Page 74 of The Tartan Trap

“I take that as a no, then,” Ellis said. “I confess I did wonder how you were going to work that into polite conversation. How did you come by it, after all?”

“What?” Callum blinked.

“You must remember, cousin—I’m a decent pickpocket. Not that I could make a living on Bond Street without being caught, but it’s a passable parlor trick, good enough to entertain at parties.”

Reflexively, Callum’s hand went to his breast pocket.

“You see,” Ellis said, pointing. “It was that right there that made me wonder. I kept thinking perhaps you were having chest pains. Then I realized it wasn’t that—you were keeping something important on you. I had no idea what it was until I swiped it the other evening.”

“You took it off my person?” Callum gaped.

“No. Like I said, I’m only a decent pickpocket, not truly skilled. I waited until you were in the bath.” At Callum’s expression, he held up his hands. “Before you throttle me, you should know that I only did it because I thought you were holding out on me regarding the book you enjoyed. The second I figured out what it was, I didn’t read another word, I promise.”

“How many entries?” he gritted out.

“Two or three short ones. They were all on the same page. At first I thought it was your diary. Your penmanship is very feminine, after all.”

“No, it isn’t,” he snapped.

Truthfully, if Ellis had looked a bit harder, he might have found Callum’s journal—the one he’d started keeping during his search for Margaret. He’d continued it after he found out who she was. It was odd—he’d never kept a diary before, certainly had never poured his heart out to one. It felt natural now, and he wrote down his thoughts of Margaret and their courtship at least once a day.

“I can tell you aren’t in the mood for joking. I won’t tell anyone—not that it even exists, much less that I read it. And it was all very boring—one entry was mainly about her missing waffles for breakfast, if you can believe it.”

Callum knew the one—it was one of the many that made him smile. He wasn’t smiling now, however. He didn’t know who he wanted to knock upside the head more—his cousin or himself.

“Look,” Ellis said again. “I promise, I never would have even known who’d written it by what I read. It’s only that you were so taken with her from the very beginning, even when she was giving you fits. That’s the only way I made the connection; it was the most logical deduction.”

Callum sighed, all his anger deflating at once. “You thought I had a good book I was keeping to myself?”

“I thought it might have pictures.” Ellis waggled his eyebrows, but when it failed to make Callum laugh, he stopped immediately. “I’m very sorry. It’s been weighing on me ever since it happened. I truly regret it, if it makes you feel any better.”

“Barely.” He ran his hand through his dark hair. It was getting long again; he needed to cut it. “I accept your apology. To be honest, most of my anger is pointed at myself.”

“How on earth did it come into your possession?”

Callum sighed. Then, as he curled more wire around the wooden dowel, he relayed the story of how he’d found Margaret’s journal in the shop.

“What are you going to do?” Ellis finally asked.

“I need to tell her. I just…have to find the right time.”

“You should.” Ellis nodded. “For your conscience will get the best of you and you’ll tell her eventually. Knowing you, it would burst forth at the worst possible moment—at the altar, for example.”

Callum smiled and shook his head. “Ellis? Please tell me you don’t make a habit of coming into my room when I’m in the bath?”

He scoffed. “You should be so honored.”

CHAPTER 27- MARGARET

“It’s well and good that you don’t have plans for us this morning,” Rachel said the next day. “For I do.”

“Obviously.” Margaret nodded toward the basket resting at Rachel’s feet.

They were in the parlor, which seemed much larger and more cavernous when hordes of Lily’s admirers weren’t filling it. Margaret could even hear the ticking of the clock—a novelty, since all such evidence of silence was usually disrupted by gentlemen’s laughter and fawning compliments.

“I heard the most interesting lecture and discussion yesterday evening,” Rachel said. “I tossed and turned all night thinking of the possibilities.”

“How fascinating.” Margaret leaned forward. “Please, tell me.”