the air, frantically searching for the gun, but it fell to the ground. He slumped to his knees, blood spewing out of his mouth. The look of shock on his face as he died pierced Callum to his soul.
By the time he managed to reach into his coat pocket and take a hold of his hip flask, Callum’s brain was already scrambling to process a thousand bloody thoughts and horrific hallucinations. His ears were full of the desolate cries of dying men.
When the memory of the odoriferous stench of death came rushing at him, Callum dry-heaved. He put a hand over his mouth and breathed in slowly through his nose, trying to steady himself. Those deep breaths only just held back the swelling tide of nausea.
Oh, God. Please don’t let me be sick.
With an unsteady hand, he unscrewed the lid of the hip flask and gingerly brought it to his lips before taking a long deep drink of the gin. Then another. It was only after the fourth mouthful that the first prick of numbness hit his brain. Blessed relief.
The blood-stained memories retreated one step back, finally disappearing into the blackness of his mind. He downed another large gulp of gin to chase after them.
His sight cleared and he blinked hard, taking in his surroundings for the first time in several minutes. Fortunately, the rest of London’s inhabitants were too busy dealing with their own problems and concerns to pay him any real attention. He could
count that as being one small blessing.
Tucking the nearly empty flask back into his pocket, Callum muttered, “This is why sobriety and allowing yourself to feel anything like a normal person is such a fucking mistake. The minute you let your guard down, the terrors come seeking you.”
He turned on his heel and instead of going back to Follett House as originally planned, he found the nearest gin palace on Oxford Street and proceeded to drink himself into a sense-deadening, disgusting state.
Chapter Eight
Eliza sat back in the chair and smiled at her journal which was open on her desk. The first booking for the Noble Lords was inked in for later that week. She was rather pleased with herself.
At first blush, Mrs. Scott had been reluctant to book the Noble Lords, but once she had discovered who the members of the group were, she suddenly became most eager to host them.
Eliza shuddered at the memory of hearing Mrs. Scott slowly, salaciously repeat the names Reid, Kendal, and Owen. The Noble Lord’s first paying customer had a certain reputation that even Eliza was well aware of, though she had managed to keep that to herself during the at times awkward meeting.
Eliza had done her best and secured the booking. While whoever her brother and his friends slept with was not really any of her business, the whole encounter had left her mind somewhat tainted. She had called for a long, hot bath as soon as she returned home.
“Have I seriously lowered myself to the level of being a pimp of sorts?” She mused.
If she had, she was the only unwed, virgin purveyor of male flesh in London. It was not a badge she intended to display with any pride.
Eliza lifted her head and managed a tight smile as Reid put his head around the door of her private sitting room.
“Ah, just the person I was looking for,” he said, and stepped into the room.
Eliza sighed. Her brother had better not be wishing for her to attend to any more of his personal tasks. She wanted nothing other than to go and scrub herself down once more with a stiff brush and soap. “Yes?”
He stopped partway to her desk and gave her a hesitant look. “What is wrong?” he asked.
“If you are here to ask another favor from me, I think you might have used them all up for the moment. I am not the unpaid help. I sometimes wonder if you forget that I am an unmarried, naïve noblewoman. I shouldn’t be within ten feet of a woman such as Mrs. Scott, let alone be paying her house calls,” she said.
Reid held his hands together and bowed low to her. “I know. I abuse my position as your brother and guardian most terribly. Mrs. Scott is not someone who I would normally wish for you to have to deal with, and I am most grateful that you did. But I am not here to press you into doing any of my dirty work. I am here to offer you a gift.”
She narrowed her gaze as Reid resumed his progress toward her. When he got to where she sat, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. With great flourish, he laid it before her on the desk, then took a step back and bowed once more. He seemed more than a little pleased with himself.
Eliza spotted the letterhead and raised an eyebrow. She picked up the paper, read it, and was then immediately full of guilt over her harsh words to him. “I can’t believe you organized a private visit to the British Museum for me. I didn’t know such things were possible.”
“For you, Eliza, anything can be arranged. We will have a guide to take us around and explain the exhibits. And after we are finished at the museum, I am taking you to dinner. You have gone above and beyond since my friends moved in with us, and I am grateful for everything you have done.”
She rose from her desk and came around to his side. Reid pulled her into his embrace and hugged her.
“I hate it when you do nice things for me. It makes it hard for me to stay in a bad mood with you,” she said.
He chuckled softly. “That’s exactly why I do it. Nothing brings me more pleasure than vexing you when you are trying to be sore with me.”
“Beastly brother. And where are you planning to take me to dinner?” she asked.
