Chapter Twelve
Callum lay in his bed and stared at the ceiling.
Tonight was the practice ball, and the last of his fashionable clothing had arrived yesterday.
His aunt had been aflutter with excitement and insisted that he make use of his uncle’s valet—“He’s kicking his heels at the moment, with no one to fuss over. You would be doing me a favor, Callum.”
That had made him wonder if he would need to employ his own valet at Bonnyrigg.
The thought of a stranger judging him was lowering, but then he wondered if perhaps Angus would take on the task?
He could deal with Angus. And if it meant he could look the part of a duke-in-waiting, then what was the harm?
“I want to inspect you before you leave,” Aunt Jennie had reminded him.
“You’ve seen me before.”
“But not dressed up like a gentleman, Callum. That is something I have never seen before.”
Now he had all day to think about tonight, and seeing Penelope again.
There had been no lessons since his visit to Mr. Doddington. He worried it was because of the kiss, and that their time apart would give her too much opportunity to mull over it. She might decide it was wrong. Callum’s opinion differed. He believed it was the rightest thing he had ever done.
He had never felt like this about any other woman.
Surely that meant something? He supposed his family would consider he was infatuated, but Callum wasn’t someone who was prone to such shallow emotions.
He was sensible and level-headed, and the feelings he had developed for Penelope did not seem to be going away.
Even if he eventually found this mythical wife and returned with her to Bonnyrigg, he was certain Penelope’s memory would go home with him.
And he would mourn the loss of her every day.
He admitted to himself that right now the idea of marrying anyone who wasn’t Penelope, of choosing some other woman to stand with him before the preacher and plight his troth . . . It just felt wrong in so many ways.
Apart from his personal feelings, Penelope was someone who would be able to deal with his aristocratic neighbors, host the dinners and soirees his father dreamed of, and shine bright in their moody Scottish winters.
He could imagine her putting Sir Hector in his place, not by insulting him but by charming him into submission.
There were so many reasons his family would applaud his choice of wife.
But there was also the problem of her past and her tarnished reputation.
His parents would not approve of that any more than his aunt did.
Word would soon circulate that his chosen wife had been the mistress of another man.
Callum did not know the exact circumstances that had led Penelope down that road, but he was sure it had something to do with the tragic deaths of her parents and her guardianship of her young brother.
And if that was the case, he knew she had had no choice.
She had been trapped in a bad situation, one that she had been doing her best to escape and then to make a new life for herself.
But society was not so sympathetic, and he suspected his parents would be more inclined to listen to the negatives than the positives.
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.
There wasn’t as much of it as yesterday.
A barber had arrived to tame his dark locks, ready for his debut at the practice ball tonight.
He was not looking forward to capering about, as Angus called it.
He was looking forward to seeing Penelope and dancing with her.
Could he kiss her again? He longed to. His heart pounded and his blood heated at the thought of her mouth on his. Had she been remembering that moment too, aching for a repeat? She had seemed more than willing in the hackney, but Callum knew he had to tread carefully if he wanted to win her.
Because if marrying her was but a dream, then what was left? A brief affair? If he could not have her forever then why not a night? An hour?
If she was willing, then even one passionate encounter was better than nothing.
*
Callum was biding his time in the drawing room, waiting for his aunt’s inspection of his outfit before he left for the ball. She had barely managed a glance at him before she was called away to solve a domestic crisis.
“A mouse!” she had exclaimed. “Evidently it is terrorizing the servants and only I can deal with it.” She pointed at Callum. “Stay here. I won’t be long.”
The minutes ticked by. Callum tugged at his cravat, wishing it weren’t so stiff and tight, but knowing he could not undo his uncle’s valet’s work.
Would the guests at the ball give him that look?
The “there he is, the Highland barbarian” look.
Penelope would tell him to ignore them as being beneath him, and under no circumstances to feel the need to explain or retaliate.
Which was all very well, but Callum was not used to being judged by strangers, and he did not like it.
Yes, he had been a fool at that fateful dinner at the Yeos’. Too much whisky and seeing that damned boar eyeing him from the table. One day he may laugh at it and think it amusing, but right now, he did not.
There was a sudden movement to one side of the room. A flicker of grey running to shelter behind a rosewood chair.
A mouse! Probably the mouse.
Stealthily, he moved toward it, and leaning down, peered into the small gap between the back of the chair and the wall.
This close, it looked undersized and pinkish rather than grey, as if it had only recently left the nest. Under his gaze, it seemed to shrink even more, attempting to make itself invisible.
Aunt Jennie’s cat, Bothwell, was a tabby-and-white monster that roamed the house at will, and Callum wouldn’t blame any mouse for being terrified.
