The countess looked pleased. “That is good to hear!” She hesitated and then went on with a frown. “However, that being said... it is my brother-in-law who wants him to find a virtuous and well-connected wife; I’d prefer he found one who made him happy.”
She spoke bluntly, and Callum looked embarrassed at being discussed so intimately.
“Surely both are possible?” Penelope said. “I know that it is rare to fall in love with one’s spouse, but it is not beyond the realm of probability.”
The countess’s lips twitched in amusement. “Indeed. My own marriage was a love match. And Callum’s parents are still disgustingly in love despite four children. I think it very unfair of them to ask their son to marry for anything other than love.”
Did she really believe that? If so, Penelope wondered what on earth the MacKenzies were thinking to send their son down to London on a quest for a wife. Although the dream of being with someone you loved was a pleasant one, it was extremely unlikely. Penelope could not hope for such an ending. And even if it were possible, who on earth would offer for her, in the circumstances?
Besides, did she really want to fall in love and place her future in the hands of one man? She had already known the highs and lows of life as a gentleman’s property, and that had left her determined to keep her independence and make her own way in the world. Had one glimpse of Callum’s smile and his warm, brown eyes turned everything she had learned in the past ten years on its head?
Of course not!
And she reminded herself that even if by some unlikely chance Callum did set his sights on her, why would he feel the need to propose? Marquesses did not marry women who were damaged goods. Probably after one illicit night in her arms, in her bed, he would move on to his real objective—a suitable wife. And she would be left behind.
The countess was watching her with speculative, grey eyes and Penelope realized she had allowed the silence to go on for far too long. She pulled herself together and desperately hoped her face had not betrayed her ridiculous thoughts.
“Tomorrow we will resume our lessons in—in conversation,” she said, plucking a subject out of the air. She looked about and, seeing her bonnet and gloves, gathered them up. “And I willarrange for your nephew to attend a ball, to ensure his conduct is flawless.”
“Well, that sounds most satisfactory,” the countess said, clapping her hands. She glanced behind her, where Hocking was hovering outside the door. “Do excuse me, Miss Armstrong. My guests will be wondering where I am. Perhaps we will meet again?”
Penelope smiled and curtsied.
“And, my dear, I insist you take the carriage home. No, I will not take no for an answer!” And she was gone in a swirl of silk and perfume.
Penelope had found the countess polite and friendly, quite unlike most of the titled ladies she had previously come face to face with. It made her feel almost hopeful, until she remembered the scene in the park. Once the countess heard about that, she would almost certainly remove her nephew from such contagion.
Selina touched her hand and lifted an enquiring brow.
Penelope snapped herself out of her unhappy thoughts. “I will see you tomorrow,” she said, turning to Callum.
He was watching her somberly. She suspected he was going to ask if she needed his assistance with her brother, and she could not have that. She gave him a little curtsy and left the room.
The butler, Hocking, his nose in the air, opened the door for her and then shut it quickly.
“Well, that was awkward,” Selina said quietly at her side. “What are you going to do?”
“Resist,” Penelope said. “I am going to harden myself against him. Anything else is impossible.”
Selina seemed to be trying not to smile. “I meant what are you going to do about Mortimer, but it is good to know you are going to resist MacKenzie. I’m not sure I could.”
Realizing her mistake, Penelope avoided her maid’s eyes and said hurriedly, “It was unpleasant, yes. I am sure the gossips are spreading the news as we speak, but there is nothing I can do about it. Mortimer never thinks before he acts. In many ways, he is still a child. I am going to stand firm, even though I know we will be at odds for... I am sorry for it, but...” She swallowed, grief a lump in her throat.
“Thank goodness,” Selina retorted. “It is about time. You are doing the right thing.”
Penelope tried to smile but couldn’t quite manage it. Mortimer might never forgive her or understand why she had refused him when before she had always given in to his demands. In most ways, she was a strong and capable woman, but he was her one weakness. Was she to blame?
“You mentioned a ball?” Selina said.
Penelope gratefully jumped at the distraction. “Yes, I thought the Livingstones’ ball next week.”
Selina grinned. “You mean the Bohemian Ball?”
“Well, yes. It isn’t like I will be invited to Almack’s,” she retorted sharply. “And it doesn’t matter if it isn’t quite the thing. All MacKenzie requires is to dance and make conversation, just as he would at any ball. And I will see he does not get into any trouble.”
“They will seize upon him like starving cats,” was Selina’s delighted response.
Penelope did not answer. She would make sure nothing happened to Callum MacKenzie, and she would deliver him safely home to his aunt.
