could think of no question that he had not already answered with perfect clarity. In the dimness, all she could see was his rigid face, with that same expression of bitter disdain that he'd worn when her father hit him.
'Don't look at me as if I've swindled you,' he snapped. 'It's a dream. It was always a dream. Go back to the house.' He took a step toward her. 'Get out of here, you silly wretch, before we both regret it.'
She turned and ran, her face and body hot with emotion, the way she had run before.
He was right, of course. It was a dream and always had been-another castle in the sky, dusted with just enough reality to make it more vivid and persistent than the rest of her foolish daydreams, her fanciful visions of being beautiful or adventurous or admirable in any number of highly unlikely ways.
Callie realized she had worn her muddy boots into her bedchamber and kicked them off. Being right about dreams did not buy Trev any gratitude from her. She tore off the wet oilskin and threw it on the f loor. She hated gentlemen. She hated every single one of them, the ones who had jilted her and the ones who had not. They were useless, hopeless, impossible, and mean. He said he was a cad like all the rest, and she heartily agreed. Doubtless he had a wife already, or perhaps a dozen, and mistresses by the score back in France, all of them beautiful and charming and never at a loss for words. Women adored Trev, all sorts of women threw themselves at him, she had no doubt, and the least of them would be more appealing than Callie on a good day.
She lay facedown on her bed, not quite sobbing into her pillow, but huffing rather brokenly while she envisioned herself running them all through with a hay fork. She would have nothing more to do with gentlemen, or any other people for that matter. She would go and live with her animals, so that she wouldn't have to speak to anyone ever again. Residing under a hayrick in the fields, with only the cattle for company, would be a perfectly blissful existence in Callie's view. She could not imagine how she had ever considered any other arrangement.
She plumped up her pillow and beat at it. Indeed, she really didn't like people at all. She didn't like to make conversation or be looked at or have friends. It was all painful and hopeless, and it would be worse when she lived with Hermey and everyone pitied her the more because she was a useless spinster sister who had been jilted three times.
No-she loved Hermey-but she couldn't bear it. She refused to do it. She would become a hermit instead, or possibly a witch, and frighten little children by haunting some dark wood with her moans. She would adopt a large-brimmed black hat, the more out of fashion the better, and encourage a great number of cats to hang about her.
No one would wonder at this in Shelford. Everyone here would perfectly comprehend that she preferred animals to people. Particularly to gentlemen. Most particularly to French gentlemen. They could all join Bonaparte on that island of his at the ends of the earth, and very happily she hoped they would be there, drinking good claret and singing ' La Marseillaise,' while she lived out her life under a stump.
She fell asleep contemplating these joyful plans, her pillow soaked in tears.
Major Sturgeon stood very stiff ly beside the mantel piece in the lesser drawing room. Instead of his uniform, he had worn a dark green coat with exceptionally high collar points, so that his entire jaw was swathed in linen. Even so, his clothing could not obscure a great bruise and swelling that made his mouth and left eye appear oddly crooked.
Callie sat beside the garden window, as distant from him as was possible, which was not very distant in the modest chamber. She should have received him in the more formal atmosphere of the pink drawing room, but there was no fire laid there before Lady Shelford's afternoon calling hours. Major Sturgeon had answered Callie's invitation with unnerving promptness, appearing at an hour of the morning that her father would have called encroaching. Taken by surprise, Callie had managed to clutch Hermey and pull her bodily to join them in spite of her sister's whispered protests.
They had entered in a rather clumsy stumble, but Callie managed to give the major a brief curtsy and introduce her sister. He bowed, with a narrowing of his eyes that could have been a wince of pain or an expression of delight. After the exchange of greetings, Callie and Hermey seated themselves. They all three fell into an awkward silence.
Callie found that it was difficult to ignore his swathed and swollen jaw. She racked her brain for some polite conversation, but all she could think of to say was, 'Do you have the toothache?'
Hermey gave her an exasperated glance and broke the uncomfortable moment herself. 'I'm very pleased to meet a longtime acquaintance of my sister's,' she said.
'I'm grateful for the honor, Lady Hermione,' he said, sounding as if his tongue were not quite working properly. 'Your sister extends me more favor than I deserve.' He bowed again toward Callie, with something that would probably have been a warm smile if it had not appeared to cause him considerable discomfort. 'I apologize for my appearance. I took a fall from my horse.'
'I'm so sorry to hear it,' Hermey said. She looked at Callie expectantly.
Realizing that she could not avoid her turn, Callie said, 'The horses seem rambunctious of late.'
'Do they?' Hermey smoothed her skirt. 'It must be the weather.'
Another silence stretched to painful proportions. Hermey maintained a tranquil smile as she gazed into the distance, making it clear that she would offer no further aid.
