Page 80 of The Tartan Trap

Margaret laughed. “I’ll have to thank him when I see him next.”

“Let me know whether they work for you. If not, I’m sure we can find a solution eventually. Now I really must be going, unfortunately.”

Callum bowed and pressed his warm lips to the back of her hand, then retreated down the hallway. Margaret heard his murmured farewell to the butler, the solid snap of the front door closing, and then he was gone.

Margaret pressed her fingertips to the smile on her lips. She wondered if she appeared as giddy as she felt on the inside. In some ways, it had been easier when she’d been angry with him, when she’d been convinced that he was mocking her.

Now she didn’t know quite what she felt. There was certainly anticipation before she saw him and a thrill in her midsection when he was near, but all of that could be chalked up to his impressive height and handsome face. Margaret didn’t think that that was quite enough to build a life upon, however.

Eligible dukes were very scarce these days, and though Margaret cared little for his title on its own, she knew that she was in the minority when it came to such a thing. She huffed a little laugh. She knew of six young ladies, Daisy Knope included, who would have given nearly anything to be in Margaret’s shoes. They peered at her when she went out in public, as if wondering the same thing Margaret did. What on earth did Callum see in her? What made her so special?

Margaret shrugged. Something William had said at the breakfast table the other morning to Claire kept ringing in Margaret’s mind. He’d said that the greatest disrespect one could pay a gentleman of sound mind and mature age was to question whether or not he truly knew his own opinion on a matter.

Under that line of logic, if Callum was visiting Margaret, he certainly had good reason for doing so. Now it was her task to find out how she felt about him. Margaret readily admitted that she was flattered and intrigued, and that she and Callum had a friendship. That would have to be enough for now. She shrugged and started down the hall.

Margaret passed a mirror and froze in horror. Dread curled in her stomach as she slowly turned her head to stare at her reflection directly.

“Oh, no,” she gasped. “Oh, no, no, no.”

During her conversation with Callum, Margaret had forgotten that she’d spent the previous hour with a sheet over her head.

Now, looking in the mirror, there was no doubt—her blonde hair had doubled in size and volume underneath the careless ministrations of the costume. Margaret thought it looked like a heaping pile of cobwebs.

Margaret put a hand to the frizzy mess, trying to smooth it retroactively, as if fixing it now would allow her to pretend it hadn’t been quite so bad while she was talking to Callum. But it was no use. She looked a fright—she was positive some scarecrows in the York countryside had better hairstyles than she did at the moment.

“What are you doing?” Rachel said, appearing in the parlor doorway once more. Her hair was rumpled too, but at least it had stayed in its braided bun. “Hurry up. I’ve eaten half the biscuits already. What have you got there?”

“They’re hair pins.” Margaret’s voice sounded a bit shocked; she still hadn’t recovered from seeing her reflection.

“If only you’d had those this morning,” Rachel teased, her eyes sparkling. “Though I suppose we did conduct one successful experiment today.”

“What’s that?”

“If a gentleman still wants to visit you after he’s seen you looking like that, I daresay there’s very little you can do to frighten him away.”

CHAPTER 28- MARGARET

At six o’clock the following evening, a motley collection of guests had assembled in the front parlor of the Preston house. Margaret blinked around the room and did her best to smile in a welcoming manner.

When Rachel had planned this party at her house, Margaret had assumed that she’d know everyone, but there were several people she’d only seen in passing. One of the guests was Lord Shaw. Margaret was grateful that the last time she’d seen him, he hadn’t really been able to see her.

She sidled up to Rachel, who was shuffling through a stack of parchment. “Please tell me you cleared this with our housekeeper.”

“Of course. It’s your party. What kind of friend would I be if I’d failed to inform your housekeeper?”

“It’s my party, is it?” Margaret asked. At Rachel’s answering nod, she added, “Then would you please be so kind as to introduce me to my guests?”

If Rachel felt the irony of the request, she didn’t let on. “Certainly. Actually, it would save a lot of time if I just did the introductions loudly, all at once.”

Margaret blinked. On the one hand, she was grateful that she wasn’t the only interloper here—that there were others in the grouping who weren’t acquainted with one another. On the other hand, what Rachel was proposing simply wasn’t done. Introductions were highly choreographed interactions, with many rules of rank and decorum attached. Surely she wouldn’t truly⁠—

“Excuse me,” Rachel said loudly, stepping to the center of the room. The polite discussions between those who did know each other ceased immediately. “As many of our group are unknown to each other, if you’ll allow, I’d like to make introductions to the group as a whole.”

Rachel looked to Callum and raised a questioning eyebrow. As the highest in rank, he would be the one most justifiably offended at what she proposed. He gave her an indulgent smile and a nod.

“Wonderful,” she continued. “Then may I begin by presenting our esteemed hostess and my very dear friend, Miss Margaret Preston?”

Margaret gave a little curtsy toward the group since she didn’t know quite what else to do. Rachel continued around the circle, introducing each guest. Of course, Margaret knew Rachel, Callum, and her own sisters, Lily and Beatrice. However, the other three guests were relatively new introductions.