Page 104 of Boiling Point
“Mother…” Cal warned.
The air thinned, but I kept my composure. “No, it’s okay,” I said, forcing warmth into my voice. “He died about a year and a half ago.”
Silence fell over the table, dense and awkward. Isabel’s gaze flicked from Cal to me. Lord Branleigh cleared his throat.
“How very difficult for you,” Lady Branleigh said with practiced gravity.
“Thank you,” I returned, finishing the wine in my glass. No sooner had I set my glass down than Avery appeared to refill it. The second pour seemed richer, darker. Or maybe that was just the room. I took a slow sip, kept my smile intact, and reminded myself to breathe.
The drawing room looked different at night—curtains drawn, fire banked low, lamps casting amber light that pooled like melted gold on polished wood. It should have been cozy and inviting, but the quiet—too careful, too composed—put me on edge. I sat close beside Cal, my hand brushing his knee, the warmth of him a quiet tether. Around us, conversation drifted like smoke, refined and inconsequential. But when Lady Branleigh looked my way, the room shifted. Voices faltered, trailing off mid-sentence.
“Do you ride, Miss Clark?” Her voice was cool, inquisitive, and I nearly choked on my coffee.
“You mean horses?”
“What else should I mean?” she asked, tilting her head with the faintest amusement. “I assumed, being from Texas…”
I laughed—a little too brightly. “I do,” I said. “Or I did. I haven’t been on a horse since I was twelve.”
“Then Callum must take you while you’re here,” she said, the suggestion clearly meant for him, not me.
Cal’s mouth tipped into a reluctant smile. “I suppose I could manage that. If you’re up for it.”
Lord Branleigh pushed heavily on the armrests and rose from his chair. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said, weariness edging into his voice. “The day has caught up with me.”
“You look tired, dear,” Lady Branleigh noted, a crease between her brows. “I told you that trip into London would be too much.”
“I’ll be fine. Just need to turn in.” He turned to Cal, and for a moment, something faltered in his gaze—a flicker of vulnerability, quickly hidden. “Callum, son—welcome home.” Then he shifted to me, and his expression softened. “Miss Clark, we’re pleased to have you.”
Cal’s surprise was a barely perceptible shift, but he recovered swiftly. “Thank you, Father. Good night.”
As Lord Branleigh shuffled toward the door, Lady Branleigh rose before anyone could prompt her. “I’ll come too.”
“Don’t fuss, Eleanor,” Lord Branleigh muttered, more habit than protest. “I’m perfectly capable.”
She ignored him with polished indifference. James stood as she passed and dipped his head to kiss her cheek. Cal followed suit, straightening as she turned to me.
“Breakfast is in the dining room between half seven and nine,” she said, her smile precise. “You’re unfamiliar with the household routine, but I’m sure you’ll catch on.”
“Thank you,” I answered, unsure of how else to respond.
“Good night, Miss Clark,” she said, her tone smooth as porcelain.
“Good night, Lady Branleigh.” I didn’t know whether to rise, nod, or curtsy—so I simply smiled.
And then she was gone, the door closing softly behind her, leaving the five of us in a room that suddenly felt more fragile than grand.
Caroline set down her empty coffee cup and broke the silence. “What else do you have planned for your visit?”
“Nothing specific,” Cal answered, saving me from the awkward pause. As far as I knew, we hadn’t planned anything beyond Isabel’s wedding on Saturday. “Just introducingGabrielle to the joys and slower pace of country life,” Cal added, slipping his arm around me and drawing me closer.
James gave a low, sardonic laugh. “Shouldn’t we all be so lucky—to shirk our duties for a few glorious weeks?”
Cal met his brother’s gaze, sharp enough to cut glass. “Like you’ve never taken a holiday?”
“Play nice, boys,” Isabel said, a warning and a plea. It held for a moment, the air thick with history.
James held his tongue, but only for a breath. He reached for his whiskey, took a slow sip, then looked straight at Cal. “Do us all a favor, little brother,” he said, voice low and precise. He glanced at me, then back to Cal. “Don’t take this one to Switzerland like you did the last. It took us years to clean up your scandal.”
