I f Callum had thought there was going to be any sort of real difficulty with the Briarwoods, he had been incredibly mistaken.
The last two weeks had flown by with remarkable speed, and he was certain that at any moment, Cymbeline was going to take him aside and tell him he had passed muster.
She certainly had.
In his opinion, they both had.
Not only had she kept pace with him, but he had also managed her family. Though, if he was honest—and he’d hidden it—it had been surprisingly frustrating. He’d been so certain that the Briarwoods’ sense of fun and playfulness would make them ideal.
He had not counted on the amount of time they spent with each other…doing nothing.
Or at least, to him, it was nothing. They seemed to think they were accomplishing something essential when they lounged about together at night, with the summer breeze floating in through the windows as they pored over various texts.
And sometimes, they did nothing but sit and converse about the meaning of existence and what they each thought this life was for.
He did not need to sit about contemplating this. He already knew the answer. Life was for action, not lounging!
The truth was he found it wearing, grating even, to spend so much time with so many people who wished to know him deeply.
He wasn’t accustomed to that. He flew through his life, darting in and out of events, saying hello to people, having conversations but never actually needing to show any of the deeper layers of himself.
No. No one needed to know the way his mind truly worked, like a bunch of bees continually buzzing for him to move and to accomplish.
Besides, he was always too busy for such nonsense. That said, he did admire them. The Briarwoods were the best family of his acquaintance, even if they were not exactly what he had imagined.
In truth, he admired the Briarwoods because they actually did live with passion. Most people, as far as he could see, were sleepwalking through their lives with no awareness of who they were or what they wanted.
He knew exactly who he was, and he knew exactly what he wanted.
It seemed that every Briarwood did too.
Yes, despite the strain of finding ways out of evenings sprawled on chairs, it had been an excellent set of days. Though he had balked at the idea of staying at Heron House, all had gone exceedingly well.
No one seemed to mind that he had a parade of men coming in and out to do work.
No one seemed to mind that he wished to go out every single night.
With Cymbeline, of course. She had never flagged or appeared tired.
No, she had been delightfully game. They had gone to balls.
They had gone to the theater. They had gone to museums. There had been only one moment when he had been truly concerned, and that was when they had all suggested going down to the country.
He did not go down to the country. The country was a terrible place for a person like him because if he was in the country, everything got rather quiet.
And then the beast that was in his brain would wake itself up, and then he had to contend with his own demanding thoughts but with no outlet for them.
And one of the things that he had discovered many years ago was that it was incredibly important that he not be left entirely alone with his thoughts, unless he had something to do.
Nights were hard. But he’d long ago learned not to waste a moment or let his brain rule. No, he had no problem pacing his chamber in the middle of the night as long as he was working on a bill.
But if he was simply still, if he was simply quiet, well, that was something else altogether. It was actually painful to him.
No, he needed to constantly be on the move, which was why this ball was so particularly splendid. He had already danced with Cymbeline once, and he was waiting to get to dance with her again.
He did not wish to cause a scandal, and so he was not asking her to dance over and over again, though he wished to. If he had his way, he’d dance every single dance with her.
He had danced with all of her cousins who were out this Season. That had been a delight, since they were all interesting and amusing young women. He had even spent time with her male cousins, drinking brandy and discussing politics.
Yes, so far, all was going well. She was going to say yes. A full, hardy yes.
Still, there was a general tension to the air because it was an inescapable fact that Napoleon had invaded Russia. The Continent was roiling with it. No one knew exactly what was going to happen next.
England had been fighting the man for years, and he was indomitable. The only person, perhaps, who would be able to stop him was Wellington.
And there was a certain edge to the Briarwood family now because several of the youngest men, adopted sons of Lord Achilles, were fighting abroad.
Octavian and Calchas were still in town, but he had a feeling that they would soon be gone as well. Soon, there would be a last-ditch effort to secure the world against the French tyrant who wished to dominate Europe.
