Callum: Regency Rockstars

by Sasha Cottman

  Soon the sweet notes of a lullaby filled the still night air. The only other sounds to be heard in the room were Reid’s footsteps as he headed back out to the foyer and shut the door behind him.

  A glass of whisky was pushed into his hand and Callum gratefully sipped it. He had managed a few glasses of gin before he had fallen asleep earlier. That had been his mistake. The only things that helped to keep the nightmares at bay were alcohol and drugs. He should have put away more gin.

  He was well into his second glass of whisky when his eyes began to feel heavy. A hand reached out and took his glass from him. The last thing he remembered as he slipped into the comforting arms of sleep was Kendal whispering to Owen, “Keep playing. Music soothes the savage breast.”

  “I thought it was the savage beast,” replied Owen.

  “No. People always get it wrong. But in Callum’s case it might be more apt.”

  Eliza met Reid at the top of the main staircase. She had heard the screams from her bedroom but had been unsure as to whether she should come out.

  “Was that Callum? Did he have a nightmare?” she asked.

  Reid frowned. She sensed his reluctance to discuss such a delicate matter. Men like Reid and the others were not ones to talk about their feelings or fears.

  “After all you boys went through, I can fully understand it. There is no shame in night terrors,” she said.

  “He is fine. Owen and Kendal are with him,” he replied.

  Eliza wasn’t so easily put off. She was a problem-solver, and if she could do anything to help Callum she would, even if her brother didn’t particularly approve. “I can go and get some water on the boil. They might want a pot of tea,” she said.

  “No, they have whisky, and as much as I don’t like to see Callum drinking, I think it is what he needs right now. I am going back to bed, and you should do the same. There is nothing you can do for him tonight.”

  “Perhaps I could go and sit with them, offer him my support,” she pressed.

  “No.”

  “But . . .”

  With a huff of frustration, Reid took her by the arm and steered her into a nearby sitting room. “You have to let us handle this, Eliza. It is bad enough that Callum has been suffering nightmares since he went to war, but he most certainly does not need you stepping in and making a fuss over him. You asked me to help him; I am doing my best,” he said.

  He drew closer. “Callum is embarrassed enough that the rest of the Noble Lords were roused from their beds by his cries tonight. If he knew that you had also heard, his pride would be crushed. He never wants to talk about his nightmares. In the past year, we have barely managed to get more than a few words about what happened to him and his men that day. The best thing you can do for him is to pretend none of this happened.”

  I am supposed to just pretend. You cannot be serious.

  “Is this why he drinks? To numb himself so he can sleep?” she asked.

  “Mostly. But please let me and the others handle this. You should be focusing your attention on Randolph Ward. He is keen to meet with you again.”

  She sighed. “So that is it. I am to just turn my back on him—the only man I have ever loved. I simply forget about him and go off and marry someone else. That seems a poor reward for all that he has sacrificed.”

  “War has its price. We all pay it in one way or another. Callum is one of my best friends and watching him like this, cuts me to the quick. But until he decides to tackle his problems without the use of drugs and alcohol, he will never be free of those nightmares,” said Reid.

  Reid had clearly made up his mind when it came to the subject of her and Callum. What bothered Eliza more was that he seemed at times to be almost indifferent to Callum’s suffering. “You obviously don’t care deeply enough to sit up with him.”

  “I have a singing lesson at nine o’clock. I don’t have the luxury of staying abed in the morning,” he replied.

  Eliza pushed past him and went back to her room. She didn’t want to hear another word from her brother’s lips.

  There were times when she wondered if like Callum, her brother had left a part of himself on the battlefield. For Callum it had been his soul; for Reid, his humanity.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Three members of the Noble Lords arrived at the elegant town house in Curzon Street ready for their next performance. Owen, for some unknown reason, had not arrived back at Windmill Street in time to leave with the others. There was something happening in his private life, but Reid and Kendal both seemed to have enough of their own problems to deal with at present for them not to have raised it as a major issue.

  Owen had been late for rehearsals this morning and it irked Callum that no one had taken him to task over it. He had little doubt that if it had been him who was late, Kendal would have torn into him.

  Yes, but you have given them plenty of reasons to be angry and frustrated with you. Owen might have been late, but he was sober. When was the last time you played with the group and had not been half in your cups?

  The thought of alcohol had him immediately wishing he had a drink in his hands. Habit had turned into compulsion. Compulsion now transformed into an addiction which held him tightly in its grip.

  He fished around in his jacket pocket, ready to slip out to the garden and smoke one of his cigars. He caught Reid’s gaze. His fellow Noble Lord was seated at the front of the room watching as the guests slowly filed into the ballroom. He beckoned for Callum to join him.

  Fuck. I need a smoke or a drink, not a chat.

  A reluctant Callum wandered over and took a seat. Reid was looking far too calm and happy for his liking.

  “Would you kindly stop looking so bloody chirpy for this time of night? You are positively beaming,” he said.

  Reid gave him a self-satisfied grin. “I am feeling good. I haven’t had a drop of alcohol for three days. I slept like a baby last night.”

  Callum’s eyes grew wide. Three days without a drink—was the man serious?

