Chapter Fourteen
The house looked respectable enough from the outside, but once he passed the bruiser guarding the doorway, Callum could tell by the state of dress of some of the ladies that it was not respectable at all.
He was glad his aunt was not by his side to see this—she would have dragged him home again.
He was rather doubtful himself whether he should be here.
His father, and certainly his mother, would not approve.
Callum averted his gaze from a woman whose breasts were all but bare. Was that a new fashion? He didn’t think it would catch on in Bonnyrigg.
“Apologies,” a breathless voice said at his side. “You are early, MacKenzie.”
He looked down at Penelope, relieved that she was here.
She was wearing a gown the color of his mother’s favorite rose, a dusky pink, and although the neckline was lower than he had seen her wear before, it was certainly not as low as some of those here tonight.
There was a sparkly necklace around her throat, and her hair was dressed with more sparkly stones, peeping out like stars from among her fair locks.
A circlet of silk roses completed the look.
He wanted to tell her how beautiful she looked, but he found he had lost his words at the sight of her.
Penelope was casting glances about them at the assembly and now she pulled a face. “I am sorry to have brought you here, but it was the best I could do. This is definitely not Almack’s, but at least you will be able to practice dancing and conversing.”
He blurted the words out. “Don’t apologize. I will happily dance and converse with you, Miss Armstrong.”
She met his eyes and smiled wryly. “Well, we shall see. You can dance with others, but I will be keeping a close watch. If anyone is presumptive enough to try to take you upstairs, I will rescue you.”
There was that quiver inside him that happened whenever Penelope turned forceful. He wanted to tell her how much he would like her to rescue him but decided against it. Perhaps, if he was very good and didn’t make any mistakes, he could win another kiss from her at the end of the evening.
There was a small orchestra, rather out of tune, but the couples who had taken to the floor were enjoying themselves. Penelope reached for his hand and led him into their midst. Callum slid his arm about her waist, and drew her in close, and they began to dance.
She seemed to be concentrating on watching his steps as he strove to do his best.
“You are very quiet,” she said at last. “Have you no conversation, MacKenzie?”
“I am struck dumb by your beauty,” he replied.
Penelope shot him a displeased look, but her cheeks were pink. “Rather overdoing it, MacKenzie?”
“It is only the truth,” he said boldly.
Penelope let her gaze run over him as they parted, just their fingertips touching, and then resumed the dance. “You are rather beautiful yourself,” she said in her droll way. “Has your aunt employed a valet?”
“My uncle’s valet,” he admitted. “He insisted I not leave the house until he was satisfied. I was too afraid to tell him nay.”
Penelope smiled. “I am glad to hear it. A good valet should strike fear into the heart of his master.” Her gaze seemed caught by something on the other side of the room and the pink flush in her cheeks grew more heated.
Callum followed it to an alcove hidden behind a large potted plant.
For a moment, he could hardly believe his eyes.
He did not consider himself an innocent, but what he was seeing shocked him.
Of course he had been aware that, as well as dancing, there were other activities taking place in the room.
Couples kissing and fondling and vanishing up the staircase.
But now he could see that in the alcove, there was a woman on her back on a settee with her skirts thrown up, and between her legs was a gentleman, his buttocks bare and pumping.
His face must have shown his feelings at such a vulgar sight because Penelope squeezed his hand, and said once more, her voice full of shame. “I am sorry. This is one of the more scandalous balls. If I had had a choice I would never—”
“No, I . . .” He cleared his throat. “I am just a wee bit surprised.”
“We can leave, but first we should make the most of the music and the dance floor,” she said in a practical voice, and they returned to their dance.
Callum thought this all rather strange. Penelope seemed more worried about his feelings than caring about the open debauchery around her.
He could not imagine his mother being so unruffled—she would have taken a broomstick to the couple in the alcove—and as for his sister Cat, she would have been horrified.
But as shocked as he was, Callum found that as they continued to dance together, the brush of her skirts against his legs, and the little wrinkle of concentration between her brows, her presence in his arms, held his attention significantly more than the goings on around them.
After a pause, she said, “You are very good at dancing, MacKenzie, but you need to learn to converse while doing so. Just some idle chit-chat, if that is all you can manage. Your partner will not care about deeper matters. The weather is a good fallback.”
“Do you always tell your clients to talk about the weather?”
She laughed. “Yes. Everyone in London has an opinion on the weather. I am sure it is the same in Scotland.”
“I hope my wife is not averse to a variety of different weathers. Bonnyrigg can be calm and sunny in the morning, only to turn wet and windy by noon. And then come evening, there may be a blizzard.”
She smiled but she was watching him closely. “You love it,” she declared.
“Bonnyrigg? I do. I would not want to live anywhere else.”
“Then you must find someone who will learn to love Bonnyrigg for your sake, if not her own.”
He thought about that. “I would not ask anyone to playact. That way lies misery for both parties, surely?”
She considered her answer. “I think if you love someone enough you can see a place through their eyes. Is that not just as good as loving it yourself?”
The dance had ended and another one began. Callum noticed a rakish looking gentleman hovering nearby, wanting to take his place with Penelope, and he gave him one of his formidable glares. The man turned around and hurried off.
