Page 99 of The Tartan Trap

“Yes, please.”

Rachel wasted no time in donning the exquisite piece, then paraded about the room nodding and preening as if she were greeting foreign dignitaries in her mind. In spite of everything, the sight made Margaret smile.

“Are you ready to tell me what happened?” Rachel asked.

Margaret sighed. “I’m just so embarrassed.” And heartbroken, but she figured that part went without saying.

“What happened?”

“Do you remember how I lost my diary prior to the Season?”

“Of course.” Rachel checked her reflection in the full-length mirror, then dropped into a low, careful curtsy.

“Apparently, Callum had it this entire time.”

Margaret nibbled her lip, wondering if it was still appropriate for her to call him Callum. What was their relationship now that she’d told him not to visit her any longer?

“And that’s why he courted you so determinedly?” Rachel’s eyes were bright. “Why, that’s wonderful.”

“By what stretch of the imagination?” Margaret’s brow wrinkled. “He’s read every one of my private thoughts from the past three years.”

“That’s precisely my point.” Rachel tilted her head; the tiara listed precariously with the motion. “He’s read every one of your private thoughts and still wishes to marry you.”

Margaret frowned. When Rachel put it like that, it shone a different light on things.

“I’m embarrassed,” she argued, far more feebly than before.

“What precisely do you think marriage is?” Rachel demanded, her hands on her slim hips.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s sharing a life together, Margaret. Which hopefully includes sharing your deepest fears and joys, your highest highs and lowest lows. Marriage isn’t like courting—you aren’t going to get all dressed up and sit in a parlor together and make polite conversation. He’s going to see you looking as you are now.”

Margaret glanced at her reflection. Her hair hung limply down the front of her dressing gown and her eyes were still puffy and red, as was her nose.

“I suppose you’re right,” she murmured.

“Now, tell me. Other than knowing you—and loving you—for exactly who you are, has the duke done anything wrong?”

Margaret felt a creeping sort of dread that perhaps it was she, not Callum, who was in the greater wrong.

In a weakly defensive tone, she said, “He wasn’t completely honest with me.”

Rachel exhaled derision through her nose. “Are you claiming you were completely honest with him? For I seem to remember him chasing you across London’s ballrooms while you avoided him instead of having an honest conversation.”

Margaret pursed her lips. She had done that. “Perhaps I have overreacted.”

There was a knock at the door and Chloe entered, frowning. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Miss, but there’s a visitor in the library who says he won’t leave until he’s seen you.”

Margaret’s heart leapt with something that felt very much like hope. She turned toward the mirror and grimaced. “It will take me some time before I’ll be presentable.”

Chloe nodded. “I’ll help get you ready, but there’s no rush. He quite clearly stated that he’d wait for hours if he had to.”

CHAPTER 35- MARGARET

It was only when Margaret finally descended the stairs, Rachel by her side, that she realized her maid’s duplicity. For it was not Callum waiting for her in the library but his cousin, Ellis.

He stood before a polished table that held a collection of seashells and small pieces of driftwood that her brother had found in his travels. The majority were displayed in glass boxes, with some prime examples presented on stands under clear domes.