  “Not a drop,” said Reid.

  Callum scowled. “What do you mean, not a drop? How is that even possible?”

  He was intrigued that Reid was able to sleep well without the use of alcohol or drugs. And, more than a little envious. It had been so long since he had gone to bed unaffected by depressants. He couldn’t remember the last time he had.

  “My singing teacher thinks it is a good idea,” replied Reid.

  Kendal, who was seated at the nearby piano, raised a hand in greeting as Owen appeared in their midst. Callum sighed with relief. With Owen and Kendal both performing their magic, he would be able to get away with the odd mistake that he had become accustomed to making. The musical prowess of the other two usually managed to hide his bum notes.

  Not that any of it mattered anymore. He found it increasingly hard to muster any real interest in the goings on of the Noble Lords. Even the music had somehow lost its magic. And music had always been his touchstone. His addictions had now taken its place.

  His father was soon to be lost. Eliza was slipping from his grasp. His life was falling apart. And, he couldn’t confide any of his troubles to his friends. Playing for London’s social elite felt hollow and asinine.

  He rose from his chair and offered it to Owen. “Just going to get a spot of fresh air before the performance,” he said.

  The need to get buzzed was all that mattered. He craved it.

  Kendal was working at the piano, quietly practicing. Owen had taken his violin out of its case and was adding rosin to the bow. Normally Callum would have sat and made sure his flute was perfectly in tune, as his instrument did have a tendency to play flat, but tonight he simply couldn’t muster the interest to even look at it. If it was off pitch, he would muddle through.

  Once outside in the garden, he made short work of the cigar. He was well under the influence of the mind-altering cannabis by the time he made it back inside. Nicely stoned.

  The hostess of the gathering joined them, an expect
ant smile on her face. Reid raised an eyebrow. Anyone who was anything within the ton was now scrambling to book the Noble Lords.

  “I am thrilled to have you all here tonight. Of course, I had hoped to have Signore Calvino and his friends play as well, but it is simply impossible to get the two groups on the same bill anymore,” she said.

  Eliza had been cleverly managing the demand side of things. Several titled hostesses were outraged to find themselves on the wait-list for securing a performance by the Noble Lords. She was also trying her best not to have the Noble Lords perform at the same home on the same night as the Italians.

  As their hostess made her way back to her assembled guests, ready to introduce the Noble Lords, Owen leaned in to speak to the others. “Can we make this a tight and quick performance tonight? I have other plans.”

  Reid frowned, while Kendal threw up his hands in disgust. Tensions within the group had been slowly rising over the past week.

  I couldn’t care less if I tried. This is all such childish bullshit.

  “Terribly sorry to encroach on your love life, Owen, but I thought the Noble Lords actually meant something to you. You might be getting your cock sucked every night, but we still have to beat the Italians if we are going to consider this summer a success,” sniped Kendal.

  Callum thought the better of mentioning that the original reason for the group’s formation had been to get back into the beds of the wild women of London society. If Owen was indeed getting sexual favors from a lady, then the Noble Lords were achieving their purpose.

  “Enough, gentlemen. Owen made a commitment to play with the group. We all did. If anyone doesn’t want to take our music seriously anymore, then they are free to leave after our current list of bookings is complete. I can ask Eliza to stop finding us places to play; you only have to say the word,” said Reid.

  Owen had the good grace to look shamefaced at his behavior. He grumbled, “Sorry. I was being selfish.”

  “Not to mention unprofessional,” added Kendal.

  “And, of course, you yourself are maintaining a professional relationship with everyone with whom you have dealings, are you not, Kendal? Remind me again as to the reason why Miss Mercy Wood and you feel the need to spend hours together in the ballroom. Is it that she is tuning something else apart from your piano?” Callum took particular delight in teasing Kendal about his crush on the beautiful young woman who came to Follett House each day to tune his Cristofori piano.

  Kendal shot him a look which would have given a man with a clearer head cause for concern. Callum softly smiled, confident that not even the hot-tempered Kendal was foolish enough to start a fight this close to the time when they were due to play. He picked up his flute, perhaps it needed to be tuned after all.

  “Go fuck yourself, Callum,” Kendal muttered.

  Their hostess eventually made her way to the front of the room and introduced the Noble Lords. The group settled into their usual set, but even Callum noted the lack of spark in their performance. Fortunately, the audience didn’t seem to notice the tension which hung thick in the air between the members of the group; there were still tears when they played Vivaldi.

  At the end of the piece, Reid got to his feet. Callum laid his flute on his lap. Only Owen and Kendal were to accompany Reid for his first song.

  The effects of the cigar were beginning to wane and he found himself actually paying attention to Reid’s singing. He nodded along with the aria. Reid’s baritone voice was improving. His singing lessons were having a positive impact on him.

  Callum picked up his flute in readiness to play the next piece of music, then set it down again when Reid lifted his voice and sang the last few notes of the aria as a tenor.

  He caught Owen’s gaze out of the corner of his eye. It had only been four notes, but from the look of horror on Owen’s face, it was clear Reid had stepped over a line. Kendal did not hold with any changes to the music. Mistakes were bad enough, but Reid had done this deliberately. For the first time in a long time, Callum was sorry for his fellow Noble Lord.

