Chapter Twenty
Once more, they were in the sitting room at Jasmyne Street.
Penelope told herself that tomorrow night Callum would be dancing and showing himself off at his Aunt Jennie’s ball.
She knew he wasn’t looking forward to it.
He had already told her that he felt like a roasted bird set upon a dinner table for others to look over and feast upon.
She had soothed his anxieties, telling him that he was a handsome, charming gentleman and if anyone thought otherwise, they were not worth his time.
“Someone will want to marry you,” she assured him. “Several someones. After tomorrow night, you will have so many invitations you will have difficulty choosing which ones to accept.”
He gave her a sideways look. “I find that a wee bit unlikely.”
“Do you doubt my ability to turn you from a Highland brute into an eligible gentleman?”
“No, I don’t mean that. I may well receive invitations by the bucketload, but they will be of no use to me.”
She frowned.
He seemed to be gathering himself, and she had the horrid feeling he was going to say something she did not want to hear.
Something that would mean she must tell him to leave, and then sit sobbing alone with her broken heart.
Penelope had hoped that she had at least another day with him.
One more tryst to store away in her treasured memory box for later.
“Callum—”
He shook his head. “No, I will say what I must. It is pointless me trying to woo one of the ladies I will meet at the ball. Because . . .” He drew himself up. “What if I have already met the lady I want to marry?”
Penelope hoped her face was not as pale as she thought it must be. “Have you?” She tried for a joke. “I hope it isn’t one of the ladies you encountered at the Bohemian Ball. What is her name?”
He wasn’t amused. He was watching her carefully.
“I hope she is pretty,” she babbled on. “Or at least kind and patient.”
“She is beautiful,” he said quietly. “And clever, kind, and very patient.”
Abruptly, she stood up, and her hands were shaking as she clasped them tightly together.
“Did you know I have another client after you? He is a sad case, but his mother believes I can get him up to scratch. I had thought my days as a teacher might be done after my brother’s behavior in the park.
But it seems not! Of course I am very relieved.
This is my vocation, you see. I would never willingly give it up. ”
He was staring at her as if he was having difficulty understanding her.
“So you see I will be perfectly all right,” she went on, in case it was his kind heart that was driving him to ask her to marry him.
Because that was what this was about. It must be.
He was infatuated and he was thoughtful, and now the two had forced him into a proposal that would be disastrous for him.
He seemed to understand her meaning at last. “I see,” he said. Before he could say more, Selina entered the room. Penelope shot her a look of desperate relief.
“I was just telling MacKenzie about my new client,” she said hurriedly.
“Oh, yes,” Selina nodded, but she looked startled.
Penelope began fussing about the state of the cushions on the settee and asking Selina what cake she would bake for this new client, the fictitious client that didn’t exist. Callum had slowly risen to his own feet and stood, watching her in silence.
She glanced at him once or twice but could no longer guess what he was thinking.
He had turned his head and was staring out of the window.
“I think we will end your lessons here, Callum,” she said at last, her smile bright and hard, and her heart rattling painfully in her chest. “There is nothing more I can teach you. Congratulations on becoming the perfect gentleman.”
He nodded. “Of course,” he said in a voice that was strangely devoid of feeling. “And thank you, Miss Armstrong, for all you have done to help me. I will never . . . I will not forget you.”
Penelope curtsied to his bow. It was a very nice bow. She should be proud of her part in that bow. It was a pity she could feel nothing but grief.
He left, the door closing behind him, Selina following him down the stairs. She could hear their voices fading, and then silence. He was gone.
Good, she thought. There had never been any chance of a happy ending between them, and he must have known that just as she did. And she wouldn’t cry, at least not until she was alone.
Selina had returned and was watching her with sympathy. “Are you sure—” she began.
“Very sure. Give me a moment. I need to—to . . .”
A tear ran down her cheek but she wiped it quickly away. Not now. Soon her lies would come true, and she would have a new client to prepare for and she must not fail. Callum would become one of her brightest successes, and word would spread. It must.
And if it didn’t? Just for an instant she imagined making that awful step back into the past and throwing herself onto the mistress market. Lord Freith would welcome her with open arms.
She shuddered.
