Callum: Regency Rockstars

by Sasha Cottman

  “I am fine, Papa. There is nothing to worry about,” he said.

  “That is where you are wrong. There is everything to worry about. What the hell is going to happen to this family after I am gone? You are determined to make this as difficult as possible. I just don’t understand why.”

  “It was only a boxing match,” replied Callum.

  Sir Thomas gave a hard sweep of his hand, batting Callum’s flippant reply away. “No, it wasn’t. It is just symptomatic of everything that is wrong with your life. You are out of control and you don’t give a damn about it.”

  His father’s words of rebuke stung.

  “I don’t know how much longer I have, but my passing is being made that more difficult by the concern that I cannot rely upon you. Callum, you must break this destructive cycle you are caught up in. If you won’t do it for yourself, then I beg of you, do it for me. Your mother needs you and I will not rest easy in my grave until I know you are taking care of her and looking after our family’s future.”

  Sir Thomas gestured to the chair on the other side of his desk and Callum gingerly lowered himself into it. His father gave him a disapproving look when Callum grimaced. His back and shoulders were stiff and sore, and he didn’t want to look at his bloodied, blackened knuckles.

  Guilt coursed through Callum’s veins. His parents had always indulged him and his at times reckless youthful years; but, with his father’s impending death, it was clear the time for him to step up and take his role seriously had come.

  He wanted badly to feel sorry for himself, to retreat to that familiar place where it was him against the world. Where no one understood him or what he was going through.

  For crying out loud, the man is dying and all you can think of is your own pain.

  The truth was, no matter how much gin he drank or drugs he took, the torture in his mind never seemed to go away. It only dulled his senses.

  Sir Thomas shuffled a few papers around on his desk but said nothing further. Callum sensed that his father was waiting for him to speak.

  He wracked his tired and still slightly scrambled brain. Promising to stop everything and become a responsible adult overnight would be a lie—a lie his father would immediately spot. On top of all the pain he had caused, Callum did not want to add that insult.

  It was time to be honest—brutally so.

  “I don’t know how to live without drugs and alcohol. And if I did find a way, I’m not certain I could adhere to it. I know that makes me sound like I am a weak-willed man, and perhaps it is because I am,” he said.

  His father met his gaze. “You are not weak, Callum. What you are is lost. The issue with being lost is that most people want to find their way to their destination. But in your case, I think you might have forgotten where it was that you were going.”

  Sir Thomas’s words resonated loudly in his mind. He was lost. The problem was not that he had to find his way to some place to which he had once been heading—it was that he had never had any particular place in mind.

  “I don’t honestly know what to do with myself. I can manage your estate when the time comes, but how well remains to be seen,” said Callum. He swallowed down an uncomfortable lump of dread. How the hell had Reid survived losing both parents and then been able to deal with a large estate as well as comforting a grief-stricken sister? He had always admired Reid for having had the strength to take up the role of Viscount Follett at such an early age. Now facing the same situation, but at a later stage in his own life, he was filled with awe.

  “The pounds and shillings will likely sort themselves out. I have a good man of business who knows as much about things as I do. You will need to listen to him over the next while and take everything he has to say as being good advice. It’s the other things which worry me,” replied Sir Thomas.

  Like having a son who is determined to drink himself into an early grave or who will come unstuck one night and meet his end at the hands of some blackguard in a tavern fight.

  It wasn’t the first time Callum had considered the many problems of his life. Nor was it even the first time that someone else had tried to make him come to terms with them. Over the past ten months, Owen, Kendal, and even Reid had come to him privately and offered their assistance.

  Hearing it from his father—a man whose voice was laced with desperation—was something else. He couldn’t try to ignore it any longer.

  He was failing the man who loved him—failing himself. Tears pricked his eyes.

  “Help me, please. I don’t know what to do,” Callum replied, his voice rough with emotion. If he didn’t try to break free of the chains which bound him to his life of misery now, he feared it would be impossible once his father was gone. Grief would only compound his torture.

  His father’s face brightened; the hint of a smile touched the corner of his mouth. Callum had given him hope. “Give up the cannabis and the opium for a start. I know that will not be easy, but you have to clear your mind. You cannot expect to make life-changing decisions when your brain is muddled and your senses numb,” replied Sir Thomas.

  He hadn’t known that his father was aware he was using opium. Shame settled heavily on him.

  Callum slowly tightened his fingers into fists. The bloody cracks from the boxing bout still wept in places. Playing the flute was going to be an uncomfortable task for the next few days.

  The drug haze was gradually beginning to abate. With his mind stepping out from behind the fog of intoxication, now came the need. The need for something to once more pull him back from reality.

  The irony of talking about giving up some of his addictions while he was busy thinking about getting out of his father’s study to go and have a cannabis-infused cigar was not lost on Callum. But still, he itched to leave.

  “I can see that you are uneasy about all this, Callum, but there is no other way. I would . . .”

