Mari smiled brightly at Callie. “Well, this appears to be shaping into something of an adventure.”
“Oh, do shut up.” Callie turned to Davis. “Davis, you shall have to make it clear that I am not receiving. It is far too early for callers.”
“I made that point already, my lady. Unfortunately, the marquess appears to be rather…persistent.”
Callie gave a little, frustrated huff. “Yes. He does trend in that direction. You shall have to persevere.”
“My lady…” the butler hedged.
Callie lost her patience. “Davis. You are considered to be one of the best butlers in London.”
Davis preened. Well, as much as a butler could do so and retain an appropriate level of gravity. “In England, my lady.”
“Yes. Well. Do you think you could…buttle…this morning?”
Anne snorted her amusement as Davis’s face fell.
Mariana turned kind eyes on the butler, and said, “She doesn’t mean to insult, Davis.”
The butler was stone-faced when he replied with a sniff, “Indeed, not.” He then bowed, more deeply than Callie thought he’d ever bowed to them before and took his leave once more.
Callie sighed, returning to her task, deep within a row of shelves. “I shall be punished for my behavior, shan’t I?”
“Most definitely. You’ll be served overcooked beef for the next month,” Anne said, her amusement barely controlled.
Mari inspected a pile of books there before asking casually, “Do you think Lord Ralston will be deterred?”
“I wouldn’t place a wager on it.”
Callie’s heart leapt into her throat at the dry words, spoken from inside the room. She snapped her head toward the sound, but the surrounding shelving blocked her view. At the end of the passageway where she stood, Callie could see her maid frozen in place, eyes wide as saucers, staring in the direction of the door.
In the silence that ensued, Mariana turned her gaze on Callie. Ignoring her sister’s pleading look, the younger woman offered a smile befitting The Allendale Angel, and said, sweetly, “Callie, it appears that you have a visitor.”
Callie’s gaze narrowed. There was truly nothing worse in the wide world than a sister.
She watched as Mari hopped up from her place and smoothed out her skirts, turning to face the door—and Ralston. “It’s a lovely day,” she said.
“Indeed, it is, Lady Mariana,” came Ralston’s disembodied voice. Callie stomped her slippered foot in irritation. Did he have to be so very calm?
“I think I shall walk in the gardens,” Mariana said, conversationally.
“That sounds like a capital idea.”
“Yes. I rather thought so myself. If you’ll pardon me. Anne?” Callie watched as her sister dropped a quick curtsy and left the room, the traitorous Anne fast on her heels. Callie, instead, stayed precisely where she was, hoping that she could simply wait Ralston out. A gentleman wouldn’t corner her in the narrow space between bookshelves. And he’d certainly gone out of his way the night before to prove that he was a gentleman.
Silence fell, and Callie kept arranging books, willing herself to ignore Ralston’s arrival. Adams, Aeschylus, Aesop.
She noted his footsteps coming closer; saw him out of the corner of her eye standing at the end of the shelf, watching her. Ambrose, Aristotle, Arnold.
Yes, she would simply pretend he wasn’t there. How could he remain so silent? It was enough to try the patience of a saint. Augustine.
She couldn’t stand it anymore. Without taking her eyes from the shelf where she was aligning the spines of the books into a perfectly straight row, she said, churlishly, “I am not receiving.”
“Interesting,” he drawled. “Because, it appears you have received me.”
“No. You barged into my library without invitation.”
“Is that what this is?” he said, wryly. “I was not sure, what, with all the shelves being empty of books.”
She gave him an exasperated look. “I am rearranging.”
“Yes, I gathered.”
“Which is why I am not receiving.” She emphasized the words in the hope that he would realize his rudeness and leave.
“I think we’re rather past that, don’t you?”
Apparently he did not mind being rude. Fine, then. She would not mind, either. “Was there something you wanted, Lord Ralston?” she said, coolly.
She turned to face him. A mistake. He was just as perfectly put together as he always was—all smooth hair and golden skin and impeccable cravat and eyebrow arched with just enough grace to make her feel like she’d been born and raised in a stable. She was immediately and acutely aware that she was wearing her grayest, drabbest, and now, no doubt, dirtiest gown, and that she likely appeared in dire need of both a nap and a bath.