He opened his mouth, closed it again. “I am so sorry, Pen,” he whispered.
The next moment they were hugging, and Selina wiped a tear from her eye. There was an alternative, and she longed to voice it, but Penelope would refuse to listen. She set down the cake and left them to their emotional reunion.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Callum looked abouthim at Aunt Jennie’s ballroom. It was decorated with flowers and greenery, candles glowed, and everything that could be polished was. His aunt had hired an orchestra that looked very professional, and there was a table groaning with more than enough food to keep the guests sustained for the hours to come.
There were also ladies young and old, whispering behind their fans, their eyes bright with anticipation. Most of them seemed to be focused on him.
Callum should have felt uncomfortable, certainly nervous, but he found he wasn’t. Penelope’s lessons had prepared him well for the task ahead. His aunt had complimented him on his clothing, and his uncle’s valet had him looking “ship-shape”. What could possibly go wrong? Apart from another mouse, he supposed. That made him smile, remembering the Bohemian Ball and the hysterics of the guests. Penelope had laughed and then they had made love, and...
He shut out the memories.
Callum had promised himself he would do his best tonight. He would try to please his aunt and fulfill his father’s dream for him and make him proud, he really would.
He looked about him again, trying to see someone who caused him a modicum of interest, but all the ladies looked the same. Not the same in a physical way. They were tall and shortand middling, fair haired and dark haired, pretty and plain. No doubt there were several among them worthy of his attentions, and who would please Maxwell if he brought them home.
But none of them were Penelope, and that was the problem.
It took Callum an hour of dancing and chatting and being pleasant—so very pleasant it made his teeth ache—to acknowledge that he would never find the woman of his dreams in this room. He longed for the sort of conversations he had with Penelope, where she told him what he was doing wrong in that high-handed voice. He so wanted to hear her lectures. None of the guests here tonight dared to speak to him like that, they were all so polite.
It was as if the boar incident had never happened, nor the brawl in the park. Somehow that was all forgotten, and he wondered what his aunt had said to make it so. Reminded them of his title perhaps, and his wealth, and his estate in Scotland.
“You are not at all as I expected,” one of the ladies blurted out when he bowed to her after their dance.
“What did you expect?” he inquired courteously.
She giggled nervously. “I was told you were ill-mannered, but I can see you are not.” Then, realizing what she had said, “I do beg your pardon, my lord.” Her eyes were very big, and she seemed very young, so he forgave her.
“Are you sure you are the Marquess of Morven?” another lady spluttered as he escorted her to the supper table.
“Unless there are two of us,” Callum said politely.
“Yes,” the woman spoke with relief, “that must be it. I am thinking of theotherone.”
It was just too ridiculous for words, and he had had enough. How many times could one discuss the weather—Penelope had been right, it was the main topic of conversation—or which social events were the ones to be seen at. Or the latest juicygossip. Having been the subject of gossip, Callum was not eager to join in tearing to shreds some other poor unfortunate.
He wanted to leave. He appreciated his aunt’s efforts, but he could see by her glances in his direction that she was aware he wasn’t enjoying himself. She knew him too well. He was sorry she had gone to so much trouble, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted to go home, and he wanted to take Penelope with him. He wanted to marry her first, of course, and then face his father, and if Maxwell didn’t like his choice of wife then it was just too bad.
They would find somewhere else to live. He would be a duke one day, but until then they could roam about, living their lives to the full, and beinghappy. Because after tonight, he knew for certain he could never be happy with anyone but Penelope Armstrong.
But Callum loved his Aunt Jennie, so he forced himself to stay and do his duty until the ball was over and the guests had left. Then he sat in the library, mulling over his thoughts, and drank a glass of whisky brought to him by a stone-faced Hocking. And only then did he go to find her.
Jennie was in her bedchamber, lying back on a mountain of pillows with a cup of hot chocolate and Bothwell perched on her lap. The cat gave him a disgusted look—no doubt he knew about the mouse that had been denied him—but Callum ignored the monster.
Jennie startled at the sight of him and set her cup down with a clatter on its saucer. “Callum?”
“Aunt Jennie,” he said, and took a breath before launching into his speech. “Thank you for tonight. I am very grateful. And for the lessons—I am sure I am a better man for them. You have done everything you could to help me find the wife my father wants for me, and I believe in my heart that I have done all I can to grant him his wish.”
Jennie raised an eyebrow. “But?” She sounded resigned.
He sat down on the edge of the bed, much to Bothwell’s disgust. “Butit’s of no use. I am in love, and I can’t just pretend otherwise. I can’t marry someone else when I want her. It would be callous to my wife and myself.”
Jennie reached out to stroke the cat. Bothwell began to purr, at the same time giving Callum a sour look. “I presume you mean Penelope Armstrong,” she said, with no surprise. “I should have seen the way things were heading and put a stop to it.”
“I don’t think you could have. It was instant, and my feelings have only grown from there.”
She looked up at him, so like his mother despite their different coloring, it made his heart ache even more for home. “What will Maxwell say?”
