Chapter 31- Margaret
Margaret and Callum had planned to take a ride in the park that afternoon, but unseasonably warm weather had chased them inside. They sat in the front parlor instead. It was now nearly the end of the Season, and except for an intrepid few, Lily’s suitors had largely gone elsewhere.
Margaret mustered her courage, straightened her back, and said, “Callum, you said you’d always tell me the truth. Do I have your word on that?”
“Yes, mo ghrian.”
Callum was seated on the sofa next to her, but there was so much of him that the sofa seemed diminutive beneath his frame.
He appeared to be lounging, those long, muscular legs stretched out before him—conveniently in her line of vision; Margaret couldn’t even pretend she hadn’t noticed.
Why, the man must spend a fortune every time he went to the tailor.
Her brow wrinkled. “Did you have large furniture specially made for your house?
“That’s what you wish to ask me?” Callum’s smile was slow and easy and sent a resounding thrill through every part of her. “Yes, I did.”
He claimed that she was the sunshine, but that lazy smile of his warmed her, fingers to toes.
Margaret shook her head. “That isn’t what I wanted to know.”
“Ask away,” he said, leaning forward and selecting another biscuit. “I’m at your disposal.”
She shook her head in incredulity that this man—this duke—was actually there for her.
“Very well. Please answer truthfully and know that the answer will change little between us, but I’d like to know, anyway.”
He met her eyes and nodded, then bit the end off the biscuit. Margaret had to repress a little shiver.
She focused her attention on the teapot in front of her. It would have been difficult to speak of such things even if the sight of Callum eating a biscuit wasn’t so distracting.
“Is it a stipulation of your inheritance that you must marry?”
It was the last, secret fear Margaret harbored. Even though she admitted it was a remarkably ridiculous one, she wished to hear Callum refute it, anyway.
He tapped his smiling lips; that too was distracting. “There’s no stipulation of inheritance that says I must marry. The title is mine, free and clear. Though I will admit inheriting the title has only increased my desire to marry.”
“In what way?”
“It’s a large responsibility. Perhaps those who’ve long held a title have forgotten the honor it is, the duty that comes with it.
But my father saw his father elevated to the rank from no title at all.
It was his service to the monarchy that earned it.
My father didn’t wear the title as if it were his inherent right, and he taught me not to take it lightly, either. ”
“Rightfully so,” Margaret said, giving a nod of approval to a man she’d never meet.
“I want to marry a kind, honest lady, one who’ll love our children and hopefully love me too, if I can manage it.” He smiled a bit self-consciously, like he wasn’t sure that would be possible.
Margaret threaded her fingers together. Was it possible the man truly believed that any woman would have difficulty with the task?
Callum gave a little shrug and continued, “I want to have heirs, as most noblemen do. However, I care about raising them to be good men who are worthy of the title and the responsibility of all the land and people depending upon it, even more than just continuing my family line.”
Margaret nodded dumbly. It was all she could manage, as she was suddenly struck by how attractive it was to hear Callum speak plainly about actually raising his children.
It seemed that many noblemen were only interested in the siring part of having children, and not at all in what came after they were born.
Callum perused the tea tray anew. Now that Margaret had witnessed his appetite, she felt even worse about denying him refreshments those first few weeks.
He selected another piece of shortbread and said, “At the end of the Season, I’ll head back to my home in Moray. Hopefully with my new wife in tow.”
If the look Callum gave was meaningful, Margaret was too distracted to notice.
“Moray?” she said, blinking.
In her mind, all she could hear was Mrs. Fuller saying of the secret benefactor, “He’s to return home to Morley.” Moray and Morley could be easily swapped, especially if one had heard “Moray” spoken in Callum’s deep, accented voice.
Margaret sat straight. “Callum, are you the benefactor of St. Alban’s Orphanage?”
He blinked at her for a few moments, then grimaced. “I never wanted anyone to find out. How on earth did you manage it?”
“It was something Mrs. Fuller said…” She trailed off in distraction.
A hundred thoughts and questions whirled through Margaret’s mind. The most pressing one was also too arrogant to speak aloud: Had Callum rebuilt the orphanage for her, somehow? But no—Mrs. Fuller had clearly stated that construction had started well before Margaret and Callum had ever met.
“That’s…” She shook her head. “That’s simply wonderful, Callum.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to keep it a secret,” he said. “Even Ellis doesn’t know.”
“Of course. Such a thing is your business, entirely. It’s only a string of happy coincidences that led me to find out.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d love to tell you about it,” he said.
Margaret blinked up at the shy quality of his tone. “Of course.”
