Chapter 27- Margaret #3
“Ah, with all the excitement of the dinner party, I almost forgot.” Callum patted his jacket pocket and came up with a small, brown-paper parcel. “Here. These are for you.”
Margaret took it with a curious smile. “What is it?” she asked, even as she tore the paper.
A moment later, several metal objects slid out into her hand.
There were perhaps a dozen altogether, but Margaret had no idea what they were.
She held one up and examined it. Shining metal was shaped into a spiral with two ends that had been crimped back smoothly.
It appeared that someone had taken great care in creating them, but Margaret couldn’t imagine their purpose.
“They’re pins,” he finally said. “For your hair.”
“Oh.” Margaret stared at them. “Thank you.”
Callum chuckled as if he’d heard her confusion. “They don’t work like normal hair pins. Think of them like a screw instead of a nail. They must be twisted in and twisted out, but I think they’ll be far sturdier for you than the ones you use.”
She examined them again with wonder. “Oh, I understand. How wonderful!”
“I tried them out and they did quite well.”
“Please tell me you didn’t try them on Albie,” she teased.
“He would have been a more willing volunteer, but it was Ellis, in the end.”
“Truly?” She grinned up at him.
“I told him it was a natural consequence of ignoring his valet’s exhortations. After we finished trying them out, he went straight upstairs and took a haircut.”
Margaret laughed. “I’ll have to thank him when I see him next.”
“Let me know whether they work for you. If not, I’m sure we can find a solution eventually. Now I really must be going, unfortunately.”
Callum bowed and pressed his warm lips to the back of her hand, then retreated down the hallway. Margaret heard his murmured farewell to the butler, the solid snap of the front door closing, and then he was gone.
Margaret pressed her fingertips to the smile on her lips. She wondered if she appeared as giddy as she felt on the inside. In some ways, it had been easier when she’d been angry with him, when she’d been convinced that he was mocking her.
Now she didn’t know quite what she felt.
There was certainly anticipation before she saw him and a thrill in her midsection when he was near, but all of that could be chalked up to his impressive height and handsome face.
Margaret didn’t think that that was quite enough to build a life upon, however.
Eligible dukes were very scarce these days, and though Margaret cared little for his title on its own, she knew that she was in the minority when it came to such a thing.
She huffed a little laugh. She knew of six young ladies, Daisy Knope included, who would have given nearly anything to be in Margaret’s shoes.
They peered at her when she went out in public, as if wondering the same thing Margaret did.
What on earth did Callum see in her? What made her so special?
Margaret shrugged. Something William had said at the breakfast table the other morning to Claire kept ringing in Margaret’s mind. He’d said that the greatest disrespect one could pay a gentleman of sound mind and mature age was to question whether or not he truly knew his own opinion on a matter.
Under that line of logic, if Callum was visiting Margaret, he certainly had good reason for doing so.
Now it was her task to find out how she felt about him.
Margaret readily admitted that she was flattered and intrigued, and that she and Callum had a friendship.
That would have to be enough for now. She shrugged and started down the hall.
Margaret passed a mirror and froze in horror. Dread curled in her stomach as she slowly turned her head to stare at her reflection directly.
“Oh, no,” she gasped. “Oh, no, no, no.”
During her conversation with Callum, Margaret had forgotten that she’d spent the previous hour with a sheet over her head.
Now, looking in the mirror, there was no doubt—her blonde hair had doubled in size and volume underneath the careless ministrations of the costume. Margaret thought it looked like a heaping pile of cobwebs.
Margaret put a hand to the frizzy mess, trying to smooth it retroactively, as if fixing it now would allow her to pretend it hadn’t been quite so bad while she was talking to Callum.
But it was no use. She looked a fright—she was positive some scarecrows in the York countryside had better hairstyles than she did at the moment.
“What are you doing?” Rachel said, appearing in the parlor doorway once more. Her hair was rumpled too, but at least it had stayed in its braided bun. “Hurry up. I’ve eaten half the biscuits already. What have you got there?”
“They’re hair pins.” Margaret’s voice sounded a bit shocked; she still hadn’t recovered from seeing her reflection.
“If only you’d had those this morning,” Rachel teased, her eyes sparkling. “Though I suppose we did conduct one successful experiment today.”
“What’s that?”
“If a gentleman still wants to visit you after he’s seen you looking like that, I daresay there’s very little you can do to frighten him away.”