'The gentlemen appear to have taken a consider able mauling too,' Callie added, at a loss for any other subject.
'Merely a scratch,' the major said, an understate ment of substantial proportions. 'I wished so anxiously to see you, Lady Callista, that I allowed myself to imagine my appearance was not so shocking as I fear it must appear.'
Callie looked down at her hands clasped in her lap. He must be in great need of money. And since Trev, in spite of kissing her and informing her that his mother said he loved her, had shown more inclination to f lee to France than to propose, the major seemed to be her only remaining hope to avoid either billeting herself upon Hermey and Sir Thomas for life, living out her days under the whip of Lady Shelford's sharp tongue, or residing permanently under a pile of hay.
She was quite certain that Major Sturgeon intended to sacrifice himself on the Altar of Mammon and offer for her hand again. There was no other discernible reason for him to call on her. Heiresses must be thin on the ground in London this year.
The new Earl of Shelford appeared at the open door. Callie jumped to her feet, startled to find her cousin abroad and fully dressed at this hour. She performed introductions again, vexed to discover a slight quiver of apprehension in her voice. She hoped he would not ring for his wife. If anyone could drive Major Sturgeon off, it would be her ladyship. Though in truth, Callie wouldn't have been ungrateful for that. Caught between wishing to be rid of him and the apparent necessity of marrying him, Callie subsided into confusion and sat down again.
Lord Shelford was eagerly cordial to the major, as he was to everyone. He rang for coffee, complaining that Callie had overlooked this obligatory aid to any gentleman's comfort. The officer apologized again for his appearance and informed Lord Shelford of his spill from the horse. While his lordship expressed dismay and sympathy, Callie mused on the coincidence of two gentlemen, out of the very small number of gentlemen of her acquaintance, falling from horses within the same few hours. Perhaps they had collided with one another.
'Ah, I'm charged with a message from Colonel Davenport to you, sir,' the major said in a slurred voice to Lord Shelford. 'That bull of yours has got loose from its paddock. He asks you to keep a lookout. He thinks it may have an idea of wandering home.'
'Hubert, do you mean?' Callie looked up. 'Hubert is loose?'
'I don't know how he's called,' the major said. 'The bullock that Davenport won from his lordship in a wager, as I understand.'
'Oh yes,' Lord Shelford said uncomfortably. 'That bullock. He's wandered off? Dear me. I suppose he will come here, yes. Nothing more likely.' He cast a nervous glance at Callie.
'How long has he been out?' she asked sharply, standing up.
'Only since last night.' The major turned toward her, keeping his neck stiff. 'The lad fed him in the evening and found the fence broke right through when he went out at dawn. Davenport's put out several of his men to search. He's a little apprehen sive, since he had an inquiry from some low fellow the other day to purchase the animal. He turned it down f lat, of course, but the man was offering an enormous sum.'
'A low fellow?' Callie frowned. 'What sort of fellow?'
Major Sturgeon cleared his throat. 'I don't know if you are aware, Lady Callista, of the men they call sharpers. The colonel is slightly concerned, since he's had word that some celebrated fighting dog has come into the county in the past week. It's unlikely, of course, but with the sort of sum the fellow claimed to be offering, undoubtedly he had some idea of arranging a match for the betting crowd.'
'A match?' Callie exclaimed. 'Dear God, do you mean a baiting?'
'Nothing of the sort,' the new earl cried. 'Nonsense! Davenport's the magistrate; he won't allow any of that sort of thing hereabouts. Calm yourself, my dear. Oh please, don't look so frightened!'
'I am frightened!' Callie started for the door. 'We must discover him. John, never mind that.' She passed the footman carrying a tray of coffee. 'Leave it here; my horse is to be readied instantly. I'll be down in five minutes.'
'You're going to search, my lady?' Major Sturgeon was a step behind her. 'May I have the honor of aiding you?'
'Yes, yes, of course,' she said distractedly. 'The more eyes the better. Are you mounted?'
'The groom is walking my horse.'
'I hope it doesn't throw you again,' she said. 'If it does, I must leave you. We've lost hours already.'
'You may abandon me bleeding on the road,' he said. 'I can see that this bull is of the foremost importance.'
'He's my finest calf!' she said, leaving him in the corridor as she mounted the stairs. 'And my best friend too. I should never have let him be taken off, never! Stupid wagers. Stupid gentlemen!' She hiked her skirt and pounded up the steps, wrinkling her nose. 'I detest the whole lot of you!'
Nine
'A NEAT BANDAGE, SIR,' JOCK SAID, GLANCING DOWN AT Trev's swollen fingertips. 'Poleaxed him, I'll wager?'
'Went down like a dead tree.' Trev leaned behind the door of the small stable at Dove House, brushing straw off his coat. 'How is my mother?'
