Callum couldn’t help but smile. “I do.”
Mortimer nodded and climbed the steps and went to step around him, only to stop again and ask curiously, “What are you doing here? Are you still having lessons on etiquette?”
Callum shook his head brusquely, ignoring the pang in his chest. “We are done with that. I have finished. I was hoping...” He stopped himself. What business of Mortimer’s were his private wishes and dreams? “Never mind. Go and see your sister.”
Mortimer hesitated a moment as if he knew there was more to learn behind Callum’s glum face, and then he reached to rattle the door knocker.
Callum walked away, leaving behind him the house in Jasmyne Street. He had done Penelope a good deed and his conscience was clear. And if he never saw her again...
Best not to think about that. The ball was tomorrow night, and perhaps he could call in and tell her how it went? But no, she would not like that. She had said her goodbyes and wished him well. Whatever his own feelings, hers had been clear.
It was over.
Chapter Twenty-One
Selina had stoodin the entry to the house for far longer than Mortimer had expected, barring his way, until he finally convinced her to let him in. He should have been angry, but he couldn’t manage it, not when he remembered what he had said to Penelope. Selina was just protecting her, as any good friend should. She was a better friend to his sister than he had ever been.
It was time to humble himself, to apologize, and he did.
“I have come to beg my sister’s forgiveness,” he said, meeting Selina’s eyes directly. “I am very sorry for what I said and did. Please let me speak to her.”
She looked startled, and then not sure if she believed him or not.
“Please,” he repeated.
Maybe it was his expression or the tears in his eyes, but Selina nodded and stepped aside. “She is upset right now. Not about you,” she added quickly. “But she needs her brother. Don’t disappoint me,” she added in a harsh whisper.
As he climbed the stairs to the sitting room, Mortimer told himself he could be the brother he should have been for all these years. He could show Penelope that he was a changed man. He opened the door.
She was seated, and her head was bent into her hands. She was crying! At first Mortimer was shocked—he could notremember the last time he had seen her cry. His first instinct was to turn and run—he had never been very good at dealing with painful emotions—but then he was ashamed of himself. This was not the time to fall at the first hurdle. If Pen was going to forgive him, then he needed to start acting like her devoted brother.
“Pen?”
She startled and dropped her hands, turning to him. He could see her face was blotched and her eyes red, before she hastily looked away, pretending to straighten some cushions.
“M-Mortimer! My goodness. What are you doing here?”
He didn’t bother answering. Instead, he hurried over to her and dropped to his knees at her feet. Just for a moment he was reminded of doing something like this when he was a child, gazing up at her like she was everything to him and as if there was nothing bad she could not mend. The memory made him feel a little sick when he thought he might have lost his sister forever.
Her face was still turned away, and he took her hands in his, feeling how chilled they were. In fact, the whole room was chilly. Was she economizing on coal again? He glanced over to the hearth and saw the scuttle was empty. She used to do this years ago, whenever she was worried their pennies would not stretch far enough.
“Pen, I am here to apologize. I am so sorry. I was an oaf. A selfish, horrible oaf. Like the goblin in that story you used to read to me. Do you remember? Please forgive me.”
She looked at him and managed a wobbly smile. “I do remember, and of course I forgive you.”
“I am so glad,” he said with obvious relief. “The things I said to you... I don’t think I could live with myself if you didn’t forgive me, Pen.”
She squeezed his hands. “Well, I do. What has happened?” she added, searching his face for clues. “What has Uncle Bertie done?”
He longed to tell her about Bertie and his heartless behavior, but he hesitated. Penelope probably already knew what their uncle was like. She had been trying to warn him about it for years. So instead of moaning about his own bad fortune, he said, “What has happened to make you cry? That Scots brute was outside just now. What has he done to you?” he added, ready to set off back down the stairs and challenge the fellow to a duel. No matter how big he was.
But Pen shook her head. “It’s not his fault,” she said gloomily. “I forgot my most important rule when it comes to clients and allowed myself to—to fall in love. Don’t worry, I will get over it.” She nodded jerkily and added in a determined voice, “I have to, despite feeling so wretched. I am so glad you’re here, Mortimer.”
Mortimer remembered the look on the brute’s face and thought he hadn’t appeared to be very happy either. Was this a case of star-crossed lovers? Or a serious misunderstanding?
He got up from his uncomfortable position on the hard floor and sat down beside his sister. “Do you want me to punch him for you?” he asked seriously. “I’ve been practicing since the last time. I go to a boxing club one day a week.”
She stared, and then she gave a choked chuckle. “No, no violence today,” she said. “Let’s eat cake instead. Selina!”
