Bromwell? The duchess asked, looking startled. The Earl of Bromwell?
Yes.
Their grandmothers eyes lit with interest, but before she could speak, Callie went on, What is wrong with Lord Bromwell? Why is it so terrible that I was with him?
You should not be on the terrace alone with any man, Rochford answered.
But why did you say that he would never be my suitor? Callie pursued. Why did you say, You! the way you did when you saw him? Why is he so particularly unsuitable?
Rochford said nothing for a long moment, then shrugged. The man is not a friend to me.
What? Callies brows sailed upward. He is not your friend? I cannot marry someone unless he is your friend? Who would you have me marry? One of your stuffy old scholarly friends? Mr. Strethwick, perhaps? Or maybe Sir Oliver?
Blast it, Callie, you know that is not what I meant, Rochford ground out. You do not have to marry one of my friends. You know that.
No, I dont know! she shot back. Right now, I feel as if I hardly know you at all. I would never have thought you could be so domineering, so careless of my wishes or feelings.
Careless? he repeated in an astounded voice. It is precisely because I do care for you.
Why? What makes the man unsuitable? Callie asked. Is his family not good enough? His rank not high enough?
No, of course not. He is an earl.
Then is he a fortune hunter? Is he after my money?
No. He is quite wealthy, as far as I have heard. Rochfords mouth tightened in irritation.
The Earl of Bromwell is considered quite a catch, the duchess put in. Of course, he is not a duke, but there are so few of them, after all. And one could not want you to marry one of the royals. An earl would do quite well for you, really, and the family is an old and distinguished one. She turned toward her grandson. Are they not related to Lady Odelia somehow?
Yes, distantly, Rochford agreed. The problem is not his pedigree.
Then what is the problem? Callie persisted.
The duke looked from his sister to his grandmother. Finally he said, It is an old matter. And that is not the point. He set his jaw. I was acting in your best interests, Callie, when I warned him off.
You actually warned him off? Callie asked in a horrified tone.
He nodded shortly.
How could you? she demanded. She felt as if the breath had been knocked out of her. I cannot believe that you would humiliate me in that way! To tell him that I could not see him, as if I were a child oror deficient in understanding. As if I had no will of my own or any ability to make judgments.
I did not say that! he exclaimed.
You did not have to, Callie retorted. It is implicit in saying who I can or cannot associate with. Tears sprang into her eyes again, and she angrily blinked them away.
I did what was best for you!
And I, of course, had nothing to say in the matter! Callie was rigid with anger, her fists clenched at her sides. She was so furious, so hurt, that she could scarcely trust herself to speak.
She whirled and stalked up the stairs.
Callie! Rochford shouted and started after her, then stopped at the foot of the stairs, looking after her in frustration. He turned toward the duchess as though seeking an answer.
His grandmother crossed her arms in front of her and stared back at him stonily. It is your fault that she acts this way. It is because you raised her so laxly. You have always indulged her and let her do exactly as she pleased. You have spoiled her terribly, and this is the result of it.
The duke let out a low noise of frustration, then swung away from the staircase and started toward his study. He stopped and turned back to his grandmother. I will finish my business in London quickly. Please get everything ready, so that we can return to the country the day after tomorrow.
CALLIE STALKED INTO HER ROOM, fuming. Her maid Belinda was waiting for her there to help her undress, but Callie sent the girl to bed. She was too irate to stand still while Belinda unfastened her buttons. Anyway, she certainly could not lie down meekly and go to sleep.
The maid gave her an uncertain look, then slipped out the door. Callie strode up and down her room, stewing in her own anger. As she paced, she heard her grandmothers slow steps go past her door, but she did not hear her brothers heavier tread. No doubt he had retired to his favorite room, his study. He was probably peacefully reading some book or letter, or going over a set of numbers in preparation for visiting his business agent tomorrow. He would not be grinding his teeth or boiling with injustice and rage. After all, as far as he was concerned, the matter was over.
Callie grimaced at the thought and flung herself down in the chair beside her bed. She would not allow herself to be put in this position. She had thought herself a young lady who lived her life on her own terms, at least within the general limits of societys rules. Had anyone asked, she would have said that she was free to do as she liked, that she directed her own life. She gave in to her grandmother a great deal, of course, in order to keep peace in the household, but that, she knew, was a decision she made. It was not something she had to do.
She went where she liked, received whom she wanted, attended or did not attend plays or routs or soirees as she chose. The household staff came to her for instructions. She bought what she pleased, using her own money, and if it was the agent who actually paid the bills for her, well, that was simply the way things were done. Sinclairs bills were usually paid the same way. And even though Sinclair invested her money for her, he explained everything to her and asked her what she wanted to do. If she always went along with what he suggested, it was only because it was the sensible course. Sinclair had been running his own affairs for years and did so extremely well.
But now she could see that her vision of her own freedom was merely an illusion. She had simply never before crossed her brother. Who she saw, where she went, what she bought, the decisions she had made, had not been anything he disputed. But what she had presumed was freedom was not; she had simply been living in so large a cage that she had not touched the bars.
Until now.
Callie jumped to her feet. She could not allow this to stand. She was an adult, as old as many women who had married and had children. She was five years older than Sinclair had been when he came into his title. She would not give in meekly to his orders. To do so would be tantamount to granting him authority over her. She would not just go to bed and get up tomorrow morning as if nothing had happened.
She stood for a moment, thinking, then turned and went over to the small desk that stood against the wall. Quickly she dashed off a note and signed it, then folded and sealed it, writing the dukes name across the front before leaving it propped against her pillow.
She grabbed up her cloak from the chair where she had tossed it, and once more wrapped it around her shoulders and tied it. Easing open her door, she stuck her head out and looked up and down the hall. Then, moving silently, she hurried down the hall to the servants staircase and slipped down the stairs. All was quiet in the kitchen, the scullery lad curled up in his blanket beside the warm hearth. He did not stir as she tiptoed past him nor even when she opened the kitchen door and stepped outside.