Satisfied, he turned back to find Penelope watching him, her grey eyes sparkling. “Very good,” she said, her voice breathless and trying not to laugh. “That worked a treat. Lord Freith will not bother us again.”
“Did you know him?” Callum asked with a frown. “Did you want to dance with Lord Freith?”
Penelope shook her head. “I do not.” She paused and then added, “He was one of the gentlemen who made me an offer after Lord Muir died.”
The thought of her with Freith caused a hot wave of fury to rise in Callum.
It consisted of jealousy and rage, and a possessiveness that almost frightened him.
She wasn’t his, he reminded himself—as much as he wanted her to be his.
And besides, he suspected she was quite able to take care of herself.
Callum was distracted however, and he spun her about a little too vigorously as they took the corner. Before he could apologize, he felt something wriggling in his jacket pocket.
The mouse!
He had completely forgotten it. The little creature had stayed quietly in hiding all this time, but now it seemed that it had reached the limit of its endurance.
Before he could reach in to soothe it, the mouse leapt from its confinement and ran down the leg of his breeches, then sprang to the floor and scampered across it.
Never in his life could Callum have imagined that something so small and harmless could cause such pandemonium.
Women began screaming and jumping about, while the men who weren’t doing the same were either looking around in bewilderment or clumsily attempting to capture the mouse.
It was far too swift for any of them. Before Callum could begin to move to block its escape, his little friend had reached the doorway and vanished.
Amidst the shrieks and shouts, and the jarring notes as the orchestra came to an abrupt halt, Callum turned and met Penelope’s eyes.
She looked amazed. “Did that mouse just come out of your pocket?”
Callum thought about fibbing, but there seemed no point if she had seen it. “Yes. I put it in there at Aunt Jennie’s to save it from Bothwell, and then I forgot about it.”
“Bothwell?” she asked faintly.
“Her cat.” He leaned in closer, suddenly concerned, “You are not afraid of them, are you? They are harmless enough. Unless they make their home in your pantry, of course.”
The noise around them had settled down, and a woman Callum assumed to be the hostess was reassuring people. Callum wondered if he should confess, but even as he considered it, Penelope took a firm grip on his arm.
“Best not to,” she warned him quietly. “You are in enough trouble as it is, MacKenzie.”
The orchestra began to play again, more out of tune than ever, but neither Callum nor Penelope moved to resume their dance.
“I’m sorry. It was instinctive. I have so many pets at Bonnyrigg, creatures I have rescued and tried to nurse back to health. Some of them can’t care for themselves, so I keep them safe.”
She watched him, fascinated. “What sort of pets?”
“A blind squirrel,” he said easily, knowing them all by heart. “A wee fallow deer whose mother died. Five lambs and a crow with one leg.”
Penelope stared at him a moment more as if she was having trouble believing him, and then suddenly she began to laugh. At first she tried to stifle the sound with her hand, but when she couldn’t, she made haste to leave the room, and worried and confused, Callum followed her out into the hallway.
A lady in a bright-red wig gave them a sympathetic look. “I don’t blame you for being frightened, my dear. A mouse! ’Tis a fearsome thing.”
Penelope didn’t pause. She climbed the staircase, only pausing halfway to gasp for air as she continued to shake with laughter.
Callum climbed, too, staying close in case she needed him, until they reached the landing.
There was a hallway and one of the doors was open, and she went inside.
Callum saw that it was a bedchamber, which did not seem appropriate, but he thought that at least they could be private now.
He closed the door and sank down into a chair while he waited for Penelope to recover herself.
It seemed to be taking a while, but he was happy to wait.
He thought that perhaps her laughter wasn’t just about him and his mouse, but a culmination of many things that had been weighing upon her.
Her emotions had reached a tipping point and she was letting them out.
Which was a good thing in his opinion—better to laugh than to cry.
Penelope had thrown herself onto the four poster bed and buried her face in the pillow, but he could see her shoulders shaking. After a time, he said, “I get the sense that gentlemen in London do not keep pets.”
She lifted her head and wiped her eyes. Her face was flushed and alive with humor. “They do,” she said shakily, “but perhaps not quite so many. A dog or a cat. Certainly not a—a crow with one leg.” Then she took a deep, steadying breath and sat up. “Callum, you truly do amaze me.”
He brightened. “Do I?”
She looked at him again, opened her mouth and then closed it and shook her head. “It wasn’t a compliment,” she said gently.
“Oh.” He tried not to be downcast. “It is because I lived my early years in the forests of Scotland,” he said. “My father always had some injured animal or other to care for, and I followed in his footsteps. If my wife does not like it . . . Well, I could not marry someone who did not.”
“You are kind,” she said firmly. “I would not want to take that from you. There is already so much unkindness in the world.”
“I cannot allow something to suffer when I can alleviate their pain.”
She nodded. Her hair had fallen out of its arrangement, and the silk flowers were hanging drunkenly over one ear. And yet Callum thought she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
He stood up and went to the side of the bed and looked down at her while she looked back at him. They both held their breaths, and then he stooped over her, took her face in his hands and kissed her.
It was only when she stiffened beneath him that he realized he was being forward. She would surely push him away, or berate him in that prim voice he secretly enjoyed, but to his surprise, she did neither.
Penelope put her hands over his larger ones and kissed him back.