Page 69 of Snowbound Surrender

His mother and Nora, his sister, hadn’t been infected with the same dourness of spirit, and they did not understand why he couldn’t shake himself loose of his lingering ennui. Callum had decided to remove himself from the household.

He had spent the past year wallowing. There was no other word for it.

No one understood, he’d told himself. And yet, looking into Eleanor’s eyes, he wondered if that was a lie he had chosen to believe because hiding away had been easier than facing the complexities of life.

He rose from his chair and twitched the curtains aside. It had finally started snowing. The clouds had been ready to burst for two days now. Fat wet flakes careened through the sky. Already the ground was dusted. A twinge of worry made itself known. While beautiful and a lovely backdrop to the solstice celebration, paths and roadways would become slippery,making travel difficult. Perhaps he should make sure Nora and his mother made it home safely.

His family’s wellbeing was the only reason he was going. It wouldn’t hurt to freshen up though, would it? He had a quick wash in cold water and changed his shirt and waistcoat. He even tied on a simple cravat more for warmth than fashion.

He saddled his chestnut mare, settling his greatcoat over his legs and pulling his hat low. His cabin was on the border of his lands and the Westhorpe estate, Fernlow, and not more than a good stretch of the legs from their manor house.

The snow had turned blinding and he considered turning around, but the faint strain of music in the distance had him urging his mare faster. As he approached, it appeared that most of the town was on the grounds. Bypassing the stables, he dismounted and left his mare tied under a tree to protect her and his saddle from the worst of the snow, then continued on foot, skirting around the crowd.

Two fiddles and a tin whistle played a merry tune. The chaos of the snow seemed to fuel the high spirits. Although the mugs of ale being doled out from casks that had been rolled onto the grounds might be adding to the bacchanalian feel of the celebration.

The alcohol and the dancing were working to keep everyone warm enough, he supposed. If his eyes weren’t failing him, he even spotted Mrs. Patterson, an ancient widow, in the middle of the scrum, shuffling her feet with the aid of her walking stick. He stifled an unexpected laugh. His gaze tripped over familiar faces, looking for one in particular but not finding her. He told himself he hadn’t come for Eleanor anyway, but the sharp blade of disappointment branded him a liar.

He did however locate his mother and Nora holding hands and swaying along the edge of the impromptu dancefloor. Itwas very unlike his mother to join in the festivities. She would normally be seated sedately, watching over Nora.

He stopped only a few feet from them. “Mother. Nora. The weather is worsening. You should start home now if you wish to make it.”

The giggle that bubbled out of his mother was something he had never heard before. She performed a stumbling pirouette. He caught her elbows to steady her as Nora skipped away, her tinkling laughter trailing behind her. He would have to deal with her later.

“Mother, are you quite well?” He guided her toward one of the wooden chairs that had been set in a grouping.

“I feel like a debutante again. I want to continue dancing.” She tried to rise, her face tilted up so the snow gathered in her eyelashes. The color in her cheeks was high, and her eyes sparkled feverishly.

Fever. Was her mother ill? He couldn’t lose her like he had his father. And what of Eleanor?

“Wait here for me. I’ll be right back.” He backed away, half expecting her to bolt like a wild animal let loose, but she merely twiddled her fingers at him and swayed in the seat to the music.

He found Lord Westhorpe at the edge of the merrymaking having an animated discussion with some of the household staff. “…nightmare. Hannigan, can you start calling carriages for those that have an escort who is not affected. Otherwise, we shall offer accommodation.”

“Affected by what, Westhorpe?” Callum asked. “Mother and Nora are acting strangely. Is an illness sweeping through the town again?”

“Ah, Callum. No illness that a good night’s sleep can’t cure. Apparently, the ladies’ punch has been doctored with something it shouldn’t have been. An herbal concoction of Madeline Northcutt’s that was mistaken for peppermint. All are welcometo remain here for the night. Except for temporarily excessive high spirits, there seem to be no adverse lasting effects.”

“How temporary?”

Westhorpe shrugged and grimaced. “Hours, I would guess. If you’ll excuse me, I must begin moving people to the house and call for carriages if possible. Unfortunately, Adriana also partook.”

As Westhorpe did his best to herd the ladies around him toward the house, Callum looked to the sky but could only see the heavy snow falling. If it continued, Westhorpe might find himself hosting an unexpected house party.

He went to find his mother and sister to escort them home, but before he could, he was waylaid by Charlotte MacGrath.

“Callum, you came! I’m so happy to see you. And I know who else would be happy to see you too.” Her voice had taken on a sing-song teasing quality.

“Who is that?” he asked distractedly, looking over her shoulder for his family.

“Eleanor. She was quite disappointed you were not here when we arrived.”

He gave his full attention to Charlotte MacGrath. “Where is she now?”

“I told her about the folly on the lake yesterday, and she wanted to see it. She should have been back by now.” Charlotte’s smile faded a little and a crinkle appeared between her eyes, but then the worry cleared, and she tried to catch snowflakes on her tongue.

Callum took her by the shoulders and gave her a slight shake to draw her focus. “Did she drink any of the punch?”

“Yes, we both did. Delicious stuff. Warm and spicy. Perfect for a winter’s night.” Charlotte threw her arms out and lifted her face to the sky. In the years he’d known her, she had always been good-natured, with a dry sense of humor but never ebullient.Was this the real Charlotte hiding behind the facade presented to society? What exactly had been in the punch?