then; he had wanted to, but he had hidden certain things himself, and it had not seemed possible at the time.
The considerable amount of money he'd been sending to Shelford for the past few years had obvi ously gone astray. Surprising, but not inconceivable, considering the circuitous route he had arranged for the funds to take. Trev narrowed his eyes. He hoped that somewhere in France, a certain banking correspondent was enjoying his remaining interlude of good health.
He felt his way to the stairs. There were no candles or spills, not even a rushlight. But he remembered the low ceiling and heavy railing well enough. He made his way up to his mother's chamber. The lamp he had left with her still burned low.
She was sleeping. He stood for a moment, watching her labored breath. His mischievous, sweet-faced maman-he had hardly known her for herself when he saw her. She was drawn, her cheeks sunken, her lips parted, thinned by the effort to take in air. But she had a trace of a smile, as if she dreamed a pleasant dream.
Trev scowled. He hardly cared to admit the vast feeling of relief that he had felt when Lady Callie offered to come. It was not something he would have asked of her. They were all but strangers now. But still, the moment he had recognized her, it was as if no time had passed; he had wanted to sit down and confide everything in her, his shock and fear at his mother's illness, his consternation at the state of the house, his amazement to find Lady Callista Taillefaire here in Shelford yet.
Unmarried.
He put that thought away, not yet ready for the surge of anger, the wound that lay behind it. Even that surprised him-he had supposed himself long ago over that juvenile affair. But they could still be friends, it seemed, for which he was glad. He liked Callie. Admired her. What other lady of her position would stop dead in the midst of a waltz and insist upon coming instantly to the aid of a Frenchwoman who had no earthly claims upon her?
He smiled a little. A lavender turban, with that hair. Only Callie: oblivious to every fashion, as sweet and shy as a wild doe. He shook his head and sat down on the edge of the bed, lightly touching his mother's hand.
'May I have the honor of this dance, Mademoiselle?' he murmured in French.
Her long lashes f luttered, dark against her pallor. She lifted them. 'Trevelyan,' she whispered, curling her hand about his. 'Mon amour.'
He raised her hand and kissed her cool fingers. 'I cannot permit these indolent airs,' he said. 'You wish to encourage my rivals, I know it. I will have to shoot them all.'
She smiled and spoke to him in English. 'You enjoyed the assembly?'
'Of course! I engaged myself to two beautiful young ladies and had to leave by the back window. I've f led to you for aid. Will you conceal me in your wardrobe?'
She gave a faint husky laugh. 'Let the girls meet… on the field of honor,' she said in a weak voice. 'Nothing to trouble about.'
'But their mothers might pursue me!'
'Alors, I'll dispatch their mothers myself, by poison.'
He squeezed her hand. 'I see now where I come by my unsteady nature.'
She returned the pressure, gripping his fingers. 'Trevelyan,' she said suddenly and hoarsely. 'I am so proud of you.'
He maintained his smile down at her, finding nothing to say.
'You have succeeded where even… your grandfa ther failed. I wish only that he and your father were alive to see it.'
Trev gave a slight shrug. 'I was fortunate.'
'To regain the whole! Even Monceaux!' She struggled to sit up and began to cough.
'Do not be carried away by raptures, I beg you,' he said. He stood and propped pillows about her. 'Save that for when I take you back to Monceaux in a gilded coach, with half a dozen outriders and three footmen up behind.'
She closed her eyes and leaned her head back. She smiled, breathing with difficulty. Her fingers trembled as she put her hand on his arm. 'You know that's not to be.'
'Only two outriders, then. Elegant economy!'
'Trevelyan-'
'Come, do not quarrel with me. I cross the sea to your side, and you refuse to accompany me to dance, you will not eat-I've been forced to apply for rein forcements. Lady Callista desired me to say that she will be here presently.'
'Ah, she is too good.'
'Indeed, she is an angel. If she can produce a supper, I shall marry her out of hand.'
'I'm certain that she can.' His mother breathed deeply. 'But… three engagements in one evening, my love?'
'No, do you think it excessive?' he asked in surprise.
'Trevelyan.' She smiled up at him. 'I am so happy.' She held tight to his hand as her chuckle turned into a gasping cough.
Two
MRS. ADAM HAD NOT HESITATED A MOMENT WHEN SHE heard. Disapprove she might of Callie waltzing in the arms of a suspiciously French emigre, but the news that Mrs. Easley had succumbed to the bottle again was sufficient to excuse all. 'That woman!' she hissed, uttering everyone's favored description of Mrs. Easley. 'Take Lilly with you. Tell her to fetch the arrowroot custard that I meant for midday dinner. That will do well for Madame's lungs, the poor lamb!'