Callum was rather amazed by Cymbeline’s male cousins.
None of them had to fight, but they had all volunteered.
At the same time, he worried. He worried for them and he worried for Europe, which was why he had to act unceasingly.
Really, he needed to go home and spend less time on wooing a bride.
He needed to spend more time winning a war.
Still, he was so close.
He was certain Cymbeline would be his wife any day now.
As he crossed the ballroom, the crowd parted for him, a thing that was always done for dukes—he knew it was not just limited to him—and headed towards her.
Cymbeline was so beautiful that sometimes his whole being ached with it.
She stood in a gown of pale rose silk. It skimmed her delicate ankles and the scooped shoulders bared her beautiful ivory skin. She was talking animatedly to one of her cousins. He dearly loved how she managed to make every conversation feel as if every word mattered. And every person too.
She’d be a great duchess.
Callum approached, stretched out his hand, and said, “Will you give me this dance?”
She turned to him and beamed. “I will because it’s a leaping waltz,” she teased.
He laughed. A leaping waltz! It was such an amusing thing to say, but he rather liked this kind of waltz as well. Sometimes, the slow waltzes, made so popular in Austria, were rather difficult to bear, for his mind would go rioting in the slow moments between beats.
Doing things slowly was not something he particularly enjoyed, even if he did enjoy embracing her. Her cousin smiled at him and took a step back, allowing the two of them to head off to the floor.
The well-lit ballroom was packed with lords and ladies and officers too. It almost looked as if a military parade could commence at any moment.
There were so many red coats and naval uniforms about them.
It gave the festive air a certain danger that couldn’t be fully escaped, nor could it be ignored.
’Twas as if they were all walking on the edge of a blade because, while it might feel as if England could never fail or fall, there was always the possibility that something could go terribly, terribly wrong.
Rumors were always persisting of French troops landing on the coast.
They still remained essentially untouched, as opposed to the Continent. That place had been ravaged, and the stories slipping out of France about the conditions of the peasants was appalling. War was expensive, and the people of France were paying for Napoleon’s endless ambition.
It was all the more reason to live fully and all the more reason to never stop working because if one stopped working, well, Napoleon might find a way to win.
He gazed down at her. “Are you happy?” he asked.
“Of course I’m happy,” she replied.
“With these last two weeks?” he queried as the music began and he dipped his hand to her shoulder blade. Bloody hell, he loved to touch her.
One day, and soon, he would be able to strip her of her gown and touch every bit of her.
How he longed to do it, but not yet. Before he could truly claim her, he had to make her his wife.
Though he knew she would have ventured further into carnal delights with him, he wanted to wait, to make her hungry for him.
To have her and never let her go.
They began the sprightly dancing pattern, which was much more exciting than the typical waltz, and slipped about the room in arcing patterns.
“These last two weeks have been quite a revelation,” she confessed as she gazed up at him with shining eyes. “I enjoy your company very much, and I admire the fact that you have tried to fit into my family. I can tell it is not always easy for you… Though I thought it would be.”
He winked, determined to keep this light. “Well, there are so many of you,” he teased. “I think it would be challenging for anyone at first, no matter how effervescent they were.”
She laughed, her delicious, bright laugh as if the world belonged to her and always would. “I suppose that is true. Do you think you and your mother shall be able to handle being part of the Briarwood crew? We adore Christmas. You will have to come down to the country with us.”
He frowned and said before he could stop himself, “We’ll have Christmas in the city.”
She balked at that. “But I have such a large family. Surely, it would make more sense for you to spend Christmas with us.” She waggled her brows, clearly certain he must have been teasing. “Do not fail me now, Your Grace, since I was about to tell you that I think the wait is over.”
The idea of Christmas in the country filled him with horror, but the rest of her declaration eradicated his concerns, and he smiled slowly as he gazed down at her. “Have I proved myself to you so quickly and so easily then?”
There was nothing easy about it though. Not really.