A Secret Ambition

XXV

"With enough courage, you can do without a reputation." Margaret Mitchell

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XXV.

Callan could barely read his correspondence. He felt like he could barely read at all anymore.

His eyes didn't function because his heart was no longer in his work. His heart had gone off with Lily and he resented that extraordinarily. Callan was miserable without her, and he had never felt this way before. He had worked so hard to leave Ireland and make something of himself in London, and one Englishwoman had come along and ruined him.

The worst part was Callan did not understand why. He had his theories, of course, but Lily could not give him a proper reason. Callan supposed Lily did not owe him an explanation if she did not wish to give him one. There was no understanding between them. But how he longed for an explanation.

He longed to know that she did not love him because of his personality, and not because he was Irish. He was a foul and miserable git at the present time, and it would be reasonable for Lily to loathe his personality.

But it was not until she was gone that Callan could envision such fantasies for them. Visions of the type of future that he would have never thought possible before. Whatever her reasons for leaving, what was clear was that she did not care for Callan in the way that he did for her.

It had been several weeks since Lily had left him, and Callan had not heard from her. Did she think of him at all? Did she wonder about him? Was she losing sleep because her thoughts were solely of him?

"I wonder what it would be like to go to one of these balls," Fionn commented as he leant against the doorway of Callan's office, that morning's newspaper open in his hands. "It sounds an awful lot like a cattle auction."

"How?" Callan humoured his cousin, though he was not at all interested. Unless Lily was at one of those things, then he was certain that he would never care at all. Oh, even that thought made Callan want to throw his head into a wall.

"The way they describe the debutantes, their assets, their families, their looks," Fionn chuckled as he shook his head. "Funny that the richest ones seem to be the prettiest. It's amazing what money will do to make one seem attractive."

"Pray, who is the prettiest of them all?" Callan asked dryly.

"Lady Cecily Beresford," Fionn reported back. "Says here that she's the daughter of our new friend. Now, there's a debutante's name if I ever heard one."

Callan's interest was piqued in only that he hadn't realised the duke had a daughter debuting. Only now that seemed obvious as these great lords did not descend upon London for the summer unless they had some interest in participating in the high society functions of the Season.

But he had to agree with Fionn. 'Cecily Beresford' certainly sounded like a fine, highbrow lady.

"The Duke of Ashwood's daughter delighted the room with her wits and charm, and her beauty was envy of all," read Fionn. "Her hand will certainly be the most sought after this Season, and the match will most definitely lead to the wedding of the year."

"It's a slow news day, then," Callan muttered bitterly.

Fionn smirked, before he folded the newspaper back over and tucked it under his arm. "Come on now. You're not still pining, are you?"

"I'm not pining," snapped Callan.

"Then why haven't you placed an advertisement for another secretary?" challenged Fionn. "Preferably one who knows how to make a pot of tea without starting a fire."