Armed with the custard and a mission, Callie did not feel so shy as she made her way into the back door of Dove House. She was always better when she had a task at hand.
While Lilly swung the lantern so that shadows f lew all over the scullery, Callie wrinkled her nose at the odor of sour milk issuing from a pail on the f loor. The air was cold and damp, the hearth a dark pile of abandoned ashes.
It appeared that nothing had been done in the kitchen for a week or more. On the slate f loor lay a square case-bottle marked
She pulled off her gloves and folded back the calash hood from over her turban, set Lilly to washing bowls and cutlery, and located a candlestick from amid the disorder of the pantry. As she made her way up the short staircase, she wished strongly that she had not been absent for nigh a month with her sister and the new Lady Shelford, drinking the vile waters at Leamington and knitting enough length of Shetland wool to tie up a haystack in garters. Between helping her cousin Jasper to correct the muddle he had made of the estate books in that short time, and attending to the various small disasters that had arisen on the home farm, she had not paid a call at Dove House since her return, only sent the beef over Lady Shelford's objec tion that a hare would have been quite sufficient.
She could hear Madame coughing, and so she only knocked once before letting herself in. Somehow she had expected that Madame would be alone-Callie froze when she saw Trevelyan turn and look toward the door.
All her shyness swept over her again. 'Oh!' she said. 'I beg your pardon for intruding. I'll send up the maid.'
As she began to close the door, he strode toward her. 'Come in, my lady,' he said, catching the door by the edge. Then he took her hand and made a bow as he relieved her of the candle.
Callie looked at his bare hand holding hers and then toward his mother. Madame de Monceaux held a handkerchief to her mouth, but she put it down and smiled such a warm welcome that Callie felt a little more at ease.
'I'm afraid I've neglected you, ma'am,' Callie said. 'I am so sorry. I didn't hear of Mrs. Easley until tonight. Will you take some arrowroot pudding?'
'My dear,' Madame whispered. 'Do not be concerned with me, but I would be grateful for anything you might discover'-she struggled for breath-'for my son to eat. You find this house in a sad state, I fear!'
Trev gave Callie a meaningful glance. He still held her hand in a firm clasp, as if to keep her. 'She'll take arrowroot, I assure you,' he said. He glanced toward his mother. 'I had a great deal to eat at the assembly, Maman; I couldn't consume another bite.'
Callie knew he had not eaten anything at the assembly. In the f lickering shadows from the candle, his face seemed grim. As Lilly came into the chamber with a tray, he let go of Callie's hand and went to prop pillows at his mother's head. Then he stood back uncer tainly, looking like a man in a sickroom-helpless.
'The fire has gone out in the kitchen,' Callie said, offering him a task elsewhere. 'Is there someone who might see to it?'
'Jacques,' he said immediately. 'I'll speak to him.' He made a courtesy toward his mother, bowed again to Callie, and left the room.
Relieved at his departure, she took the tray from Lilly's hands and arranged it for Madame. It was a natural thing; she had often done so for her father. The Frenchwoman lifted her lashes and gave a faint thanks. 'I must apologize-' she murmured.
'Don't worry yourself, ma'am,' Callie said briskly. 'When the fire is rekindled, Lilly will bring up some tea.' She sent the young maid downstairs and busied herself with an inventory of the medicine glasses and spoons on the bedside table, watching from the corner of her eye as Madame lifted an unsteady morsel of the pudding to her mouth. 'How pleased I am that your son has come home!'
Even in her weak state, Madame's face seemed to come alight. She laid down the silver. 'It is such bliss to me, Lady Callista. You cannot conceive!'
'But you must eat, you know, so that you have the strength to entertain him in fine style.'
Madame de Monceaux picked up the spoon duti fully. But she laid it down again. 'My dear-' She turned and gave Callie a wistful look. 'You have been such a friend to us these years.'
Callie lowered her face. 'It's my pleasure to do what I can.'
'The whole town has felt your kindness. But my family-you have been good to us beyond any hope that we… can repay you.'
'Indeed, no, ma'am. Don't speak of repayment. Please do eat a little more!'
'I know your father did not approve of-any intimacy, may God bless him,' Madame said. 'I didn't blame him.'
Callie had been fifteen when the emigre family moved into Dove House. Her father had been willing enough for her to take lessons to improve her French with Madame and her daughter, but in his curt summation, whatever wealth and rank the Monceaux had held before the Revolution, by the time they reached Shelford they were living upon little but pride and thin air, however refined it might be. And when her papa had discovered, somewhat belatedly, that a handsome son of Callie's own
