Lady In Waiting (16 page)

Abruptly Callum stepped back from her, and as he straightened his back, steeling himself for the words to come, he let her left hand, the one he still held, fall to her knee.

"Me father died late last year, and when I went to Argyll to settle his affairs, I found a passel of letters from me mother, hidden inside his desk. Three years' worth of letters.
Three."

Jenny slid down from the ledge and took a step forward. Callum raised a hand, tilting his head away from her sad gaze.

"Allow me to finish."

Jenny tipped her head forward once, and he continued.

"
The letters told of her life in Bath, visits to the Pump Room, tea with the Feathertons, but little mor
e
—
e
xcept that she held out great hope that she would be coming home soon."

A notion suddenly sparked in Jenny's mind. "She was ill. Dying."

"I believe she was."

"But she never told you. Never told your father?"

"She never told me, but I was little more than a bairn. But me father knew. In several of the missives, me mother mentioned that she hoped me father explained it to me ... in such a way that a wee lad could understand

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her need to leave." He paused, and Jenny uttered the words he could not say.

"But he didn't explain it to you." Her throat felt tight as she spoke. "Instead, he told you that she had died."

"Aye." Callu
m
stepped backward before meeting Jenny's gaze once more and looked down the curved road to where the Feathertons sat. "When ye came in from the rain and found me in the abbey, I had just found my mother's memorial stone."

Clear understanding dawned on Jenny. "And at last you knew for certain she was gone."

Heedless of his wishes, she rushed to Callum, clasped him in her arms, and held tight. "Oh, Callum, I am so sorry."

He pulled his shoulders back and tried to gently break from her grasp, but she wasn't about to
l
et him go. Not now.

Why else would he have told her what he had? He needed her comfort. Whether he realized or not, he needed
her.

Slowly, she felt his arms raise up and wrap around her, and the span of his wide hands press against her back, pushing her body tightly against him. Jenny lifted her head from the mound of his chest, and turned her face upward to look at him.

He was already looking at her, and what she saw in his eyes made her tremble within. In all her life, she'd never seen anyone so vulnerable.

As if he sensed her acknowledgment of his emotional state, he cupped her chin with his palm and pressed his lips against hers. He kissed her roughly then, a punishing kiss, the sort a rake would ply, but she didn't pull away.

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For she knew what he was doing. He sought to raise the wall around him once more, and banish his feelings of weakness by driving her away.

But it would not work.

"I'm not going anywhere, Callum. I am here for you and you cannot drive me away. It's far too late for that." She looked him straight in the eye. "I know you are not the rogue you pretend."

Releasing her from his arms, Callum stared incredulously at her. "I pretend nothing. Truth and honesty are everything to me. ''Tis the way I have chosen to live."

"Then be truthful with yourself." She pinned him with her gaze and stood firm in her footing, knowing that what she was about to say would shake the both of them. "You need me and I am here for you. But unlike others you have cared for in your life, I won't leave you."

Like a crack of blinding lightning from the sky, her words seemed to shatter him to his core. He stared, in shock and awe of what she said, before turning and walking alone toward the manor house.

******************

What had she done?

Jen
n
y turned to the wall and rested her head atop her folded arms. When she had told Callum she would not leave him, she had meant it with all of her heart.

Now, despite her pure intentions, she realized too late the error of her words.

For though she may have intended to stand by Callum, to comfort him, dare she think i
t
...
to love him,
he would never accept her.

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Not when their entire relationship was grounded in a li
e
—
t
he one thing Callu
m
could not abide.

Lifting her head, she pushed a dangling lock of hair from her eyes, and was surprised to feel damp tears cooling on her cheeks.

Was it too late for her to admit all and hope he could forgive her? Or was it too soo
n
—
f
or though she was falling in love with Argyll, she could not be sure that his feelings for her ran quite so deep.

Oh, what was she to do?

"Jenny? What's wrong?"

Turning her head, Jenny saw Meredith standing just behind her, her brilliant copper hair gleaming in the bright sunlight.

She lifted a hopeful smile to her lips, knowing she could not confess to Meredith, or the Featherton ladies. They would only try to help, each in her own misdirected way.

No, Jenny knew she had to find her own way if she was to salvage any piece of her budding relationship with Callum.

And so, without a word, she linked arms with Meredith, and slowly walked down the road toward the carriages.

******************

The journey back to Bath that early afternoon was brutal, at least for Jenny. Owing to a thin strip of gray clouds on the horizon, Callum suggested an early close to their picnic. Of course Jenny knew that the supposed coming storm was just an excuse to see the day through. The clouds were as thin as her old lace chemise and

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quite unable to carry the sort of storm he warned the Feathertons about.

And if she had any doubt as to his true intentions, which she didn't, all was made abundantly clear when Callu
m
announced he would ride up top with the coachman, leaving Jenny alone with Meredith inside.

When they arrived at the Featherton household, Lord Argyll bid Jenny no more than a polite good-bye before quitting to return to his own lodgings.

"Is all well between the two of you?" Lady Viola asked as they entered the house and deposited their wraps with their footmen.

