Penelope sat in her room, a tall candle in one window just like the letter had instructed. Directly after a hasty dinner, she had withdrawn to her chambers, feigning a headache. The note had not said when she was to expect him, so she was resigned to a lengthy vigil at the glass. She watched the wax slowly drip down the brass holder and pool on the windowsill with no sign of Drummond. The hours crept by at an alarmingly slow rate.
As the grandfather clock struck midnight, Penelope had begun to think he wasn’t going to come and it was all a mistake. Perhaps Flora had played a joke on her and merely pretended that the Scotsman was coming to call in the darkness.
The more she reflected on this possibility, the angrier she became. While she didn’t believe sweet Flora had it in her to play such a joke, she had the mischievous MacLeod way about her. Charlotte had told her of how playful the siblings were together, always jesting and poking fun. Penelope had looked forward to growing close with Charlotte’s new relations, but now she feared they had brought her too far into the fold.
She debated blowing out the candle, but decided on letting it burn. She curled up on her bed, still in her pink silks. Silently stewing, she watched the flame eat the wick, cursing the Scottish idea of humor, until she fell asleep.
***
“Penelope,” a voice whispered in her dream. “Penelope.”
“Mmm,” she responded drowsily.
“Penelope, lass, open your eyes.”
She opened her eyelids a sliver to see the large shape of a man cast in shadows, then let out a shrill shriek of alarm only to be rewarded with a hand clamped tightly over her mouth. Beating against the solid chest of her attacker, she fought for escape. She kicked at his body with her slippered feet and felt her heart drop as each kick went unnoticed. It was only when the figure began laughing deep in his chest that she realized who it was.
Arms going slack, she laid still, raising a brow up at him, his features slowly coming together as her eyes adjusted to the darkness.
“It’s me, Drummond. Will ye scream if I let ye go?” he asked, fighting more laughter.
Penelope shook her head, allowing him to release her. “Goodness, you certainly know how to treat a lady.” She noticed her legs had come uncovered up to the thigh during the struggle and hastily threw her skirts back over them.
“The way ye fought, I thought I had the wrong room.”
“The maids and footmen live in the attic rooms, and I live alone with my parents. It would have been them you would have met.”
A knock at the door startled them both.
“Go hide in the washroom!” she ordered Drummond in a hiss. Raising her voice, she addressed the knocker. “Who is it?”
“Clara, the maid, Miss Elmsly. I heard you shout out. Are you well?” she asked through the door.
“Yes. I merely saw a nasty spider. Go on to bed, Clara.”
As soon as the silence ensured she’d left, Drummond peeked out from behind the washroom door. “A nasty wee spider, am I?”
“A particularly disgusting one.” Penelope got off the bed, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she lit a lamp. Most of the pins that held her flaxen hair in place had fallen out in her sleep, leaving a cascade of untidy waves that fell past her shoulders. “Do forgive me. I must look a fright.”
Drummond furrowed his brow. “Am I missin’ somethin’? Are ye wearin’ the wrong color for spring, or whatever it is ye fear?”
She shot him an icy look. “Don’t tease. My hair fell down and it’s entirely improper.”
He chuckled, pulling out the chair to her dressing table and sitting down. “Do no’ fash, ye look well enough for bein’ scared out o’ your wits in the middle o’ the night.”
“You would be, too, if you were awoken from sleep by a Scotsman holding your mouth shut.”
“Ye have quite a set o’ lungs on ye.”
“I’m flattered you say so,” Penelope replied dryly, lighting another lamp. When the room glowed in the warm light, she had to stifle a giggle at the sight before her. The giant Scot, clad in a kilt with a dirk at his hip, looked wildly out of place in her dainty bedchamber among the velvet drapes and delicate dressing accessories. The view was made even more ridiculous when he picked up a vial of perfume and took a sniff, crinkling his nose.
“This smells like horse piss,” he grumbled, hastily plugging it back up. “Pardon my language, o’ course?”
“Of course.” Penelope looked at her windows. Each was shut and not a drape was out of place. “How did you get in?”
“Through the window,” he replied, as if it were the obvious answer.
“I would have never known.”
“That’s the point, is it no’?”
“Well, yes, but how did you get up? It’s two stories. Did you use a ladder?” While she had agreed to let him into her room, she hadn’t given much thought to how he would scale the walls.
“The stone trimmin’ on the sides looks verra pretty, but makes for an easy climb.”
“Interesting. Now, shall we begin?” She took a step toward the piano, and then stopped. “Oh, blast it all, I can’t use this now. It’ll awaken the whole house!”
