Page 73 of The Tartan Trap

“Yes,” he said. “Absolutely. Only, I’ve no idea what it is. And it’s not as if one can try different things out to see what suits. The army rather frowns on soldiers who decide they’d rather not be enlisted anymore.”

Callum huffed his agreement. “But you know you could always come and live with me.”

“I don’t want to live on someone else’s charity. Despite the many surface benefits, it grows stale quickly.”

Callum’s frown creased his forehead. “That’s not how I think of you, Ellis. Not in terms of charity. You’re my family. I hope you know that.”

Ellis waved his hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, we’re cousins⁠—”

“No,” Callum said firmly. “I’m not simply speaking about how we’re related. You are my family. The closest family I have left, save for my sisters.”

Ellis’s lips were pressed together. He stared down at the chessboard.

Callum couldn’t read his expression as he continued, “And if you’d like to marry the poorest parlor maid—if that would make you happy—then feel free to bring her home to Yardbrook. The house is far too large; it’s ridiculous. You can raise your family in the east wing and I’ll take the west, and our children will run amok through the hedgerows together. It’s the way it should be anyway.”

Ellis finally raised his head, and Callum was surprised to see a sheen of moisture in his eyes.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Callum scoffed—for he knew Ellis, and scoffing was the fastest way to restore his equilibrium. “I’m only amazed you needed me to put such a thing to words. I always thought you knew you and your family were more than welcome.”

“There’s no need to rub your superior graciousness in, along with everything else,” Ellis said, sounding much more like himself than he had.

Callum frowned. “I do have one request, however.”

“What’s that?”

“When you do come, could you please refrain from chucking mud clods at the staff? Especially Mr. MacCubbin. He’s dreadfully sensitive about it, for some reason.”

“You’re kidding. He’s still about? I thought the last time I saw him…what has it been, two years already? I thought that would undoubtedly be the last.”

“I’m sure he hoped it was, but yes, he’s still puttering about the stables when he has a mind to.”

“He doesn’t still work for you—the man must be seventy!”

“He’s seventy-four, and very sprightly for his age. He has his same cottage, and will until he’s gone.” Callum took the length of wire with bent ends and twisted it carefully around a small wooden rod.

“Dead, you mean.”

“I’d never be so crude to say it, though.”

“Would I be just as welcome without a wife?” Ellis asked with a careful casualness that Callum knew meant he was truly serious.

“Of course you would. But I thought perhaps you were coming around to the idea of finding a wife.”

“Again, you mean?” He arched an eyebrow. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to trust someone a second time.”

Callum blinked. This was perhaps the most honest conversation he’d had with Ellis, at least in recent memory. He wondered if his cousin realized just how set Callum was on marrying Margaret and thought their time together coming to a close.

“Ellis, there are a hundred women who’d love to have you as a husband, whether or not your three older brothers die off in a tragic accident.”

Ellis exhaled a smirking sort of laugh. “Heaven save me from such a thing. Their collective widows and children would pester me into an early grave.”

“In all seriousness, if you wish to look for a bride, do so. My only advice is to be honest from the start about your fortune.”

“My lack of it, you mean.” Ellis began his relentless assault against the white pieces once more. “Is that what you did? Were you honest with your Margaret?”

Callum winced, thinking once again of the journal.