Chapter 17- Callum
By the end of his dance with Miss Avery, Callum was lamenting the length of the quadrille.
It wasn’t that the young lady was a bad dancer.
Far from it—her steps were flawless, her conversation perfectly adequate.
She smelled lightly of flowers and her beatific smile remained firmly in place the entire time.
Even so, he was dreadfully bored, his only entertainment planning what he’d say the next time he spoke with Margaret. Granted, Callum did his best to engage, to make the dance pleasant for the young lady. After all, it wasn’t Miss Avery’s fault that she wasn’t Margaret.
When he finally escorted her off the dance floor, it was all he could do not to exhale an audible sigh of relief. He looked around for Margaret—it was already a habit, finding her in a crowd. His eyes alighted on Rachel Warrington and he headed her direction instead.
“May I have this dance, Miss Warrington?” he asked after a perfunctory bow.
“What a delightful surprise,” she said, smirking. “Certainly.”
The music was starting when he led her out onto the dance floor.
Callum was grateful the dance was a waltz—they would have plenty of time to speak.
Though he would have much preferred dancing it with Margaret, perhaps he could find out something as to why she rebuffed every attempt to get to know her.
Thankfully, Rachel didn’t take long to get to the point.
“Why are you chasing my friend across the ballroom?” she said.
He exhaled a huff of a laugh. “I wouldn’t have to chase her if she’d stand still for more than five minutes.”
Rachel smiled. “You like her.”
“Of course I do.” Callum’s eyes still scanned the crowd, looking for the lady in question. “Why else would I have handed in my pride along with my great coat at the door in order to follow her around?”
“She thinks you’re mocking her, that you’ve perhaps entered into one of those awful betting books at the gentlemen’s club.”
Callum frowned down at her. “She thinks I’ve bet on her? What’s the bet supposed to be—how many times she’ll reject me before I lose my patience?”
“To be clear, have you placed a bet on her?”
“Of course not,” he scoffed. “Not only do I not have time for such ridiculous nonsense, but I’d never do her the disservice of treating our acquaintance in such a cavalier fashion.”
Rachel studied him. He studied her back. She was pretty enough—blonde, intelligent blue eyes, a pert nose, and a light figure. To Callum, she looked rather like all the other young ladies.
The lot of them reminded him of that pureed soup they served at dinner parties in London. The hosts always claimed it was this vegetable or that—leek or potato, usually—but Callum never found an ounce of evidence that there were any real vegetables in the soup at all.
But Margaret…if she were soup, she was a hearty beef stew where one couldn’t see to the bottom of the bowl because the broth was as thick as gravy.
She was full of flavor, each bite more interesting and delicious than the last. She couldn't hide her good nature or clever wit, even in those frustrating one-word answers she gave him.
“You are truly fond of her, aren’t you?” Rachel stared at him with a little crease between her eyes.
“Very much, though she’s making it difficult to show her as much. She’s toying with me. She’ll barely speak with me.”
“I assure you she’s worth every effort you put toward the venture.”
“I’m well aware, hence the chasing.”
Rachel gave a decisive nod. “I will help you.”
Callum’s eyebrows rose. “I never asked.”
“Still, it’s clear you need the help.”
“Respectfully, I must decline.”
“I’m fairly certain you need it,” she pressed.
“Even if that’s true, it’s best if she and I begin as we mean to go on. Marriage is a partnership between two, best done without any outside interference.”
Rachel blinked. “You are serious if you’re already speaking of matrimony.”
“Please don’t tell her—it would probably frighten her off.”
Rachel narrowed her eyes at him. “Do you expect her to give you children?”
He frowned, confused. “Hopefully. I was under the impression that she wants them.”
She shook her head. “She does, for some infernal reason. I assume you know how the process is done?”
Callum blinked, suddenly wondering if this entire dance had been some sort of calculated trap. He wasn’t certain what would befall him if he were caught speaking of such things to an innocent young lady, but he thought that being drawn and quartered wasn’t completely off the table.
“That’s not a topic we should ever discuss,” he said, his voice and expression equally grave.
She shuddered. “There, you and I completely agree. Very well, you’ve convinced me. Perhaps you’re right and you don’t need my help, after all.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t need it, simply that I wouldn’t take it.”
Rachel laughed. “Touché. Very well, you have my blessing to court her.”
Callum didn’t take her words lightly—having the approval of Margaret’s closest friend was meaningful. “I thank you kindly.”
“I know you’ve refused my help, and I actually find your reasoning sound, but may I make a suggestion?”
Callum nodded.
“Stop chasing her,” Rachel said crisply.
“Pardon?”
“For at least this evening. Dance with other young ladies. Encourage other introductions.”
“But I don’t wish to meet anyone else,” he said, a crease between his eyebrows.
“You’re making a bit of a spectacle of yourself, and by association, Margaret as well. She’s already the subject of much speculation because your attention is so obvious.”
Callum winced. “It was never my intention to cause her difficulty.”
“Do the polite thing, the honorable thing, and dance with other young ladies this evening. It will only pique Margaret’s interest, allow her room to consider what life might look like if someone else snags your attention.”
That was what Callum was afraid of. For some reason, the only lady he wanted didn’t want him back. What made matters worse was that he had no idea why.
Of course, only a truly arrogant gentleman would approach a lady with absolute certainty that she would eventually fall in love or accept him.
But Callum had spent his nights poring over their interactions, and couldn’t find a misstep on his part that would produce the depth of rejection he’d received from Margaret.
He certainly wished he’d been more witty—some of his statements made him wince in light of what he could have said. But that was a normal consequence of retrospect. Callum was starting to wonder if it was him that Margaret didn’t care for.
He wanted to snort a laugh. How ironic that he’d set out to find someone who’d see past his good looks, his wealth, and his title. Apparently Margaret had done that…and found him wanting on a personal level.
“Very well.” Callum couldn’t help it that his voice sounded rather grim.
A large part of his delight in finding the owner of the journal had been the realization that he wouldn’t have to perform the daunting task of getting to know the dozens of other ladies of the ton.
He didn’t think he could remember most of their names long enough to complete a conversation without embarrassing himself.
He nodded, determined. “I’ll dance with the other ladies. For Margaret.”