Page 95 of The Tartan Trap

“From the first moment I stepped foot in public, the ladies in London were…” He trailed off as if searching for a gentlemanly term that could encompass what he’d experienced.

“Aggressive?” Margaret suggested. Her mild tone belied the tumult of her thoughts.

Callum nodded, swallowed deeply, and continued. “I was in a stationer’s shop looking for a new journal of my own when I came across yours. Of course, at the time, I didn’t know whose it was. I opened it to the middle, started reading, and couldn’t stop. I bought it, took it home, and read the entire thing cover to cover.”

Margaret shook her head. Heat rose in her cheeks. She could think of four entries off the top of her head that were shameful. She had poured every caustic thought and feeling about her late brother, Richard, about their situation, into this little book.

After it had been lost, she’d told herself that perhaps it was for the best. For who could ever read such a thing and think good of her? She didn’t know if she could bear to re-read it herself.

“You must think I’m a terrible person,” Margaret croaked.

Callum’s forehead crinkled. “On the contrary. I felt I had insight into a young woman of deep feeling who showed admirable inner strength and a determination to go on when things were difficult. The author thought more highly of others than she did of herself and continually prioritized the needs of her siblings.”

Margaret shook her head.

Callum looked at her in wonder. “Margaret, I fell in love with the author of that journal before I’d even finished reading it. I was desperate to find its owner, but you left so few clues.”

Margaret jolted. He loved her?

Callum didn’t seem to notice that the earth had tilted beneath Margaret’s feet. “It wasn’t until the very last pages that I found out you resided in London, that you gave me two small, concrete clues to ascertain your identity.”

“What? What were they?” She’d thought she’d been so careful.

“That you were blonde and one of eight sisters. I asked a few casual questions, and Ellis pointed me toward you.”

“Ellis knows?” Margaret reflexively clasped the journal to her chest.

He sighed. “He didn’t know then, but he snuck into my room later and figured it out.”

“Did he—he didn’t read it, did he?” Margaret felt the distinct urge to stand and run.

Callum grimaced. “He only read one page before he realized it wasn’t the scandalous novel he’d thought it was.”

Margaret stared down at the book in her hands. She thought she should feel relieved, but all she felt was a pit of shame deep in her stomach. All of what Callum must have read, all of her doubts about why he’d chosen her, came flying back at her in formation.

“But it was scandalous in the end, wasn’t it?” she said weakly.

“No, Margaret. It was honest and beautiful. Like you.”

“Stop saying that,” she said.

“But it’s true.”

She raised her watery eyes to his. “How can I trust you when you’ve read every shameful detail of my life for the past several years and didn’t think to mention it?”

He frowned. “There was nothing in your journal that made me think less of you.”

Margaret shook her head. Amongst all of her warring emotions, anger was the most convenient. She jabbed her finger onto the cover. “But you knew that I sold my hair, that I took in strangers’ washing.”

Callum’s forehead creased. “You say these things as if you should be embarrassed of them. I disagree. You did everything you could do within the bounds of propriety to provide for your sisters. That’s admirable, Margaret. That in itself would have been worthy of my love. Yet you did so while retaining your sense of humor, your bright outlook. The woman in those pages never wavered. That’s who I want by my side.”

“I did waver,” she argued. “If you knew how many times I snapped at my sisters. Well, you read it yourself,” she said, her cheeks in the full bloom of a blush. “How often I complained about our reduced circumstances! How many names I called Richard.”

“From my standpoint, he deserved each and every one. The point is, Margaret, I felt I loved you before I even met you. And then I saw you and…” He shook his head, blinking as if entranced by the memory. “You’re beautiful. Stunningly so. I couldn’t have imagined a woman I’d want more. And I know I won’t want another for the rest of my life.”

Margaret shook her head, her eyes misting. “How can you say such things?”

“Do you doubt that I mean them?”