She tried to tell herself that if it was him then he was only coming to tell her how well the evening had gone and he had made his choice, and to say goodbye. Yet some small, ridiculous part of her whispered that maybe he had come for her.
“Pen, look who’s here!” Mortimer said in a jolly voice as Callum entered the room. He took note of his sister’s face and added, “I’ll leave you to it then.”
She wanted to tell him to stay, but the words seemed to be jammed in her throat. Instead, she said, “MacKenzie,” in a voice that didn’t sound like her own.
He closed the door and came into the room. He looked pale but resolute, as if he had a mission and was going to carry it out no matter what. She stood up and gestured with a shaky hand toward the couch near the fireplace. There was no fire—she was still saving on coal.
“Please, sit down. Would you like some tea? Coffee? I’m sorry Selina isn’t here to make you fresh.”
“I don’t want tea or coffee,” he said rudely, and then corrected himself. “I don’t want tea or coffee, thank you.”
She sat down abruptly. He sounded as if something had happened. It must be that he had chosen a wife. Already! Her heart sank, but she reminded herself that of course he was in demand. Impossible that he was not. A man like Callum.
“I have a request for you,” he said, still standing and gazing down at her.
“Oh?” Her neck was hurting from staring up at him.
“I want another lesson. I need to know how to propose.”
Her mind went momentarily blank. “Propose? Oh, yes. Oh, of course. Then you have...” She stopped herself from continuingwith that thought. Best not to know, at least until she could pretend to be happy for him. Right now her emotions were so raw, she would fail miserably.
“I know the basics,” he said, watching her closely, “but I think there is more to it.”
“Yes.” She cleared her throat and told herself to stop this hysterical nonsense. She could cry when he had gone, although surely to goodness she had cried enough recently. “Usually the gentleman kneels.”
“Right. Ah, both knees?”
“No, traditionally it is the left knee. Oh. Are you practicing?” She stared as he went down on his left knee before her. “Yes, like that. And then you take the lady’s hand in yours and say your piece. Although you should have requested an audience with her father or guardian first. There’s no use proposing if he is going to refuse you permission.”
He waited and then said, “Have you finished blathering?”
Her eyes widened. “MacKenzie, that is no way to speak to a lady! Try again.”
“Will you marry me, Penelope?”
She stilled and then took a shaky breath. “Very good, but perhaps use the name of the woman whose hand you are actually asking for. Try again.”
He cleared his throat, and there was a glint in his eyes that confused her. “Will you marry me, Penelope, and live with me at Bonnyrigg, and be my love forevermore?”
“You—you . . .”
His serious expression lightened into an almost smile. “And what if she has no father or guardian? Just a rather irritating brother. Should I ask him?”
It occurred to her after a moment that he might mean Mortimer, but if so then she must not allow this to happen. “Callum—” she began hurriedly, meaning to stop him.
“I don’t care what you say,” he said, and took her hands firmly in his. She tried to tug them free, but he refused to let them go. It was ridiculous, and in other circumstances she might have laughed.
“Callum, please!”
“No, I will propose to you whether you like it or not. Penelope, will you marry me? I love you and I cannot imagine myself with any other woman. I have written to my father and told him I will have you or no one else, and if he wants to banish me then he can. I have funds of my own, so we can live comfortably enough. Have I covered everything? I think so.” His voice dropped into a lower key with a husky note, raising the hairs on the back of her neck. “Please marry me, Penelope.”
She blinked. “I will ruin you,” she said. “What of my reputation?”
“You won’t. You are perfect. While I am out strolling in my forests, you can run my castle and take tea with my neighbors. The thought of all that socializing makes me shudder, but I know you love it. Can’t you see you are the one for me? I canna imagine being with anyone else. I would not want to.”
“Callum,” she wailed, but the strange thing was those low spirits she had been dealing with were beginning to rise. It was almost like a wedge of sunlight had penetrated into that dark hole she had imagined herself crouched in, and if she lifted her face, she could feel its warmth.
“I am asking you to marry me,” he said patiently. “Give me your answer, Penelope. Forget about everything and everyone else. Think of yourself for a change, and me. Think of us together. What is your answer?”