An uncertain look appeared on Reid’s face which dulled her merriment slightly. He was, as usual, up to something. “We have been invited to dine with the Earl and Countess Jersey. They are hosting a private dinner party with a select group of friends,” he replied.
Now she was certain he was up to something. Reid rarely took her to private parties. They moved in almost entirely different social circles most of the time. She was a close friend of the Prince Regent and deep with the Carlton House set, while Reid preferred the wider ton social setting.
“Why would we be dining with them?” she asked.
“Because they invited us,” he replied.
And? Come on, Reid. There has to be an and in there somewhere. You forget to whom you are talking.
“And . . . I thought it might be time for you to begin to circulate more widely. It’s all well and good with you being a friend of the prince, but he has a wife. And as much as they detest one another, he is never going to divorce her and make you his queen.”
Eliza gave him a filthy look. The Prince of Wales was old enough to be her father.
“Who knows what new friends you may make if you look further afield?” he added.
Her brother might well have been an army major during his military career, but he was not one for hiding his strategy all that well. “I shall have to have a think about the dinner party. I have a feeling that once you have got your first public performance under your belt, the Noble Lords are going to be quite the sensation for the rest of the summer. That being the case, I shall be busy trying to fight off all those flustered hostesses who are suddenly clambering to book the group,” she replied.
The frown which appeared on Reid’s face was exactly what she had been hoping for. He may have thought he was the one in the family for clever tactics, but he couldn’t hold his ground against her. Eliza could easily outmaneuver him any day of the week. And twice on Sunday.
“I just thought you might like to meet some new people and through that gain an appreciation of the eligible bachelors in circulation. Of course, there is no pressure for you to find a husband. It’s just that . . .”
She patted him gently on the cheek. “If you were able to get me to spend time with other men, I might stop thinking about Callum.”
Reid, as ever, was subtle as a brick.
Chapter Nine
Callum was sitting on his bed, cleaning his flute in preparation for the Noble Lords’ debut concert, when there was a knock at the door.
“Come,” he said.
Expecting it to be one of the household staff, he continued with his task.
“Callum?”
His head shot up.
Eliza was standing with a parcel in her hands. “There is a delivery for you. Where would you like it?” she said.
He set the flute down and clambered off the bed before taking the parcel from her. As their fingers brushed against one another during the handover, a frisson of heat hit him. He could try and tell himself all the lies he wished, but he would never become immune to this woman.
Eliza made no sign of leaving the room and nodded at the parcel. “So, what is it? I am dying to know.”
Callum thought for a moment, unsure as to what he had actually ordered. He was always making purchases in shops and having them delivered home. After placing the parcel on a nearby table, he untied the string and removed the brown paper. It was two bottles of men’s cologne from Floris of London.
Eliza hurried over and picked one up. She pulled the lid off and then held the bottle to her nose. She took in a deep breath. “Oh, that is gorgeous,” she exclaimed.
Eliza dabbed the cologne on her wrists and behind her ears before he had a chance to stop her.
Now we will smell like one another. How the hell am I going to explain that to Reid?
The sound of a violin drifted in from the room next door. Owen was indulging in a private rehearsal session. Eliza closed
her eyes and tilted her head, smiling as she listened. “He was always such a natural at the violin when he and I used to take lessons together. There is an almost symbiotic relationship between him and his Stradivarius,” she said.
“Why don’t you play anymore? As I recall, you used to be a half-decent violinist,” replied Callum.
The smile quickly disappeared from Eliza’s face. “I gave up when my parents . . .” She shrugged. “I lost my love for many things at that time—the violin, unfortunately, was one of them.”
She handed him back the bottle of cologne and moved toward the door.
“Good luck for tonight. If I didn’t already have a dinner engagement at Carlton House, I would have come to see the Noble Lords make their debut,” she said.
“Such a pity, but I am sure you will come to one of our other shows,” he replied.
Without warning, she raced back to him and placed an impromptu kiss on his lips. Callum stood in shock.
“You will be a smashing success,” she said.
After Eliza was gone, he remained staring at the door. He raised his hand to his mouth and touched where her lips had been. The memory of her spontaneous but sweet kiss was seared into his brain.
She was going to make this whole breaking up thing nigh on impossible.
Chapter Ten
Callum started drinking and then kept up a steady pace for the rest of the afternoon. He eventually managed to convince himself that he needed to in order to hold his nerves at bay—it had nothing to do with the encounter between him and Eliza. The first public performance of the Noble Lords was only hours away.
During supper, Reid had suddenly got up from the dining table and raced out of the room, only to return a short time later with glassy eyes and a flushed look on his face. The group’s singer was on edge.
Callum: Regency Rockstars Page 5