“My dear Penelope,” Selina said gently. “You are making a mistake.”
Penelope shook her head wildly, no longer able to stop the tears. “No, I am preventing him from making a mistake. We would both be so dreadfully unhappy.”
Selina took her in her arms and held her tight, letting her weep, not saying a word. Penelope was glad of that. She didn’t want to hear any more arguments. Her head was already aching with them, and she had made her decision.
It was over, and she must move on.
*
Outside the house in Jasmyne Street, Callum had come to a stop.
He wasn’t sure what to think. He had obviously messed up what he had planned to say, which was that he had already met the woman he wanted to marry and it was Penelope.
Somehow she had turned it around. And then before he could gather his wits, she had begun talking about this new client and how much she enjoyed her—her vocation.
After that, he hadn’t felt able to say the words burning a hole in his tongue.
He stood on the doorstep, wondering if he should go back inside and start again. But what was the point? She had dismissed him, and he would only embarrass them both by persisting.
As for this new client . . . he had never hated anyone more.
Unless it was Mortimer.
Just then, someone cleared their throat and Callum looked up at whoever was standing on the street.
For a moment, he couldn’t believe his eyes. Mortimer was standing there. It was Mortimer, wasn’t it? He looked far younger than Callum remembered, and the expression on his face suggested he was very unsure of his welcome. His gaze slid uneasily by Callum to the front door, and then back again.
“Is my sister in?” he asked.
“Why? Are you going to insult her again?” Callum growled. “She doesn’t want to see you.”
Mortimer stared down at his boots. “What I said . . . I’m sorry,” he said in a miserable voice. “I was hoping to make amends, but perhaps it is too late.” He looked up, and his eyes were moist with tears. “Do you think it’s too late?”
Callum watched him in silence, his blistering words drying up in his throat. Had the boy grown a conscience? Something certainly seemed to have happened to change his manner from their previous encounter.
“Uncle Bertie has decided I need to move out,” he went on awkwardly, answering that question. “Without Pen’s funds, he can’t afford me, and he’s found a new partner to help finance the invention.”
“Is that what this is then?” Callum said angrily. “You need somewhere to stay, and you thought that your sister would forgive you and take you in.”
Mortimer shuffled uneasily. “It’s not just that.
I am sorry for what I said. I’ve been a selfish little boy, and when Bertie told me I had to go, I—I realized how stupid and mercenary I had been.
Last night I lay awake remembering everything that Penelope has done for me, how ungrateful I have been, and realizing that if she refuses to speak to me then I will be quite . . .” His voice cracked.
“Alone,” Callum guessed. “Poor you.”
Mortimer’s eyes sparked briefly with anger before they dulled again.
“Yes. I don’t want to blame anyone but myself, but Uncle Bertie made me feel important.
Like I was doing something that mattered.
And now I know I wasn’t. It was just a silly invention that no one will want, and because of my own stupidity, I’ve probably lost the one person who has always loved me. ”
Callum wished this encounter hadn’t happened now—he really did not have the patience for it. But if he could help Penelope and her brother reconcile, surely he had to do it?
“She’ll forgive you,” he said brusquely. “Apologize and explain what an idiot you’ve been. She loves you too much not to take you back.”
Hope flared in Mortimer’s eyes, so much like his sister’s. “Do you really think so?”
Callum couldn’t help but smile. “I do.”
Mortimer nodded and climbed the steps and went to step around him, only to stop again and ask curiously, “What are you doing here? Are you still having lessons on etiquette?”
Callum shook his head brusquely, ignoring the pang in his chest. “We are done with that. I have finished. I was hoping . . .” He stopped himself. What business of Mortimer’s were his private wishes and dreams? “Never mind. Go and see your sister.”
Mortimer hesitated a moment as if he knew there was more to learn behind Callum’s glum face, and then he reached to rattle the door knocker.
Callum walked away, leaving behind him the house in Jasmyne Street. He had done Penelope a good deed and his conscience was clear. And if he never saw her again . . .
Best not to think about that. The ball was tomorrow night, and perhaps he could call in and tell her how it went? But no, she would not like that. She had said her goodbyes and wished him well. Whatever his own feelings, hers had been clear.
It was over.