“Do no’ fash, we’ll write what we can and ye can do the piano bit later,” he said, poking at the odds and ends on the table. “Ye lasses use a verra many potions and powders. It’s like ye enjoy playin’ witch, or somethin’.”
“Drummond, are you always so ridiculously improper?” Penelope scolded, hands upon her hips.
“Only when I’m sneakin’ in the window o’ a fine lady’s bedroom when the rest of the house is abed,” he said, his lips twitching with amusement.
Penelope smiled, amused by her own hypocrisy. “You’re right, it’s hardly proper to fake pretenses when you’ve done just that.”
“And, wouldn’t ye know it, I’ve left the music notes.”
“Oh, well, that complicates manners.” She removed the vase of ranunculus blossoms and opened her writing desk. “I wish I remembered where we left off.”
“Should I run and fetch them?”
“Heavens, no. You were lucky enough to get in here unnoticed once. We shouldn’t take unnecessary chances. Just bring them along next time.”
“There’ll be a next time?”
“How else are we to finish this manuscript?” Penelope asked, pulling out sheets of blank paper and a pen.
“That’s mine,” Drummond said, pointing at the instrument in her hand. “When ye ran out, ye took it with ye.”
She held it out to him. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Keep it.”
“All right, then, move closer so we might keep our voices low,” she ordered, making room for a second chair at the desk.
Drummond relocated the dressing table’s stool next to her, his arm brushing hers as he sat. His sleeves were bared to the elbow and the heat radiated off him in waves. He was so near, Penelope could smell him—the scent of wood smoke, sweet whiskey, and hay greeted her. She blushed, focusing on the paper before her to control her odd thoughts. It wasn’t her business what he smelled like.
“Nice flowers,” he said, motioning toward Theodore’s blooms.
“Oh, thank you.”
“From a gentleman caller, aye?”
“Yes, they are.” She watched his jaw set from the corner of her eye.
“Would it be the fop ye went for a carriage ride with, today?” he asked, a dark shadow marring his features.
Penelope shot her gaze toward him. “He’s not a fop. Mister Harrison is very polite and owns a shipping business. Wait, I didn’t see you in the park today.”
“Because I was no’ there. Some new friend of Flora’s came for tea and told us all ye had a beau.”
“He’s not my beau. We merely took a ride to see the blooms.” She heaved a sigh. “Why am I even explaining myself to you?”
He shrugged crossing his arms over his massive chest. “We’re just havin’ a chat.”
“Chat, indeed. Now, can we get something done before the night is entirely over?”
The two worked until the early pink light began to seep in though the edges of the drapery. Penelope was rather glad that the night was nearly over. Her eyes were heavy with fatigue and her penmanship was suffering greatly. Several legends and stories had been written down, their heads close together as they whispered in the light of the lamps. But still, Penelope longed to get out of her stays and into her bed.
“It’s going to be morning, soon,” Drummond said, looking over toward the window. “I must away before anyone’s awake to see me.”
“Will you be all right getting back down?”
“Aye.” He stood, stretching. “Same time tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?”
“Unless ye’d like to wait?” he asked as he threw open the shades and began to wedge the windowpane upward.
“Oh, of course not. We need to finish this soon before you leave to go back to Scotland.” She rose from her seat and stood by the wall next to Drummond. She wanted to see how he made it safely to the ground below.
“We will no’ leave so soon as to let this book go unfinished.”
“Then I’ll see you tomorrow night?” The thought heartened her and began to make her think fondly of the next sleepless night before she pushed the feeling down, attempting to ignore her pleasure.
“Tomorrow night,” he promised, stepping out of the window and giving her one last glance of his pearly teeth.
Penelope leaned out into the night, her hair whipping around her face as she watched Drummond leap from the thick sill to a short outcropping. Noiselessly, his feet hit the stone outside the house with cat-like grace. He looked from one side to the other before turning his face back up toward her window. He held up a hand, giving her a brief wave.
She wiggled her fingers at him, smiling at the thrill of getting away with both sneaking a man in and out of her room without anyone noticing. Then there was their casual interaction. Penelope had never acted so with a man. Of course, with Charlotte she sat about with her hair down and talked of ideas and fancies, but doing so with Drummond seemed almost too natural.
Once the window was latched, her gown put away, and her corset abandoned on the floor, Penelope finally slid beneath her sheets and nestled into her down pillow. She drifted off to sleep feeling accomplished, fulfilled, and with the smell of wood smoke in her nose.