Chapter Twenty-Three
Penelope sat down to breakfast and poured herself a cup of coffee. Mortimer greeted her with, “Did you reply to that awful woman’s letter?”
She had written a polite reply to Lady Hamlyn, thanking her for her interest and offering some of the strategies she might use with the woman’s son.
She was pleased with the result, but whether Lady Hamlyn would be pleased remained to be seen.
She told herself she was relieved that she was being given another chance and tried to set aside her worries.
Foolishly, Penelope had thought herself secure in her employment, but she now knew she was anything but.
It felt like she had been strolling along, oblivious to everything, and had fallen into a deep hole in the ground.
It was dark and cold, and somehow she had to claw her way out again.
But even if she did reach the top and was able to drag herself back to solid ground, that did not mean she was safe.
It might only be a matter of time before she fell again.
Mortimer was waiting for her answer and she tried to sound cheerful.
“Yes, I have replied, Mortimer. The letter is on the hall table ready to be posted.”
He eyed her rather anxiously. She knew she looked dreadful.
She hadn’t slept and had spent the night thinking about Callum at his aunt’s ball and all the pretty young things who would be fluttering about him, seeking his attention.
Perhaps he had already chosen his future wife from among them.
Someone suitable, who would win his heart and make him happy. Or at least make his father happy.
She took a shaky breath and sipped at her coffee, telling herself to stop it. The time for regrets was over. She could never have married him and ruined his future, they both knew that. He could move on now, put aside their mad affair, and so must she.
Mortimer spread butter and jam on his toast and bit into it with relish.
Penelope smiled to herself. At least she had her brother back.
Uncle Bertie had burned his bridges there, and Mortimer had finally seen the light.
He was apologetic and almost a changed boy, but she suspected he would never change completely.
They would be at odds again at some point, but for now she was very grateful.
The knocker clattered on the door downstairs.
Penelope looked at the clock and frowned. It was far too early for visitors. Perhaps Lady Hamlyn had sent another of her charming letters? Perhaps she had changed her mind? She pushed that thought aside before it could send her deeper into the hole.
“Why doesn’t Selina answer the door?” Mortimer asked, finishing off his toast.
“She went to the shops. She likes to get the best cuts of meat for the lowest price. I’ll get it.”
But before Penelope could rise to her feet, Mortimer did so.
“I’ll go,” he said cheerfully. “And if it is another one of those hateful letters, I will send it back.”
“No, Mortimer!” she called out as he left the room.
She heard the door open and voices downstairs. It sounded as if her brother exclaimed, “Oh, thank God!” which surprised her, and then there were two sets of footsteps coming back up the stairs toward her.
She fumbled with her napkin. Perhaps she was having a premonition. Or this was a dream. Because she recognized those footsteps.
Callum.
She tried to tell herself that if it was him then he was only coming to tell her how well the evening had gone and he had made his choice, and to say goodbye. Yet some small, ridiculous part of her whispered that maybe he had come for her.
“Pen, look who’s here!” Mortimer said in a jolly voice as Callum entered the room. He took note of his sister’s face and added, “I’ll leave you to it then.”
She wanted to tell him to stay, but the words seemed to be jammed in her throat. Instead, she said, “MacKenzie,” in a voice that didn’t sound like her own.
He closed the door and came into the room. He looked pale but resolute, as if he had a mission and was going to carry it out no matter what. She stood up and gestured with a shaky hand toward the couch near the fireplace. There was no fire—she was still saving on coal.
“Please, sit down. Would you like some tea? Coffee? I’m sorry Selina isn’t here to make you fresh.”
“I don’t want tea or coffee,” he said rudely, and then corrected himself. “I don’t want tea or coffee, thank you.”
She sat down abruptly. He sounded as if something had happened. It must be that he had chosen a wife. Already! Her heart sank, but she reminded herself that of course he was in demand. Impossible that he was not. A man like Callum.
“I have a request for you,” he said, still standing and gazing down at her.
“Oh?” Her neck was hurting from staring up at him.
“I want another lesson. I need to know how to propose.”
Her mind went momentarily blank. “Propose? Oh, yes. Oh, of course. Then you have . . .” She stopped herself from continuing with that thought. Best not to know, at least until she could pretend to be happy for him. Right now her emotions were so raw, she would fail miserably.
