“I would be a cad of the lowest sort to expect such a thing,” Callum agreed. “Tomorrow morning, I have some business to attend to. But if you are so obliged, I would be very happy if you might ride with me around noon time.”
“Ride? Of course,” Beatrix replied, taken aback by the request. Surely he did not think she might ride in the gown she was wearing?
“Then I shall see you at that time,” Callum replied, smiling warmly. “Good night… Lady Beatrix.”
He bowed slightly and left her at her door, leaving Beatrix to succumb to the strangest mixture of emotions. She went into her room and closed the door behind her, intent on falling into bed and pondering the recent turn of events, but a knock at the door prevented her.
“Good sir, I must have some sleep!” Beatrix said with a laugh as she pulled the door open. “Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t expect you.”
Birdie waited on the other side, a sheepish expression on her face. “I’m sorry, miss. I waited for ya so I might help ya with yer gown. I sent Greta to bed due to the late hour, seein’ as how she has to help cook the breakfast in the mornin’.”
“Of course, Birdie, that is most kind of you! But I cannot trouble you any further, especially at this hour. I’m sure I can manage if you wish to go to bed yourself,” Beatrix replied, but the girl shook her head adamantly.
“I don’t mind a bit!” Birdie followed Beatrix into the room and pointed to the dressing table in the bedroom. “Take yer seat, and I’ll get these pins outta yer hair first. Ya mustn’t ever take it upon yerself to do it, for if ya miss one o’tha pins, you’ll be sure to find it in yer sleep that night!”
With deft fingers, Birdie plucked the pins out of Beatrix’s hair and brushed out the curls into a waterfall of soft brown waves. When she’d finished, she set about unfastening all the buttons down Beatrix’s back, politely turning away once she’d finished so that Beatrix might change into her night gown behind the screen.
“You’ve woven quite a spell this evening, Birdie! You and Greta both,” Beatrix said, laughing. “I cannot remember a time when I’ve felt so pleasing to the eye.”
“Aw, thank ya, miss! ‘Tis Greta who’s taught me a thing or two about how to fashion a lady’s hair and dress,” Birdie answered shyly. “If not for her, I’d be stuck down in the cellar, washing dishes and mending garments. She says that I might ‘improve myself’ if I practice and learn a bit.”
“She’s right, of course,” Beatrix said. “Learning to do something makes you even more useful. But you’re only ‘stuck’ down there if you choose to be.”
Birdie blushed at the compliment and bade Beatrix goodnight. Once the door closed softly behind her, Beatrix turned and eyed the object of her longing: the soft bed with its mountains of billowing coverlets and pillows. She’d scarcely slept these past few nights with only the stone floor to cushion her, and she couldn’t wait to finally get a restful night’s sleep.
So it was a strange happenstance that Beatrix could not fall asleep. Try as she might to clear her mind behind her closed eyes, images of the Marquess continued to move before her vision. His disarming smile made her shiver beneath the down covers, and the warmth in his deep brown eyes intrigued her. Even the soft wave of his golden-red hair gave him an air of casual friendliness. Had she not noticed all of these things before? Or had something different about him struck her notice?
“Remember, silly goose,” Beatrix mumbled, chastising herself. “He is no hero in this tale. He has much to prove about the sort of man he truly is before he is to be forgiven.”
* * *
“I think that shall be all, Barclay,” Callum said after his valet had taken his dinner jacket and brushed it upon its stand. Callum waited in his trousers and dress shirt, still uncertain as to what he might do next.
“Very good, My Lord.” Barclay nodded and turned to go, but he stopped when Callum called out to him.
“What do you think of our houseguest?” he suddenly asked. The valet looked around for a moment, confused.
“Our guest, My Lord? Do you mean… that woman?”
“Yes, that’s who I mean,” Callum answered, still staring absently at sundry items of his table. “She is… rather interesting, don’t you agree?”
“Of course, My Lord. I haven’t spoken much with her, to be certain, but she does seem to garner a lot of the staff’s attention.” Barclay smiled and inched towards the door, as though hoping his part in the conversation had come to an end.
“Oh really? What do they say?” Callum asked, turning to look at him as his curiosity got the better of him.
“Well, for one, they are rather impressed that she is not the sort to complain. After that one incident in which she kicked the footman in the backside and attempted to escape, she’s been the picture of compliant respect.”
“Yes, I recall hearing about that,” Callum said as though examining the scheme anew. “What else do they say?”
“If I may be so bold, My Lord, they are certainly taken with her beauty,” Barclay said, hesitating only a little. “She has an exotic air about her, does she not?”
“Perhaps. I hadn’t noticed,” Callum said, lying.
“Most of all, I think they are intrigued by the nature of her story. How does a common thief come to possess such manners and elocution? This person has obviously benefitted from tutors of some caliber, I should think.”
“My, Barclay,” Callum said, teasing only a little, “you certainly know a lot about her for one who claims to have barely said two words to her.”
“Begging your pardon, My Lord,” Barclay said, blushing profusely and bowing low, “that is the assessment of the staff, as you requested. As you yourself have said, I have hardly any knowledge of her at all.”
