Chapter 30- Margaret
If Margaret had thought that coming to an understanding with Callum regarding courtship would remove the playful element from their interactions, she was happy to be proved wrong.
It had now been several weeks since he’d started courting her in earnest. Or rather, it had been several weeks since she had welcomed it. Though Margaret had felt nervous at the outset, she was surprised to find that their relationship now felt much like a close friendship.
Margaret frowned, for that was not precisely the right description. Although she was as close with Callum as she was with Rachel, Margaret would not claim that their relationship felt nearly as comfortable. There was always a delicious undercurrent of something more just beneath the surface.
Margaret had never found herself distracted by the way the light hit Rachel's hair, for example, nor had she ever admired the strength and squareness of Rachel's shoulders.
In fact, the only time she'd ever given a second glance to Rachel's shoulders was when Reginald the stuffed raven was perched atop one of them.
Margaret shifted behind a pillar, the silk of her dress rustling with the motion.
She wasn’t nervous—it was more anticipation than nerves that had her checking over her shoulder every few moments.
Luckily, this particular ballroom was excellent for hiding.
Not only were there a dozen large pillars dotting the space, but several enormous floral arrangements as well.
Perhaps it was strange to admit, but Margaret’s least favorite part of the Season—arriving in a ballroom—had now been transformed into her favorite. For though she was no longer trying to avoid Callum indefinitely, by unspoken agreement, they’d continued their game of hide and go seek.
Of course, Margaret was always the one hiding, and Callum forced to seek.
When he’d complained about the static nature of the arrangement only the week before, Margaret had reminded him that he already had quite the crowd of ladies seeking him out.
It would ruin the fun of the game. Besides, she would not be counted among their number.
If she were being honest, Margaret had to admit that the number of ladies trailing after Callum had decreased as of late. Perhaps the change in their relationship was as obvious to those outside it as it was to Margaret.
It still surprised her how delightful courting could be when one wasn't trying to avoid the gentleman all the time. In any case, Margaret and Callum were enjoying a period of great felicity.
Tonight, Margaret had chosen her hiding spot with care.
She was clear across the room from the punch table, settled in the midst of the dowagers.
The music from the stringed ensemble was barely audible this far away, which was perhaps the reason the elderly ladies had gathered there in the first place.
It was a prime hiding spot—she’d already seen Callum check several more likely positions on the other side of the room. She smiled as he rounded one of the pillars directly near the musicians and emerged from the other side frowning.
He would never guess that Margaret had willingly put herself in the midst of these gossip-hungry women. Why, Margaret had only stood there for perhaps ten minutes, and she'd already heard three separate rumors.
“It's a wonder she hasn't married yet. It can't be easy living with that father of hers,” one lady murmured—much louder than she should have, if she wanted to keep her opinion a secret.
“Mark my words, her engagement with Beaufort is as close as she'll ever come to the altar. I hear that not even the fortune hunters are darkening her door now.”
They were speaking of Daisy. Margaret held still and listened.
“In her defense,” another hurried to add, “single ladies with large fortunes are remarkably thick on the ground at the moment.”
The first one snorted. “Indeed. If only there had been this much choice when my Rupert was looking for a wife, he wouldn't have had to marry that dreadful Louisa.”
“I thought they loved each other very much. And she’s given him six wonderful children.”
“That's beside the point,” she sniffed.
“Miss Knope has been looking dreadful as of late. One wonders whether the stress of the Season is getting to her.”
Margaret privately agreed. Though Daisy’s hair and dress were as flawless as usual—if a bit overwrought, in Margaret’s opinion—dark circles now smudged beneath her eyes, and her cheekbones had gone from sharp to nearly gaunt.
“Of course, it isn’t the Season in general. It’s her father, I’m telling you.”
“What on earth do you have against Lord Humphreys?”
“I never told you? I knew him when we were younger. Our families actually grew up together…”
The lady’s words trailed off as the grouping moved further from Margaret.
She frowned and peered out from behind her pillar.
She whispered an invective—Callum had disappeared from sight.
Margaret knew better than to become distracted like that, yet the conversation about Daisy had been too tempting to ignore.
Margaret circled the pillar, tiptoeing the circumference to get a better view of the other side of the ballroom.
“Who are we hiding from?” Callum whispered, just behind her.
She started and whirled. “How did you find me? I thought I’d hidden so well.”
“You had.” He grinned down at her. “It would have taken me far longer to find you if one of those dowagers hadn’t pointed you out to me.”
Margaret scowled after the group of women. “How very rude.”
“This means I’ve won. I’m ready to claim my prize.” Callum held his hand out to her. “The next dance is a waltz, I think.”
“You haven’t won,” she said on a sudden burst of inspiration. “You cheated. It doesn’t count. The game is still afoot.”
Callum cocked his head to the side; his eyes narrowed. His tone held a note of warning when he said, “Now, Margaret, you know our agreement.”
“Certainly. It’s that I’ll dance with you when you catch me. Fairly.” Callum opened his mouth to reply, but Margaret grinned, reached out a hand, and grasped the elbow of a lady walking quickly past. “Your Grace, have you met…”
Margaret blinked, for she didn't recognize the young lady she had a hold of.
The young lady looked similarly surprised, but she said, “Miss Hyperion Lockhart.”
Margaret couldn't help it; she frowned. “Truly? Your name is Miss Hyperion Lockhart? That’s a very interesting name.”
The young lady pressed her lips together and looked heavenward. “Please, just call me Miss Lockhart.”
“All due apologies,” Callum said, his eyes never leaving Margaret's, “but I don’t wish to meet you, Miss Lockhart.”
“Finally, some honesty,” she muttered, and she turned and plunged into the crowd.
Margaret watched her go, rather amused at the exchange. She suspected that Miss Hyperion Lockhart might be well worth knowing after all.
Her attention was soon diverted back to Callum when he said, “I thought we’d made it past the forced introduction stage.”
She shrugged. “I got rather into the spirit of the game, I’m afraid. It’s vastly amusing.”
“And yet, here we are, with me having found you.”
“Yes,” she said, fairly beaming up at him. “Here we are. Though I still contest that you cheated.”
“What did John Lyly write all those years ago? All perjury, any impiety, may lawfully be committed in love, which is lawless.” Callum lifted an eyebrow as if daring her to challenge him.
Margaret was too stunned by his casual mention of love to reply. Did Callum mean something by it? She blinked. Then again, men quoted famous writers and poets right and left—she certainly shouldn't read too much into it.
Thankfully, Margaret was saved from exploring such thoughts further—in front of Callum, no less—by the strings striking up again.
“Margaret, would you honor me with a dance?”
She readily offered Callum her hand. “I’d be delighted.”