“What is the letter for?”
“Paying the Archbishop for a special marriage license. Those things are not cheap.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Following the disaster of Reid’s efforts to sing as a tenor, the Noble Lords suddenly found themselves with a number of spare evenings. Several hostesses had cancelled their bookings on the back of the rumors which had circulated like wildfire through the ton.
For the Noble Lords themselves, the break in their performance schedule could not have come at a worse time. Reid was apparently having issues with his singing teacher and was perpetually in a bad mood, while Owen and Kendal both appeared to be deep in messy entanglements with women.
Even Eliza was dealing with difficulties; the Prince Regent, having decided that his official residence of Carlton House was too small, had taken to one of its giant Portland stone pillars with a hammer and tried to knock it down. Eliza was now pandering to the prince and his tantrums over his injured hands and was rarely home.
With the various upheavals happening in the house, Callum was left to his own devices. Returning from seeing his father one afternoon, he was a short distance from Follett House when an old army friend hailed him. “Callum!”
He laughed as his friend made a mad dash across Windmill Street.
“Toby, how the hell are you?” he said.
Toby bowed low. “Sorry, I forgot it’s now Sir Callum. They made you a bloody knight. And much deserved.”
They shook hands. “You look well,” said Callum.
“I am surviving. Working in my father’s import business these days. A nice cushy job that has short hours and doesn’t involve people trying to shoot me. Did I hear right when someone said that you and Reid had started up a musical group?” replied Toby.
“Yes. Owen and Kendal as well.”
He wasn’t going to say anything further about the sudden and unexpected hiatus that the Noble Lords currently found themselves in.
Toby pointed to a nearby tavern. One which Callum had been a regular patron of in the lead up to his attempt to manage his drinking. “Fancy a pint of ale?”
Callum shook his head. “No. I’m on my way back to Follett House.”
Toby frowned, then punched Callum on the arm. “Oh, come on. I haven’t seen you in months. Just one drink, then you can be on your way.”
“I should say no,” said Callum, weakening.
Toby put an arm around Callum’s shoulder. “But you won’t let an old Royal Dragoon down. Come on.”
They headed to the tavern, where one drink quickly became two, became five. By evening’s end, he was well plastered.
“She loves me, but I am a hopeless drunk,” he moaned.
Slumped over his tankard, Toby offered a hum of sympathy. “There is no point in being a hope . . . less drunk. You have to work at it so you can be a . . . what’s the word? Oh, fuck, I don’t know. Just drink up,” Toby said, and lifted his drink to his lips.
Sometime in the early hours, Callum received a sharp tap on the shoulder. He lifted his head from where it had been resting on the table and squinted at the man standing in front of him.
“Sir Callum, Lady Eliza sent me to look for you. She says it is time to come home,” he said.
He wiped his hand over his face. He had no idea how long he had been asleep at the table. Getting to his feet, he glanced at Toby. His old army pal had his head leaning against the wall, eyes firmly closed.
Callum put his hand into his coat pocket and pulled out some coins. He handed them to the nearby barmaid. “Could you be a love and make sure my friend is put into a hack and taken home? If you wake him in a little while he should be able to give you the address.”
With the footman supporting him, Callum staggered the last few yards home. He refused any attempts to take him upstairs and to his room, demanding that he be allowed to sleep on the floor of the ballroom. As his head lowered onto the hard wood, Callum heard a familiar female voice.
“Thank you for bringing Sir Callum home in one piece. I shall take over from here.”
Eliza. She couldn’t trust him to stay sober. He was weak-willed and pathetic; how could he have ever thought himself worthy of her? How many more times would he succumb to temptation before she finally decided he wasn’t worth the risk and she gave him back the promise ring?
His boots were removed, and a blanket thrown over him.
In the moment just before deep sleep claimed him, he muttered, “I hate myself.”
The following morning, Callum was exactly where Eliza had left him: out cold on the floor of the ballroom. Two burly footmen managed to finally rouse him and prop him upright against the wall.
As she busied herself about the Noble Lords’ rehearsal space, Eliza caught a glimpse of Callum watching her.
“I shall get a cup of tea for you. You will need something to perk you up. Reid has called a meeting of the Noble Lords for this morning,” she said.
Eliza moved a few chairs and fussed with the cushions of the fireside sofa. She was loath to leave Callum alone, knowing that Reid would more than likely have a crack at him for once again being drunk.
She wanted to say something to him about last night, but words failed her. He had told her he would have days when he would fall. When sobriety would elude him. It was painful to see him in such a state.
You had been doing so well.
“Eliza? Can we talk?” he said.
She drew in a slow deep breath and met his tired gaze. “Not right now. Reid and the others will be here shortly. Perhaps later.”
He closed his eyes and gave a small nod. She doubted he was capable of much more this morning.
Reid stepped through the door of the ballroom, took one look at Callum, and muttered, “For fuck’s sake. Is there ever going to be a morning when you don’t wake up on my floor?”