  “Enough!” Callum released his hand from its tight fist and held it up as he interrupted his father. “I understand what has to be done. I will stop with the opium as of today. The cigars may take a little time, but I will do my best to cut back on them. That leaves the problem of booze, which to be honest, is not something I am in any sort of condition to deal with right now.”

  Sir Thomas slowly nodded. It might not have been what he had hoped to hear, but at least he seemed to be accepting it as a solid step in the right direction.

  “Would it help if you came here each day and we discuss how things are going with you? I want to assist you as best I can. It wouldn’t be an inquisition, just a moment where you and I can talk,” he said.

  He didn’t want whatever time his father had left to be spent raking through his own problems. He simply wanted to be with Sir Thomas, to give him his support. These precious moments should be used to create good memories, ones which would help both him and his mother through the long days of grief which lay ahead.

  “I will come here each day. You can ask me how I am dealing with things. I promise to give you an honest answer. With that promise comes the forewarning that sometimes you are not going to like what you hear, but can we also talk about other things? For instance, you are going to need to teach me how to maintain your strawberry patch,” said Callum.

  “Alright. And on the days when the news of your sobriety is less than stellar, I promise not to judge, but to offer you whatever help I can to get you back on the right track. And yes, we can talk strawberries. And peas,” replied Sir Thomas.

  The wan smile which appeared on the baron’s face at the mention of his garden gave a sharp prod to Callum’s heart. His behavior was hurting his father as much as the tumor.

  He had to do it—to try harder and fight his demons. The mantle of baron-in-waiting was his alone to take up and carry. To ensure that when the time came, he was ready to successfully manage the Sharp family estate.

  “I also want us to work together going through estate matters and getting me fully versed in your business dealings. Having a man of business is
a useful thing, but in the end, the decisions will rest with me.”

  His father rose from his desk and hobbled around to where Callum sat. Callum rose and greeted him with a gentle hug. As he embraced his father, tears began to fall. I am losing you and there is not a damn thing I can do about it.

  What he could do, however, was try and make his father proud. To give him the gift of a calm mind before his eventual passing.

  He had to get clean—had to sober up and take control of his future. His mouth went dry just thinking about it. He wanted a drink. He needed to get a hit of something; if he didn’t, the shakes would soon begin.

  When Sir Thomas released him from his embrace, the hopeful look on his father’s face almost broke his heart; he was trusting that Callum could get sober. That he understood.

  Callum nodded. If he was going to succeed, he had to want to do it for the one person who really mattered.

  Himself.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Two dances. Two glasses of champagne. Too bloody attentive for Eliza’s liking. She had fully intended to avoid Randolph Ward for as long as possible, hoping that he might tire of her obvious disinterest and seek another young lady to whom he could pay his attentions, but it was not to be. As soon as she had arrived at the ball this evening, Randolph had been all over her. Three hours later, and he was still by her side.

  “Would you care for another salmon and cucumber sandwich?” he asked.

  The corner of her eye twitched; she wasn’t used to men paying her such sweet attention and it was starting to fray her nerves. Randolph’s courtship was suffocating.

  “Actually, I might just go and get a spot of air. Excuse me,” she said.

  After dumping her half-empty supper plate into his hands, she fled the room and made a beeline for the terrace. Once outside, Eliza found a nice, quiet garden bench in the semidarkness and dropped onto it. She sucked in a deep breath, relieved to be away from him.

  If this is what being courted is like, I will never make it to the altar.

  “Eliza?”

  She jumped as Randolph appeared from out of the bright light of the ballroom. Damn. He had found her.

  “Please, I just need a minute alone,” she said.

  He nodded, then took a seat next to her. She gritted her teeth; taking less-than-subtle hints was clearly not his strong suit.

  “I’m sorry if I have been a little too much this evening,” he said.

  She turned to him and scowled. So, he knew his behavior was overpowering, yet he had not sought to rein it in.

  Randolph sat forward and, clasping his hands together, gave a tired sigh. “My mother is here tonight, and she is watching my every move. If I don’t look like I am making a concerted effort to win you over, I will be getting an earful from her after I get home.”

  Eliza’s scowl deepened. “Why do you have to make such an effort?”

  “Because my family are pressuring me to getting married. The moment I said more than two words to you, they had you marked out as the future Mrs. Randolph Ward,” he replied.

  She was tempted to ask him why that would be such a bad thing but thought the better of it. Knowing her luck in the love stakes, he would tell her that she wasn’t attractive enough for his tastes. At least she now understood why Randolph had not let her have a moment’s peace all evening.

  Eliza ran her gaze over Randolph’s face and body. He was a dashing specimen of a man. Why he had not already been snapped up by one of the wealthy daughters of London society? Handsome men like him didn’t normally last long on the marriage market.

  They sat in silence for a few more minutes before Randolph turned to her. “You are not seriously in the market for a husband, are you?” he asked.

  Eliza shook her head. She wasn’t sure of anything between her and Callum, but she was certain she was not ready to move on. “No. I agreed to come tonight to placate Reid. My heart lies with another; it’s just that at the moment, I don’t know if we will ever be able to be together,” she replied.