When he was younger, Callum had had a large collection of creatures, and among them were several mice, so he was not at all afraid of them. He reached down, closing his hand gently about the small body.
“Come here, you wee thing,” he whispered. “I won’t let Jennie’s cat harm you.”
The mouse shivered but did not try to escape. He liked to think it understood him and trusted him. He straightened, still whispering to it, and became aware of his aunt’s footsteps approaching across the marble floor of the hall.
Quickly, Callum slipped the mouse into the pocket of his evening jacket just as she entered the room.
“I have sent someone to fetch Bothwell,” she told him. “He needs to earn his keep, and he has been getting very fat lately. He will soon hunt out this mouse.”
Callum murmured agreement, as if the creature weren’t safe in his care at this very moment.
Jennie came to a stop before him, running her gaze from his buckled shoes and stockings and silk breeches, up to his emerald-green waistcoat and forest-green jacket.
His cravat was neatly tied, and his sapphire pin was placed squarely in the center of it, while his neatly trimmed hair was combed back from his forehead so that his closely shaven face was on full display.
“Do I pass?” he asked finally, not sure if he was amused or alarmed when she seemed unable to find her words.
To his horror, he saw that Jennie had tears in her eyes. She sniffed. “You look so much like your father, Callum. So braw. I wish he could see you.”
He grinned and gave her an impulsive hug, which she returned warmly.
“All the same,” she said, with a wrinkle between her brows, “I forgot to ask where this ball was being held. It is for practice, is it not?”
“That was what I was told. I am sure it is just what I need to get me ready.”
“Hmm. If it is the sort of ball Miss Armstrong is invited to, then I’m not sure it is entirely proper.”
He blinked, waiting for clarification.
Jennie made an impatient sound. “Really, Callum, do I need to explain? The woman’s reputation is damaged, so if she is invited to this ball then the other guests must be of a similar standing.
I understand why she wants you there. She seems sincere in her desire to give you the polish you need.
You must feel familiar in such a setting, and she can put you through your paces on the floor, but all the same, I am not happy about it. ”
“I overheard her maid Selina calling it a Bohemian Ball,” he admitted.
Jennie clicked her tongue. “Perhaps you shouldn’t—” she began, and he could see her wavering.
Callum hurried to reassure her. “I promise I will be on my best behavior, Aunt Jennie. And you need no’ worry. Did you forget I am a grown man, after all?”
“That is what worries me,” she said. “You are a man and a handsome one, but in London ways, you are still an innocent, Callum. Imagine how furious Luna would be with me if anything untoward were to happen to you.”
Untoward, he repeated silently to himself and tried not to chuckle. His aunt seemed to think that at twenty-five he knew nothing about the goings on at this so-called Bohemian Ball. While it was true that he wasn’t a rake, like his brother Rory, neither was he an innocent virgin.
“Aunt Jennie, there is no reason for you to worry yourself,” he said firmly. “Miss Armstrong wants me ready for your ball, to smooth over any rough edges I have left, so that I will not disgrace you. Or myself.”
She sighed and then smiled. “Very well. Off you go then. Are you meeting Miss Armstrong there?”
“Yes.”
“Perhaps you should take Angus with you?” she said, clearly having second thoughts again.
As far as Callum knew, Angus had other plans, but that wasn’t the answer Jennie wanted to hear. “And have Angus glowering at me all night? Honestly, I will be fine. Nothing will happen, Aunt Jennie.”
Jennie nodded like she wanted to believe it. “Very well. The coach is waiting for you outside. It has the Strathmore crest on the door, so if there is any question about your origins, people will be able to see you come from quality. You should not be made to feel lesser than them.”
“I have never felt lesser than anybody until I came to London,” he said wistfully.
She gave him another hug, and finally he was free to leave the house.
Once he was aboard the coach, Callum leaned back against the soft leather seat, feeling relieved.
A ball wasn’t something he was going to enjoy—he had never attended one before—but he knew all of the reasons he was attending.
And more importantly, Penelope would be there with him.
He smiled as he imagined her beautiful face as he danced with her.
Tonight he hoped to have many dances with her in his arms, and perhaps he might even stumble a little or take a wrong step, just to ensure she paid more attention to him.
He was certainly a sad case where she was concerned.
As the coach rumbled over London’s streets, Callum wished Angus were with him to share his pithy comments.
But he had seen his manservant slipping out of the house in his best coat, with his hair washed and combed, which meant he was meeting a woman.
Angus would not bother to smarten himself up for anyone else.
Callum smiled at the thought of the teasing he would give his friend when he returned.