Chapter 20- Callum
“Good heavens, what is that?” Ellis said when Callum returned to the house.
His cousin stood in the hallway in his customary ensemble—an untucked shirt billowing over loose trousers. The inelegance was completed by his shockingly bare feet. As Callum watched, Ellis tucked the last bite of a sandwich into his mouth and chewed.
“You can quite clearly see it’s a dog.” The animal in question snuffled his wee snout out from beneath Callum’s coat.
“Poor little pupper—its front leg is gone.” Ellis took the dog from Callum and ruffled his head. Then he frowned. “He’s rather greasy. Are you planning on keeping him?”
Callum shucked his coat and quickly toed off his boots in the hallway. They were caked with the special mud unique to the neighborhood of St. Alban’s. He didn’t want to track it into the house.
“He was a gift from Margaret. Of course I’m keeping him.” Callum did his best to keep the pride from his voice, but some of the sentiment might have leaked through anyway.
“She gave you this as a gift?” Ellis grinned. “I truly underestimated the depth of her disdain for you.”
Callum confessed he was a bit bewildered. Courting Margaret was far more challenging than he’d anticipated. Her moods were fickle and changing—one day she giggled inanely at everything he said; the next she only wished to speak seriously of odd encyclopedia entries.
But Callum has been raised in the tempestuous weather of Scotland, where a sunny day could be interrupted by freezing sleet in a moment. He told himself he wasn’t going to be dissuaded by something as simple as changing moods.
Callum did admit that if he hadn’t felt he already knew the young lady, he might have been put off from visiting.
However, even though their progress had been odd and somewhat disjointed, there had been some progress, or so he thought.
He and Margaret were getting to know each other in fits and starts, but they were heading in the right general direction.
Besides, it had only been three weeks—there was plenty of time left in the Season. At least, he hoped so.
Callum huffed and tried to sound more confident than he felt. “Progress is progress.”
“If you call that progress, I need to take you down to Cheapside and show you just how many of these dogs are roaming the streets.” Ellis held the dog out so that he might look him full in the face. Either that, or he didn’t wish for the thing to brush against him.
Callum shrugged. “This is the one she chose. That’s all that matters.”
“You’re a right push-over, aren’t you? What on earth are you going to name him?”
Callum retrieved the dog. “I think I’ll call him Albie. She found him at St. Alban’s, after all.”
“You’d better wash that thing before it scampers up to the second floor. You know how Mrs. Blake is about vermin.”
“She’s exceedingly lax, or you wouldn’t be staying here.” Callum wrinkled his nose at the dog’s smell. “Best order a pot of water, anyway.”
Ellis waggled his eyebrows. “You’d better specify the temperature, or she might think you intend her to cook that dog into stew. You are a Scot, after all.”
Bathing the dog turned out to be far more difficult than Callum had anticipated. After his first, failed attempt in the kitchens—in front of some maids who couldn’t hide their amusement, and Ellis, who’d followed to watch—Callum had carried the bedraggled dog up to his own bathing chamber.
His theory had thankfully been correct—the dog was too small to climb out of the copper tub.
With a great quantity of warm water and soap, two drainings of the tub, and plenty of whining on both sides, Callum was finally confident that any vermin that had previously resided upon Albie had been permanently evicted.
Callum righted his own person with fresh clothing and carried the dog downstairs. Albie’s diminutive size and missing paw would have made the journey difficult. Besides, it was no hardship toting the fellow, now that he was clean and no longer smelled like he’d been dunked in a vat of sour milk.
“What on earth is that?” Ellis said, pointing at the dog.
“Haven’t we already been through this?” Callum sighed and stooped to set Albie on his feet.
“Certainly not. I distinctly remember that the dog I saw a couple of hours ago was brown and mangy. This dog is white and fluffy.”
Callum stretched his back; bending over the tub for so long had taken its toll. “I’m not surprised you’re unfamiliar with the effects of a bath—you so rarely take them.”
“On the contrary. Just last night I stayed in so long I fell asleep and nearly drowned.” Ellis toasted Callum’s direction with his glass.
“I should have your valet bottle some of the bathwater afterward the next time; I doubt you’d notice the difference between that and whisky.”
“Oh, you’re very funny today, aren’t you?” Ellis said. “Almost half as funny as you think you are.”
Callum glanced at the clock, wondering if it was too early for a drink. He supposed it wasn’t if the drink was medicinal. Then he glanced at his cousin’s glass resting on the side table. There had to be one responsible adult in the household, and that role seemed to be left to him.
“How would you say your Season is going?” Ellis said.
“It’s going fine, I suppose.”
Despite his assurances to his cousin, Callum could privately admit that he was, at the very least, disappointed with how things were progressing.
The Season was well underway, and the most progress he’d made was having small conversations with Margaret before she remembered she didn’t like him and went taciturn once more.
Truthfully, Callum had been surprised to find out that Margaret had thought he had been teasing her this entire time. It was a bit disheartening to realize that all his compliments had been received as mockery—that each one had driven her affections further away.
“Yes, I can see that. You came to London looking for companionship and undying loyalty, and look!” Ellis gestured at the dog. “You’ve found it. Well done!”