Eliza bit her tongue. Getting into a row with Reid over Callum’s problems was not going to serve any useful purpose.
They were spared further grumblings as Owen and Kendal both walked into the room at that moment. Neither man said anything as they took one look at Callum and then headed for the circle of chairs in the center of the room.
“Thank you for all making the effort to come to this hastily convened meeting,” said Reid.
“Not that we had any choice,” mumbled Owen.
Eliza claimed the seat next to Owen and glared at him. He raised an eyebrow in reply. Reid, to his credit, ignored the exchange and pressed on. “Let me firstly begin by apologizing once more for the debacle of my singing the other night. I made a mess of things and embarrassed us all.”
His words were met with deathly silence, which continued as a footman entered the room and placed a cup of tea on the floor next to Callum. He bowed to Eliza then left.
“I mentioned the incident to my singing teacher, and she is of the opinion that my singing was not the problem—rather that I allowed Marco Calvino to outfox me.”
“She?” replied Owen.
Reid nodded. “Yes, she. Mrs. Lavinia Jones. A widow who instructs students at her apartment in Craven Street. She is the singing teacher I have been working with for the past few weeks.”
Eliza looked slowly around the gathering, taking in the reactions from the others to the revelation that Reid’s teacher was a woman. Oddly, no one seemed to be that surprised.
“Go on,” she replied.
“Well, Lavinia and I have discussed the situation at length; and she suggested that the Noble Lords hold a charity concert. A proper one in a theatre. And I shall sing a full song as a tenor.”
No one said anything for some time. Kendal got up and wandered off to sit at his piano. Whilst it, annoyed Eliza that not one of the Noble Lords immediately leapt to his feet and gave a ringing endorsement of Reid’s plan, she could understand their reasons for remaining silent. He had humiliated them in public once already, so the idea of getting up in front of ticket-holding patrons and possibly doing it again was not something which h
eld much appeal.
“I call for a vote; a simple majority carries it,” said Owen.
Reid didn’t appear very happy at Owen’s suggestion, but from the looks on the faces of the other band members, he didn’t have much say in the matter.
“Alright, we hold a vote. All those in favor raise your right hand,” said Reid.
Callum put his hand up, which pleased Eliza no end. Along with Reid, that made two votes.
Owen stared at the floor, while Kendal went back to tinkering with the piano keys. Neither man said anything. The vote was tied.
The temper which she had been trying to keep at bay all morning bubbled up inside Eliza. “I should get a vote,” she declared.
If the concert did get the go ahead, it would be more than likely that she would be asked to help with ticket sales and also take on the lion’s share of the non-musical work.
Callum lifted his hand, followed by Reid. Kendal lifted three fingers from the keyboard. Only Owen abstained. Eliza made a mental note to make sure Owen’s favorite wine was suddenly in short supply during supper.
“Motion carried. Eliza gets a vote in the concert bill before the house. We vote again,” said Reid.
With Reid, Callum, and now her vote, the concert was approved. Eliza sat smiling at the men.
So, this is what voting power feels like? Little wonder they want to keep women from having their say in parliament.
Kendal and Owen both quickly left the room after making it clear that they would honor the outcome of the vote. An excited Reid headed quickly out the front door en route to Craven Street to give Lavinia Jones the good news.
Which left Eliza and Callum alone.
Callum struggled to his feet and wandered sheepishly over to her. “Congratulations on the vote.”
Eliza nodded. “Thank you.” At least something good had come out of the morning.
“Can you and I now have that talk?”
She rose from her chair. This was not going to be an easy conversation, but they had promised one another that they would be honest in their relationship.
“Yes. I shall ask Mister Green to send you Kendal’s valet and have you cleaned up. I will meet with you on the balcony in an hour,” she replied.
Callum shuffled off in the direction of the door, leaving Eliza alone with her thoughts. She badly needed the next hour to spend time alone and prepare herself to make the biggest decision of her life.
Last night’s slip back into his drunken ways had rattled her. When Callum had said there would be times when he failed, she hadn’t expected it to be so soon.
If she committed herself to Callum, she could not afford to be half-hearted about it. Marriage would mean no walking away when he fell short in his efforts to stay sober. But it would also mean holding him accountable for his decisions. They would both have to take the good with the bad.
She loved him. She wanted to be his wife. And her wedding vows would hold her to her promises.
To have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Kendal’s valet fussed over Callum’s clothing until Callum finally held up his hand and cried, “Cease this lunacy!”
The man frowned, clearly not used to helping a gentleman who was not finicky about his dress. “But, Sir Callum, you are not ready,” he pleaded.
Callum pointed toward the door. He was as ready as he was ever going to be when it came to Eliza. After the disgraceful state he had got himself into the previous evening, his only hope was that if she wanted to call things off, Eliza would make the conversation mercifully short.
The valet huffed and left the room.
Callum headed for the balcony. Eliza was already seated on one of the chairs when he stepped out of his room. She didn’t look up as he approached. Callum stopped and gathered his thoughts.