Callum smiled and said, “I’ve already secured eight apprenticeships, with many more promised.”
“Apprenticeships?”
“I’ve procured several for the young women old enough to work, but my true goal is to have one for every young man aged thirteen to sixteen.”
Margaret’s shock rendered her rather mindless; she asked, “But why?”
“Surely you can see that they’re too old to be unoccupied. They have nothing to do but think of trouble, and with girls in such close proximity, too.”
She stiffened. “I don’t care for your insinuations.”
“Respectfully, I don’t care that you don’t care for them,” he said lightly. “The truth is the truth, no matter whether it’s convenient or nice to consider.”
“They’re good boys,” she argued.
“I never said they weren’t.” He tilted his head and smiled.
Good heavens, he was amused at her anger. Margaret’s frown deepened. Callum grinned.
“Dear Margaret,” he said, “we can argue about the inherent sinful nature of man if you’d like. Or we could simply agree that it’s a well-known fact that there’s nothing quite as destructive as a young man with no means of supporting himself and nothing productive to do.”
Margaret expelled her irritation in a sigh so great it fluttered the ribbons on her bodice. “I suppose there’s merit in what you’re saying.”
“Thank you.” His eyes twinkled at her begrudging tone, but he changed the subject swiftly, as if he knew that was all the victory he was going to achieve. “Your brother is one of the gentlemen I approached, by the by.”
“Pardon?”
“He’s to send a group of his sailors by St. Alban’s the next time he can spare them, to give a demonstration and answer any questions the boys have. He’s pledged four cabin boy positions to start. Your brother is a remarkable fellow—he had no difficulty grasping the situation.”
“The situation?” she repeated rather stupidly. The thought of Callum speaking to her brother in private audience distracted her. It raised a swell of hope within her that she dare not name.
Callum’s voice held a nearly boyish excitement when he said, “Imagine what we could do for the orphans of London through St. Alban’s.
Imagine what would happen if we saw those children—even half of them—placed in honorable, upright employment!
It wouldn’t just change their lives, though of course that’s the goal.
It would change this city, perhaps the world. ”
Margaret stared at him, dumbstruck. She had known that Callum was a handsome man the first time she clasped eyes on him in the street all those weeks ago. At the time, she’d told herself quite firmly that he wasn’t for the likes of her, and she’d believed herself.
Up until perhaps this very moment, she’d believed herself.
But now she wanted him. Oh, how she wanted him! And not in the way all the other ladies seemed to—because he was handsome or because he had a wealthy, esteemed title. No, Margaret wanted Callum because he was a man of great generosity and vision.
Margaret thought that if she’d been able to peel her eyes from his face and follow his line of sight, she would have seen exactly what he was imagining—that his dream was a certainty far more than it was a possibility.
Of course he would change the world for the better. Of course he would! Hadn’t he done so already? For the boys at the orphanage, for dear little Albie, even for her?
Margaret wanted to be by Callum’s side as he changed the world for the better. More than she’d wanted a warm, delicious meal on all those hungry nights. More than she’d ever longed to be as beautiful as her sisters growing up. More than anything.
The want of it nearly stole her breath away.
She made herself look away before he met her eyes and saw the naked truth of it there.
Dear heavens, she loved him. Despite all the effort she’d expended to push him away at the outset, he’d crept ever, inexorably closer, until he’d moved into her very heart.
It occurred to her that Callum might have snuck in while she was still rejecting him. Perhaps that was why she’d been so certain he was tricking her at the beginning—her heart recognized the danger he posed from the start.
It was certainly too late now, Margaret thought.
Her eyes traced his strong jaw—always with just a hint of stubble unless he was freshly shaved—and the tan topography of his face. His eyes were perhaps her favorite amongst his features—a true feat, considering that they competed against the impressive breadth of his shoulders and his hands.
How they consumed her thoughts lately, those hands.
It was ridiculous. They were only hands.
But Callum’s were the most distracting she’d ever seen.
They had large palms with calluses at the base of every finger, long fingers ending in squared nails.
She nearly shivered every time he took her hand as of late.
Now she realized why.
“Do you think I’m foolish?” he asked.
Margaret realized that she’d been caught in her own thoughts for far too long and Callum had read the worst in her silence. “Not at all. I admire you. What you’ve done for those children—it’s more than anyone could have dreamed.”
“I was in the position to help. How could I turn away?”
Margaret shook her head in wonder once more. She loved him, desperately. How had it taken her this long to realize it?
“Thank you, Callum,” she finally said. “Thank you for being honest with me. I feel…I feel I can truly trust you.”
It was as close to the truth as Margaret could manage.