Callum ran a hand through his hair and gave it a tug. He missed running his hands through his wild curls, and he determined to let it grow again now he no longer had to pretend to be a gentleman.
“I don’t know what my father will say. I intend to write to him tonight. I will tell him that I am going to ask Penelope to marry me, and if she does, I will bring her home to Bonnyrigg. If he wishes to banish us, then I will find somewhere else to live. I have my allowance from my grandfather. I am not a poor man.”
“Ifshe will marry you?” Jennie sat up straighter. “Is there a question about that?”
“She says she will not, that she is not the wife I need. She is selfless like that. I intend to convince her she is wrong, but...” He didn’t want to think what it would mean if she rejected him. “Either way, I am going home to Bonnyrigg. I don’t belong here.”
“I think tonight you did a very good job of belonging,” she retorted. “If you gave yourself a little longer, you might discover it is not so bad. Let me arrange some more social events, redirect your thoughts to other—”
“It would be no use,” he said gently. “Thank you for all you have done for me. I am sorry to disappoint you. I canna help the way I feel.”
She waved an impatient hand. “You must follow your heart, Callum. I truly believe that. And your heart is at Bonnyrigg and, it seems, with Miss Armstrong. I wish you luck. If things don’t go to plan, if Maxwell... You always have a home here with me.”
He was moved beyond speaking. He reached out and took her hand in his, much to Bothwell’s ire. “Thank you, Aunt Jennie. I promise to visit and I hope you will visit me.”
In his own bedchamber, Callum sat down with pen and paper and began his letter to his father. It was probably too long and rather rambling, but it was honest and heartfelt. When he was done, he read over it and was as happy as he could be. If Maxwell did not want to listen to his eldest son’s outpourings then it was too bad. Callum would be very sorry to fall out with a man he had always loved and admired, but he was willing to take that risk for the sake of the woman he adored.
And what if Penelope refused to marry him, which was a real possibility?
Callum wasn’t sure what he would do then. He couldn’t think beyond it. Some part of his heart was telling him that she loved him too, and he preferred to listen to that.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Penelope sat downto breakfast and poured herself a cup of coffee. Mortimer greeted her with, “Did you reply to that awful woman’s letter?”
She had written a polite reply to Lady Hamlyn, thanking her for her interest and offering some of the strategies she might use with the woman’s son. She was pleased with the result, but whether Lady Hamlyn would be pleased remained to be seen. She told herself she was relieved that she was being given another chance and tried to set aside her worries. Foolishly, Penelope had thought herself secure in her employment, but she now knew she was anything but.
It felt like she had been strolling along, oblivious to everything, and had fallen into a deep hole in the ground. It was dark and cold, and somehow she had to claw her way out again. But even if she did reach the top and was able to drag herself back to solid ground, that did not mean she was safe. It might only be a matter of time before she fell again.
Mortimer was waiting for her answer and she tried to sound cheerful.
“Yes, I have replied, Mortimer. The letter is on the hall table ready to be posted.”
He eyed her rather anxiously. She knew she looked dreadful. She hadn’t slept and had spent the night thinking about Callum at his aunt’s ball and all the pretty young things who wouldbe fluttering about him, seeking his attention. Perhaps he had already chosen his future wife from among them. Someone suitable, who would win his heart and make him happy. Or at least make his father happy.
She took a shaky breath and sipped at her coffee, telling herself to stop it. The time for regrets was over. She could never have married him and ruined his future, they both knew that. He could move on now, put aside their mad affair, and so must she.
Mortimer spread butter and jam on his toast and bit into it with relish. Penelope smiled to herself. At least she had her brother back. Uncle Bertie had burned his bridges there, and Mortimer had finally seen the light. He was apologetic and almost a changed boy, but she suspected he would never change completely. They would be at odds again at some point, but for now she was very grateful.
The knocker clattered on the door downstairs.
Penelope looked at the clock and frowned. It was far too early for visitors. Perhaps Lady Hamlyn had sent another of her charming letters? Perhaps she had changed her mind? She pushed that thought aside before it could send her deeper into the hole.
“Why doesn’t Selina answer the door?” Mortimer asked, finishing off his toast.
“She went to the shops. She likes to get the best cuts of meat for the lowest price. I’ll get it.”
But before Penelope could rise to her feet, Mortimer did so.
“I’ll go,” he said cheerfully. “And if it is another one of those hateful letters, I will send it back.”
“No, Mortimer!” she called out as he left the room.
She heard the door open and voices downstairs. It sounded as if her brother exclaimed, “Oh, thank God!” which surprised her, and then there were two sets of footsteps coming back up the stairs toward her.
She fumbled with her napkin. Perhaps she was having a premonition. Or this was a dream. Because she recognized those footsteps.
Callum.