Be gracious and kind. If the answer is no, her heart will be breaking. And you are the blackguard who will have finally ended her dreams.
He pulled his shoulders back and took another step forward. This time she did look up; her gaze roamed over his body for a moment before she met his eyes. She gave him a soft smile and Callum’s heart felt ready to break.
“You look handsome. Nigel is a master when it comes to tying a cravat,” she said.
Callum glanced down at the intricate knot Nigel had created for him. His old valet had always stuck to the basic knots, but this was a nice piece of work. He was a mess on the inside, but he at least looked good. “I have no idea what this knot is.”
“It’s a sentimentale knot. Prinny wears them whenever he has himself a new mistress. They are quite romantic,” she replied.
Callum pulled out the other balcony chair and took a seat. It was going to take more than a fancy knot to salvage the situation. “About last night,” he started.
“No. Don’t you dare offer me up an apology or any form of explanation. You went out last night and you got drunk. End of story.”
“Yes, I did.”
“My mother was always making excuses for my father and the various states of inebriation that he came home in. Believe me, I have heard every cock-and-bull story that you might think to offer. So, you can save your breath.”
She clearly didn’t want his apology or explanation and he honestly couldn’t blame her. He had promised to try and give up the drink and failed miserably. Failed the both of them.
“I understand if you have decided that we should call a halt to things. You have my blessing to put the blame of failure fully on me. I am sure if you speak with Randolph Ward that he will be more than willing to resume your friendship. Perhaps even progress it to something more.”
He had rehearsed the words enough times over the past hour that he was able to deliver them without too much emotion. Get it over and done with and let her go.
“So, I give up and that hands you the perfect excuse to go back to the bottle full-time? To your old mistress? Not a chance. We are in this together to the end.”
He pushed out of the chair and dropped to his knees in front of her. Relief coursed through him in great waves. She had spared him. “I am not worthy of you or your love, but I need you more than I need air. Oh, Liz, I love you so damn much it hurts.”
Her arms wrapped about his shoulders and she pulled him close. She kissed him and whispered, “We both know this is not going to be an easy journey. You are going to fail. But for every time that you fall, I will be here to help you back up. Together, we will free you of this terrible disease.”
Callum looked into her eyes. Those beautiful brown eyes that had always held him captive.
“I love you, Callum. I will never give up on loving you no matter what you do,” she said.
Relief was now replaced by humble gratitude. Someone somewhere had finally decided he was due some grace. That he had suffered long enough without her at his side. “Does that mean you will still consider becoming my wife?” he asked.
She placed another tender kiss on his lips. “Only until you finally get around to asking me so I can then say yes.”
Callum smiled up at her. Taking her hands in his, he mustered the words; hope that she would accept him glowed in his heart. “Lady Elizabeth Margaret Matilda Follett, would you do me the greatest honor and agree to be my wife?”
Eliza scowled and for a second, Callum’s hopes of success fell. “I didn’t know you knew that I have Matilda as a name.”
Callum’s mother had recently told him that Eliza had been named after a number of famous English queens. The request for a special marriage license would require both their full names.
“I have my ways of finding out these things,” he replied.
“I like resourceful men. I think I shall keep you.” She kept him waiting for a moment longer, but the spark of love shone in her eyes. “Yes. I shall marry you. As soon as we can arrange it.”
“You know I haven’t asked Reid for permission. I don’t expect to get his approval if I do,” he replied.
“You are sure about this? I don’t want to cause a schism in the Follett family.”
Eliza kissed him on the forehead, then drew back and met his gaze. Her face was a story of quiet determination, with a hint of happiness. “Who I marry is my decision, not Reid’s. I will be your wife, Callum Sharp, and he will just have to learn to accept it.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Eliza slipped quietly out of Follett House the following morning and made her way to Callum’s home. He was waiting for her inside the foyer. He gave her a shy smile as he took her hand, and they walked together into the formal drawing room where Sir Thomas and Lady Sharp were waiting. Sir Thomas was seated on a low sofa.
The Bishop of London, Lord Hugh Radley, greeted them as they arrived. “Lady Eliza, welcome. Sir Callum, how are the bruises?” he said.
Callum turned to Eliza, his smile turning sheepish. “I took Reid to a bare-knuckle boxing match a little while ago. They held a special bout for nobles. I fought his grace’s nephew the Marquess of Brooke.”
“I know. Why do you think I didn’t bother asking about the cuts and bruises on your face? Though I did wonder who won,” she replied.
Callum and the bishop exchanged a look. “It was called a draw,” they replied in unison.
As the bishop turned away and went to speak to Sir Thomas, Callum mouthed, “I won,” which had Eliza stifling a laugh. There would be things she could tame in Callum; his impetuous nature was not one of them.
She had made her choice. With God’s grace, she was walking into this marriage with her eyes wide open. Callum would never be a quiet, respectable man; it just wasn’t who he was. She could help to curb his self-destructive behavior, but Callum owned the rest. He would remain his own master.
Callum: Regency Rockstars Page 18