  “I am the same. I love another, but my family will never allow us to be . . . anything. I must confess, I have been using you and our connection to keep my mother’s incessant questions at bay,” he said.

  She wasn’t a shy, naïve miss. Eliza had been around the royal court and London society for long enough to understand that there were some loves which could never see the light of day. That would never be accepted.

  “You and Kendal’s brother are close friends,” she ventured.

  Randolph gave her a hard stare; his whole body was tense. Suspicion and mistrust were written clearly on his face.

  “We are quite a pair. Aren’t we?” she said.

  “Yes,” he replied, his face softening.

  He fiddled with the bottom of his black evening jacket for a minute or two. Eliza sensed Randolph was looking for the exact words to say. If her hunch was right, he had every reason to be choosing his words carefully. If he judged her wrong and she told others of their private conversation, it could destroy him.

  “Things are at a delicate stage with Phillip and me. As you can understand, I cannot say more. But if you, like me, are looking for some respite from interfering family members, then perhaps we could help one another,” he said.

  “What are you proposing—that we engage in the ruse of a relationship?”

  “For a short time, yes. We wouldn’t be doing anyone any harm. Just being friends. Our families will, of course, fill in the gaps with their expectations. What do you think?”

  She wasn’t exactly certain what he was asking of her, and she wasn’t keen to get mixed up in his relationship with Kendal’s brother, but she could see the merit in Randolph’s idea. By spending time with him, it would allow her to try and get a better grip on the situation with Callum. It would also make Reid happy for a time.

  “I am not sure,” she replied.

  A wry grin appeared on Randolph’s face. “This person you are in love with, are they playing hard to get? I ask because I am more than prepared to be someone who you could use to make him jealous.”

  Randolph’s offer was an interesting one. Eliza considered it for a moment. Could she trust him with the secret of her love for Callum? Considering how he had placed his trust in her over Kendal’s brother, she decided she could.

  “The gentleman in question is Sir Callum Sharp,” she replied.

  The grin on Randolph’s face widened, and his eyes sparkled with mischief.

  “I have an invitation to one of the Noble Lords’ upcoming concerts so why don’t you and I attend it together? If he looks out into the audience and sees the two of us laughing and sharing secret smiles it might spark something.”

  It would certainly be an interesting ploy but throwing Randolph in Callum’s face while he was trying to perform in public didn’t seem fair. That was not to say that there might be other circumstances where she could use her friendship with Randolph to gain Callum’s attention.

  “I don’t know about trying to make him jealous, I am not that comfortable with the idea,” she said.

  Randolph shook his head. “You are not that good at this romance lark, are you? I can tell you have never tried to capture a gentleman’s attention. I tell you what Lady Eliza, how about we see how our pretend romance goes and if the opportunity to tease a response out of Sir Callum presents itself, then we go ahead and make merry with it?”

  He was right, she wasn’t at all practiced in the art of luring a man. What harm could come from trying? It wasn’t as if Callum could hurt her any further.

  “Alright, let’s see how this pretend romance goes. But we will have to keep an eye on our family members and make sure that we are setting the pace and that things don’t get carried away. If my brother invites you to dine at Follett House, you had better cry off sick,” she replied.

  Randolph held out his hand and they shook to seal their agreement.

  “Yes, and if my mother asks you to go shopping, you get on the first boat to
France.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Eliza paced back and forth across the front entrance of Follett House. Every so often she stopped, put her hands on her hips, and glared at the door.

  “Where the hell are you?” she muttered.

  With her angry words delivered, she then went back to pacing.

  She could have easily sat in the front sitting room downstairs and watched for Callum out the window, seen him arrive on the doorstep, and then intercepted him as he stepped into the house. But, the anger coursing through her veins would not allow her to sit quietly and wait.

  Reid and the other Noble Lords had left more than an hour ago for their scheduled performance at one of London’s grand homes. Callum had not returned by that time and a furious Kendal had stormed out the front door, followed by Owen, and a stony-faced Reid.

  Eliza could only pray that Callum had gone directly to the concert from wherever he had spent the day. She had a horrible suspicion that the Noble Lords would not be so fortunate and that Callum would indeed miss the show. He had taken to leaving the house at all hours, regularly missing rehearsals as well as meals.

  Tonight, however, would be the first time that he was in danger of actually failing to turn up for a performance.

  A knock at the front door stopped her manic pacing.

  Mister Green answered it, returning with a folded note in his hand. He gave it to Eliza, and her heart sank at seeing Reid’s handwriting on the outside. She took a deep breath, then opened the note.

  Callum is still not here. If he has arrived home, tell him we are due to perform in forty-five minutes. If he is sober enough to play, get his flute from the ballroom, hand it to him, and put him in a bloody hack.

  “Should I fetch some notepaper, Lady Eliza?” asked Mister Green.

  She considered his offer for a moment, before deciding against penning a reply. Her worry being that the minute she sent Reid a note stating that Callum had not returned, he would set foot in the front door. Silence seemed to speak loudly enough for her purposes.