Penelope glanced over at the door and saw Selina lingering. Her maid’s eyes were wide with a mixture of anxiety and glee.
“Fetch tea, Selina,” Penelope said in her well-modulated voice. “I believe the marquess will be staying.”
Chapter Three
She was themost beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her hair was as fair as the moon, and her eyes were the sort of silvery grey he had only heard of in folktales where fairies danced around toadstools and put spells on unwary travelers. Now the fire had stopped smoking, Callum had nothing to occupy him to help recover his wits—the sight of her had scattered them to the four winds—so he was glad when she had ordered her servant to bring tea.
“My name is Penelope Armstrong,” she said, holding out a delicate hand.
Callum took it and gave it a squeeze. She winced so he let it go.
“Please be seated,” she said, gesturing at a chair, and sat herself down on the delicate looking settee.
He did as he was told, a little too enthusiastically, and the chair groaned under his weight. She was watching him but he wasn’t sure what she wanted, so he waited. People usually told him what they wanted eventually, and it saved him guessing or filling the silence with unnecessary chatter.
“Perhaps you should tell me why you are here, my lord?” she said at last.
Callum thought it was obvious but told her anyway. “My aunt suggested I come to you. She gave me the time and the place and here I am.”
Miss Armstrong nodded and waited, and then said, “And thereasonyou are here, my lord?”
Memories of that fateful evening at the Yeos’ made him want to kick something, but instead, he glared. “Evidently I am not fit for polite society, or that is what I have been told. The invitations have dried up. I am supposed to be in London to...” He stopped. Was it polite to mention wanting a noble wife? Callum liked to say what he thought, and second guessing himself was proving difficult.
His aunt had sighed and cast her eyes up when he told her what happened with the boar. But she didn’t agree that he should return home to Bonnyrigg immediately, as Callum had hopefully suggested. She seemed to think that lessons were in order. Callum resisted. He wasn’t about to turn himself into a dandy. If he found a wife, then she would have to take him as he was. Aunt Jennie had retorted that she would write to his parents and tell them he was being ungrateful and stubborn, and only then did he agree to the appointment with Penelope Armstrong.
Miss Armstrong was watching him curiously. “Tell me, my lord, why do you want invitations? What has brought you to London during the Season?”
Frustrated, he ran his hands through his hair and straightened in his chair. “I need a wife. A wife who can impress our noble neighbors. I’ve come south to find one.”
She blinked those remarkable eyes at him. “I see. If you want to attract such a wife, then you will need to court her. Woo her. You have arrived in the capital just as the Season is getting into full swing, and there are a great many young women making their coming-outs. They will want a man who is polite and courteous, who will make them feel special. I am not sure you are that man.”
Was that an insult? “I can be polite and courteous,” he argued.
“You are intimidating,” she said firmly. Before he could argue further, she added, “Let me be frank, my lord. I think you are a man who prefers plain speaking, as I do. I find it saves time.”
Relieved, he agreed. “Honesty is important to me.”
“Very well then. The young women making their debuts are innocent virgins, and even if they are not, they will be playing that role. It is likely that when they meet you, they will be overwhelmed by your... manliness.”
Hismanliness? He raised his eyebrows, surprised and not displeased. “What is wrong with that? Is my ‘manliness’ a problem?”
“Not for some ladies. A widow, for instance, might welcome a gentleman who exudes masculinity. There are many widows of noble gentlemen, and having been wed once already, they may not be as particular when it comes to your lack of social skills. Although some widows areveryparticular.”
He thought a moment. “CanIbe frank now, Miss Armstrong? It doesn’t matter to me who I marry. I have no preference as long as she is happy to come and live at Bonnyrigg with me.”
She looked doubtful. “Well, we’ll get to that. For now, you need to receive invitations, otherwise how will you enter polite society and find your wife?”
“That is why I am here,” he said a trifle impatiently.
“Yes, you need my help, my lord.”
“Enough with the ‘my lords’,” he burst out, raising his voice. “I am Callum MacKenzie, and that was my name until I turned 14, so you can call me Callum or MacKenzie, either will do.”
She gave him one of her inscrutable looks. “I see. Your aunt said you are in line for a dukedom.”
“Did she? Well, my father is hale and hearty, so I won’t be a duke for a good while yet. Is that a problem?”
She shook her head. “No, of course not.”