Callum reconsidered the drink and headed to the sideboard. On sudden thought, he turned, decanter in hand. “Do you drink so much for the same reason I’m about to?”
“Because the only lady I want is the only one who doesn’t want me? No, cousin. I’m far more egalitarian than that. I think any lady nearly as good as another.”
Callum huffed and shook his head, pouring himself a respectable fingerful.
Ellis grinned. “I’m sorry. I can tell you’re not in the mood to be bested in a conversational duel. Please, tell me the joke I just ruined, for we both know that you were setting one up, and I cut you off at the pass, as it were.”
“Nevermind.” Callum slumped onto the sofa facing Ellis.
Albie had already made himself quite at home in front of the grate. He was curled in a comfortable circular shape, his nose twitching ever so slightly in his sleep.
“Don’t be like that,” Ellis said. “Finish the joke.”
Callum just arched an eyebrow and sipped his whisky in lieu of a reply.
“Very well,” Ellis said. “I’ll try to suss the joke’s conclusion out myself. Do I drink for the same reason you’re about to…hmm. Any hints you’d like to offer?”
Callum shook his head.
“Fair enough. Comedic reasons for my drinking. Let me see…” He tapped his chin. “Because, like you, I have little hope of marrying this Season?”
Callum glowered at him.
Ellis held up his hands in defeat. “My apologies. You would never be so cruel to either of us. Besides, we both would be able to find wives easily if we dropped our stricter requirements.”
Callum made a noise of derision. “Is this your way of saying I should give up on Margaret?”
“Not at all. Only an idiot would suggest such a thing, and, despite the myriad things that suggest such, I’m not one.” Ellis smiled. “Everyone can tell you’re quite taken with her.”
Callum had heard the rumors. He’d deflected a dozen questioning comments so casually delivered that they couldn’t have been anything but genuine interest. It seemed that the entirety of British society wanted to know, right along with Margaret: what did Callum see in her?
But how was he to explain the truth without pushing her away forever? Callum’s preoccupation was how to explain it to Margaret, of course, not society—he wouldn’t pay a pile of moldering peat to hear their opinions.
How was Callum to make Margaret understand that he considered himself well in love with her already? How was he to admit that not only had he breached the privacy of her journal, but that he’d hunted for her, tracked her like a wild stag across the moors?
He knew he’d have to tell her the truth of it someday, but how could he, without frightening her off forever? It would be too much for nearly any lady to forgive, let alone one who had poured out not only her own secrets, but those of her family as well.
If Callum were being honest with himself, he hadn’t thought courting Margaret would be half this difficult. He’d never met a lady, single or married, that he couldn’t charm. It was the deepest irony that the one he wanted was the one who didn’t want him.
“Why do you think you’re having such difficulties with Miss Preston?” Ellis asked, echoing his thoughts.
Callum shifted in his seat, the leather squeaking with the motion.
He’d meant what he’d said to Rachel Warrington two weeks ago during their dance when she’d offered help.
Callum believed that he and Margaret had to figure things out between the two of them.
But despite his brash humor, Ellis was a trustworthy friend.
He’d never disclose the things that truly mattered.
“She admitted today that she thinks all my compliments are nothing but mockery,” he finally said.
“Do you have any idea why she thinks such?”
Callum shook his head. “She seems to hold some charge against me.”
Ellis’s eyebrows winged upward. “Have you thought about asking her what it is?”
“I’ve tried.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.
“She’s a wily one, make no mistake. And I’ve had the most dreadful luck—every time we seem to be getting somewhere, we’re interrupted.
Then, the next time I see her, it’s as if she’s taken the time apart to remind herself of why she detests me, and we’re back to the starting line all over again. ”
Callum’s shoulders slumped with the honest confession of how bad things truly were, but a slow smile stole over Ellis’s face.
“Then there’s hope,” he announced. “For she wouldn’t have to remind herself of all your bad qualities if they were always forefront in her mind.”
“That’s your encouragement?” Callum asked in an incredulous tone. “That her coldness every time we meet is a good thing?”
Ellis leaned forward, bracing his elbows upon his knees.
For once, his expression was serious. “If I know anything about you, Callum, it’s that her objections cannot be too serious, for I’ve never known a more honorable, principled person.
I’ve also never known a more determined man.
You deserve the best, and if you’ve decided that Miss Margaret Preston is the object of your affections, then doubtless it’s for very good reasons.
Don’t give up now. Don’t give up until, at the very least, you find out why she’s so determined to dislike you. ”
Callum swallowed and blinked. Though he knew his cousin would detest any sign of sentimentality, Ellis’s words had touched him deeply.
“Thank you, Ellis,” he said. “That is very good advice.”
Ellis nodded as if agreeing with him and leaned back. They shared a moment of companionable silence until Ellis suddenly snapped his fingers and grinned.
“Because I cannot escape my own company!” Ellis pointed at Callum. “Admit it! That was going to be the punchline of your joke regarding why I drink, wasn’t it?”
He shook his head with a rueful smile. “You know me too well.”