Page 23 of The Tartan Trap

“And you say he has sisters?” Callum turned and deposited the whisky into his cousin’s hand. Callum had given him a hefty pour to smooth the conversation.

“Thank you kindly. Yes, the man has a whole herd of them, though apparently only four of them are to be presented this Season.”

“What do they look like, do you know?”

Ellis arched an eyebrow. “Why are you asking about the Preston sisters? Are you low on funds?”

“Are you saying the only reason a gentleman would be interested in them is for their dowries?” Callum thought again of hunchbacks and of eyes that pointed different directions. He firmly told himself it didn’t matter what the journal’s owner looked like, not when he was smitten with the lively contents of her mind, the strength of her character.

“Heavens, no. There’s none prettier than Lily Preston, but you’ll have lots of competition if she’s your goal, mark my words.”

Callum firmly told himself he must not throttle his cousin, no matter how frustrated he was with the man at the moment. Often, Callum found Ellis’s roundabout way of speaking amusing, but not this afternoon. Not when Callum felt he was so close to finding out something as momentous as the mystery writer’s identity.

He pressed a finger to his temple. “So what are the names of the four being presented?”

“In order, there’s Claire, Lily, Beatrice, and Margaret.”

Margaret!

Callum breathed deeply so his cousin wouldn’t see how affected he was, how impatient. He said lightly, “And you said Lily’s the prettiest? Describe her for me.”

“All the Preston sisters have that kind of mousy brown hair.”

Callum’s heart sank. The writer had very plainly stated that she was blonde—another thing that marked her as separate from her sisters in appearance.

Ellis frowned and continued, “Well, not to say that it’s not pretty enough. It is, actually—a very pretty mousy brown color.”

Callum sighed and pressed a thumb just below his eyebrow to stop the twitch he felt developing there. “So they all have brown hair.”

“Yes.” Ellis took another sip from his tumbler. “All of the eldest Preston misses have beautiful brown hair reminiscent of very attractive rodents.”

Callum stared at his glass. For a moment there, he’d felt so certain⁠—

“Except for Margaret, of course.”

CHAPTER 8- CALLUM

The following day, Callum arranged for them to take a ride through the park in the most casual manner he was able. Ellis had let it slip that many ladies gathered for promenades and picnics in the park even before the Season officially began.

Of course, Callum desperately wanted to see one lady in particular. Miss Margaret Preston. The name rang through his mind what felt like every other moment like wind through silver chimes. If there was any possibility of catching a glimpse of her before the Season started, Callum would grasp at it, however slim the chance.

Though he knew it was shallow of him, he couldn’t help but remember the second-to-last entry that firmly stated she was ugly compared to her seven sisters. He hardly knew what that meant. Did she have an unsightly mole? Or several? Did her teeth point in such different directions that eating was an embarrassing difficulty?

He didn’t know, but Callum was certain that even if the worst his imagination could produce came to fruition—if Margaret Preston was balding, with a hump back, misaligned teeth, and eyes that pointed different directions—he was still determined to woo her. Her personality was lively enough to attract him, and once they had established an intimacy, he reasoned that he might find a way to politely figure out which eye was actually looking at him.

The day was lovely. Fluffy clouds were escorted lazily across a bright blue sky by a gentle wind. The new grass was just coming in, adding the particular bright green unique to fresh growth. The flowering trees were not yet in bloom, but they were readying themselves—leaves and tender buds sprouted and spoke of the promise of beauty yet to come.

“I confess I’m a bit worried about you,” Ellis said. He steered his horse across a charming wooden bridge over a small creek. The horse’s hoofbeats sounded like drums on the planks.

“With all the care and concern you’ve exerted in my direction, one would think you were my chaperone for the Season,” Callum said lightly.

“I rather think I am.” Ellis grinned in that endearing, boyish way of his. “I’m here to keep your honor intact so that you have a choice of whom to marry. But that’s not why I’m worried. At least, not at the moment.”

“What is it, then?” Callum ducked beneath a low-hanging branch, one hand clasping his hat to his head. Being tall had its advantages, but it also had drawbacks.

“Are you feeling all right?”

Callum sighed and wished his cousin would get to the point. “I’m very well. Why do you ask?”