“I know the basics,” he said, watching her closely, “but I think there is more to it.”
“Yes.” She cleared her throat and told herself to stop this hysterical nonsense. She could cry when he had gone, although surely to goodness she had cried enough recently. “Usually the gentleman kneels.”
“Right. Ah, both knees?”
“No, traditionally it is the left knee. Oh. Are you practicing?” She stared as he went down on his left knee before her.
“Yes, like that. And then you take the lady’s hand in yours and say your piece.
Although you should have requested an audience with her father or guardian first. There’s no use proposing if he is going to refuse you permission. ”
He waited and then said, “Have you finished blathering?”
Her eyes widened. “MacKenzie, that is no way to speak to a lady! Try again.”
“Will you marry me, Penelope?”
She stilled and then took a shaky breath. “Very good, but perhaps use the name of the woman whose hand you are actually asking for. Try again.”
He cleared his throat, and there was a glint in his eyes that confused her. “Will you marry me, Penelope, and live with me at Bonnyrigg, and be my love forevermore?”
“You—you . . .”
His serious expression lightened into an almost smile. “And what if she has no father or guardian? Just a rather irritating brother. Should I ask him?”
It occurred to her after a moment that he might mean Mortimer, but if so then she must not allow this to happen. “Callum—” she began hurriedly, meaning to stop him.
“I don’t care what you say,” he said, and took her hands firmly in his. She tried to tug them free, but he refused to let them go. It was ridiculous, and in other circumstances she might have laughed.
“Callum, please!”
“No, I will propose to you whether you like it or not. Penelope, will you marry me? I love you and I cannot imagine myself with any other woman. I have written to my father and told him I will have you or no one else, and if he wants to banish me then he can. I have funds of my own, so we can live comfortably enough. Have I covered everything? I think so.” His voice dropped into a lower key with a husky note, raising the hairs on the back of her neck. “Please marry me, Penelope.”
She blinked. “I will ruin you,” she said. “What of my reputation?”
“You won’t. You are perfect. While I am out strolling in my forests, you can run my castle and take tea with my neighbors.
The thought of all that socializing makes me shudder, but I know you love it.
Can’t you see you are the one for me? I canna imagine being with anyone else. I would not want to.”
“Callum,” she wailed, but the strange thing was those low spirits she had been dealing with were beginning to rise. It was almost like a wedge of sunlight had penetrated into that dark hole she had imagined herself crouched in, and if she lifted her face, she could feel its warmth.
“I am asking you to marry me,” he said patiently. “Give me your answer, Penelope. Forget about everything and everyone else. Think of yourself for a change, and me. Think of us together. What is your answer?”
There was only one answer. Tears ran down her cheeks. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, please!”
He closed his eyes in relief, and then he was grinning and reaching for her, and she was in his arms. “Thank God,” he muttered into her hair. “Imagine my embarrassment if I arrived home without you, after that bloody letter to my father.”
She managed to laugh. “I had a letter about a new client,” she said, probably blathering again. “It was horrible. She made it sound like I was being hired despite all of my shortcomings.”
“I thought you already had a new client,” he said, leaning back to look into her face.
“I—I lied,” she admitted. “Because I didn’t want you to ruin your life by declaring yourself to me.”
He gave her a little shake. “Ruin it? You have completed my life, Penelope. Don’t you know that? I love you so much, so, so much.”
“I love you, too,” she whispered. “Callum, so much.”
They might have said more, but they were interrupted by whooping and cheering from outside the door. The next moment it was flung open, and Mortimer and Selina came rushing in, faces flushed with joy, both of them hugging each other, and then Penelope and Callum.
Penelope wasn’t sure if them being so happy was a good thing. “He hasn’t saved me,” she said, when she was able to get a word in. “He hasn’t rescued me. I was quite capable of saving myself. I had a new client and—”
“I’m not saving you!” Callum replied loudly. “Well, I suppose I am. But you are saving me, too. From a miserable marriage with a woman I do not love, or else spending the rest of my days alone in the forest, wishing you were there.”
Penelope was moved beyond speech, so it was just as well Selina spoke for her.
“Let us just say you saved each other,” she said gently.