  Kendal is going to have your guts for garters.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Cheers.”

  Callum raised his glass and toasted Reid. They were settled comfortably in Reid’s study enjoying a bottle of whisky. Reid was relaxed on one of the burgundy couches, Callum on its matching pair.

  He had been surprised to receive the invitation from Reid to join him for a private evening together. Things had been strained between the two of them from the moment Callum had moved into Follett House. They had settled into an uneasy routine of being polite to one another but not actually spending any time together.

  “These couches are very comfortable,” said Callum.

  Reid smiled. “Eliza chose them. I expected her to go with something a little more feminine, like florals, but she decided on leather.”

  He wisely left the topic of Eliza alone. If he and Reid were ever going to get their friendship back on anything which resembled an even footing, the issue of his feelings for Eliza would have to remain strictly out of bounds.

  “I must apologize to you,” said Reid.

  Callum did a double take. If anyone owed the rest of the world an apology at present, it was him. “What for?”

  “I haven’t exactly been the most welcoming of hosts to you. I know things are not great between us, but I still owe it to you to be more hospitable.”

  Callum waved his words away. “I think we both need to apologize to one another. I can’t honestly say that I have been a trouble-free guest.”

  He hadn’t been an easy person in pretty much any regard over the past year. If asked, he would say he wanted to break out of the self-destructive pattern he was stuck in. But Callum wasn’t certain he did. A life away from the numbing comfort of gin and cannabis seemed a life not worth living.

  A change in topic was what they needed.

  “So how are the singing lessons going? I must say, I think it is brave of you to try and become a tenor,” said Callum.

  He was genuine in his admiration for all the hard work Reid was putting in to changing his singing range.

  “Well, they are moving along. Though, as you can tell, I haven’t ventured another impromptu performance such as the one I did the other night. A man can only have his face torn off by Lord Kendal Grant so many times before he decides it is not worth it,” he replied.

  “I don’t think I helped the situation by goading him just before we went on. I must confess, I was more than a little under the influence of narcotics at the time.”

  Reid nodded. The rest of the Noble Lords had dabbled enough in drugs in their younger years to know when a friend was wasted.

  “I think Kendal was already looking for a fight. He is annoyed with Owen and his constant disappearing act. Kendal just wants everyone to concentrate on the music. This woman Owen is trying to bed is leading him on a merry chase. I am surprised that he cannot see it. Her husband might well be out of the country, but she is still married and playing coy,” said Reid.

  “Not that anything could ever come of it. His father is pressing him on the fiancée front, and Owen is going to have to deal with Lady Amelia Perry sooner rather than later,” added Callum.

  From what he had seen of Owen’s behavior, Callum suspected his fellow Noble Lord was suffering from a heated and incurable case of love. It was the first time that Cupid’s arrow had actually stuck in his arse and, as one of London’s foremost lotharios, he didn’t seem to know what to do with himself. Callum almost felt sorry for Owen.

  Almost.

  Callum sipped his whisky. It was good to sit and share a private moment with Reid, but he wasn’t certain that it was purely for the mending of fences. Eliza’s budding friendship with Randolph Ward had not rated a mention at any point, and he was beginning to wonder if Reid had any intention of ever telling him about it.

  He suspected tonight had a secret side agenda, with Reid smoothing things over with him while at the same time
working behind the scenes to orchestrate matters so that Randolph could officially begin to court Eliza.

  Reid could be very persuasive if the mood so took him. Callum was determined to keep a close eye on the happenings between Eliza and the oh-so-smooth Randolph Ward to make certain that he was not blindsided by any sudden and unexpected betrothal announcements.

  He pointed to the full glass in Reid’s hand. “Come on. Finish that drink. Then you and I are headed out. I know where there is a bare-knuckle fight between two nobles tonight and I plan to have some money on it.

  “Really? Good god, who is fighting?” replied Reid.

  Callum flexed his fingers and then proceeded to crack each one of his knuckles in turn. He downed the last of his whisky and got to his feet. He rolled his shoulders back, taking care to go easy on his left one.

  “The Marquess of Brooke and me!”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The stitches would heal and in time, the bruises would fade, but that did not help Callum the following morning as he entered his father’s study. Sir Thomas, who was seated at his desk, winced at the sight of his son and his boxing injuries.

  “Would it help make you feel any better if I told you it was a draw?” said Callum.

  His father shook his head. “You look terrible. What happened?”

  “Bare-knuckled boxing. The Duke of Strathmore’s eldest son, the Marquess of Brooke. Alex Radley might be a pretty boy, but he knows how to fight. We went five rounds before the referee finally called a halt to it.”

  He wasn’t going to make mention of the opium den he had stopped by on the way back to Windmill Street in order to smoke up and take away some of the pain of the boxing bout. This morning, Callum hurt all over.

  The puff and bluster of his attempted humor all but fled when Sir Thomas let out a resigned sigh. There was an edge of pain to it that Callum had not heard before. It went straight to his heart.