Jenny looked up at the two old ladies, who were waiting expectantly for her reply. Knowing their penchant for creative matchmaking of the most extreme nature, there was no way she could tell them the truth, but neither did she wish to lie. So she settled for the next best thin
g
—
a
half truth. "H-he kissed me," she said as modestly as possible. "I suppose I am still a little shaken."

The Feathertons whipped their heads around to look at each other, their faces positively beaming with delight.

"You must come into the drawing room and tell us all about it!" Lady Viola caught Jenny's arm and urged her forward.

"No, my lady,
please
.
"
Jenny remained firm in her stance. "My senses are still overwhelmed, and I need a bit of time to understand the great emotions I am experiencing. Would you mind if we chatted later ... once I've had a bit of time to reflect?"

Lady Letitia moved her walking stick forward and hugged Jenny close. "Of course, gel. One's first taste of

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love is often a mite difficult to digest. Give your feelings time to settle. But when you are ready, we'll be waiting."

And Jenny knew they would be.

But when she descended below stairs, eager to be alone with her thoughts, someone was already waiting for her. Her mother.

"Well, I am glad you've returned because there is something for you outside the door. Go on, have a look." Tapping her foot impatiently, her mother lifted her brows and puckered her lips as Jenny walked to the service door and depressed the handle.

Inside the basket outside the kitchen door wer
e
—
mercy.

"No need to count. I've done it for you. There are thirty-two."

Thirty-two stones.
Thirty-two orders for her to fill this eve.

Jenny gasped for air.

Chapter Eight

A
s she strolled down Milso
m
Street later that afternoon, Jenny peeled off her right kid glove and pressed the back of her cool hand first to one cheek, then the other. "Feel my head, Annie. Do I feel overwarm to you?"

"Honestly, Jenny. You are making far too much out of this." The pair paused for a moment on the flag way.

Prefacing her fever test with a roll of her eyes that did not escape Jenny's notice, Annie removed her own glove and slapped her palm to Jenny's forehead.
"No, ducks, you feel fine."

"Well, something is wrong." Jenny expelled a long sigh. "I mean, here I am shopping, with loads of money in my reticule, and I feel nothing.
Nothing."

"Nothing?" Annie looked at her with some concern. "Not even a bit of excitement, a little tremble of anticipation? We're almost to Bartleby's you know."

"I
know.
Look, look down." Jenny pointed at her boots. "My step hasn't even hastene
d
—
n
ot one bit!"

"Now that ain't normal. At least not for
you."

And it
wasn 't
normal for Jenny, not at all! She adored shopping. Dreamed of shopping. Lived for shopping.

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But today, she couldn't care less about pillaging the shops of Bath.

"Maybe you're just distracted," Annie offered. "How many pots do you have to set up tonight?"

"Thirty-two."

Annie smiled then. "That's all it is then. You're just worried about such a large order. You'll be up all night long, I reckon."

"I suppose you might have something there," Jenny muttered. Of course, Annie wasn't right. The work, though exhausting, wasn't what was weighing on her mind. Wasn't what was distracting her so fully that she couldn't enjoy visiting the shops on Milso
m
.

Her mind was on Callu
m
and the lie of all grand lies that threatened to destroy any potential for love.

Worse yet, she still didn't have the slightest notion of how to remedy the situation.

Confess her lie now, before love has fully set up, and she will lose him.

But wait for love to grow, so both their hearts are bound, then confess, she will lose him still.
Perdition.
What was she to do?

She had hoped that running her fingers over fabric and baubles would be enough to distract her from these thought
s
—
f
or it never failed to overtake her mind befor
e
—
b
ut it didn't divert her this time. Not at all.

"Jenny. I say,
Jenny?"

She looked up and saw Annie holding Bartleby's door open for her.

"You are in bad spirits." Annie shook her head as Jenny entered the store. "Why, you almost passed by your favorite shop."

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Wit
h
a forlorn sigh, Jenny stared blankly into a glass case full of new silk scarves.

"Now, they're nice aren't they? Just your style too," Annie added. "And here, look at the sign. Straight from London, they are."

Jenny nodded. She knew she really ought to have one of the scarves, even if she had no desire to make a careful comparison just now. She had the money after all. But as she blinked down into the case, nothing appealed.

Well, the red one with ivory border was nice. She could make do with that one. And maybe, just maybe, the simple act of buying something would shake her from her melancholy mood.

As Mr. Bartleby, the shopkeeper, came around, Jenny pointed at the scarf and opened her mouth to speak when another customer rudely interrupted.

"I'll take the red one."

Bartleby bent and touched a rose-hued scarf to the left.

"No, no.
That
one!" the woman insisted, poking her finger on the other side of the glass.

Jenny could not believe it. The shopkeeper was reaching for
her
red scarf with the ivory border!

"Stop!" Jenny very nearly shouted. "That one is
mine.
I saw it first and I was next to be served." She turned to the rude woman, a ready glare already set on her face. But when their eyes met, Jenny's knees nearly buckled beneath her.