Callie hesitated. Then she picked up her fork, trying to keep her eyes down on her plate and not gaze at him like a moonling. They ate in silence for some moments, while she lectured herself with unspoken vehemence on the folly of a plain woman of twenty seven years, thrice rejected, having any thought at all about a silver-tongued rogue's careless compliments. If she had been more skeptical of him nine years ago, she would not perhaps have suffered quite so painfully.
'It must be quite interesting to grow the grapes for wine.' She made a plunge at casual conversation.
He shrugged slightly. 'They're grapes,' he said, as if that entirely covered the subject.
'Did you find the vineyards at Monceaux badly damaged?' she asked.
'Oh no.' He drank a deep swallow of coffee. 'Even raging revolutionaries like a good claret.'
'I hope your absence won't cause too much disrup tion in the work. It's harvest time there, is it not?'
He lifted his hand carelessly. 'There's a vigneron to take care of all that.'
'Oh yes,' she said, remembering. 'The evil Buzot!'
He glanced up with a sharp look, as if her mention of the name startled him.
'Madame asked me to read her letters aloud,' she said hastily. 'I hope you don't mind.'
'Ah, then you know of Buzot.' He sat back in his chair. 'The fellow howls at the moon and drinks the blood of innocent babes, I assure you. I haven't caught him at it, but that's only because I'm afraid to go out after dark.'
'How vexing. But he makes such excellent wine from your grapes.'
'Oh, magnificent wine!' he said affably. 'It's my belief that he's sold his soul to the devil.'
'No wonder that you keep him on.' She nodded, buttering bread. 'It can't be easy to find someone with such impressive credentials.'
'I don't suppose any midnight covens are scheduled to convene in Shelford?' he inquired. 'We might discover an exceptional cook.'
'I'm afraid that would be quite ineligible. There's no saying what she might put into the pot and pass off as a chicken.'
He put down his cup, his eyebrows lifted in alarm. 'I hadn't thought of that. Scratch the coven.'
'I think we should start with Mr. Rankin.'
'Ah. And what has Mr. Rankin to say to it?'
'He still keeps the inn-the Antlers, you know- and will be our prime informant. You mentioned that funds were not greatly restricted?'
'Hire the chef out of Buckingham Palace if he can appear promptly.'
Callie peeked up at him. The only overt signs that he was now a very wealthy lord were his excellent carriage and elegant dress. He seemed to be traveling without pomp, or any retinue beyond Jacques. She rather liked him for it, that he had not changed his ways on regaining his family's riches and titles. Dolly had insisted on every point of ceremony since her elevation to the Countess of Shelford. Cousin Jasper's vague indifference to the dignity of his new title only seemed to goad his wife into greater concern for his position. She made certain that the smallest mark of respect toward the earl should not be overlooked.
It was a relief to escape, even for an hour, from the stif ling atmosphere that had been established at Shelford Hall. High form and etiquette always made Callie feel as if she should consult Burke's Peerage to make certain her name was actually in it, and discover how she ought to address herself in letters.
'I'll pass by the Antlers on my way back,' she said, on a more comfortable subject, 'and have them send over a hot dinner by noon. That must suffice for now, but their victuals are very plain, and I think it best to have a cook in the kitchen, so that Madame's appetite can be tempted with more delicate fare.'
'Thank you. I hadn't even thought of sending to the inn.'
'If you'll excuse me, I'll go up and attend your mother and make her comfortable before I go.'
'Thank you, Callie.' He pushed himself to his feet as she rose. 'Thank you. I can't believe-' He shook his head with a baff led sound. 'Who are these chuck leheads who let you slip out of their grasp?'
Callie was conscious of a sudden rush of blood to her cheeks. 'Hardly that. They were made to pay handsomely for the privilege of relinquishing my hand, I assure you.'
'So I should hope,' he said. 'Blackguards. Are you a great heiress, then?'
'Well, yes,' she admitted. 'At least, I suppose I am. After the last settlement-it does tote up to a rather large sum.'
'How much?' he asked bluntly.
She bent her head. 'Eighty thousand,' she said in a smothered voice.
'Good God.'
'So you see,' she said, lifting her face, 'I'm hardly an object for compassion.'
'May I make you the object of my violent and unrestrained ardor?' He made a motion as if to loosen his neck cloth. 'I'm a bit tired, but perfectly willing.'
'My calling hours are from twelve to three, if you wish to importune me violently,' Callie said, drop ping a quick curtsy. 'But now I must see to your mother.'
'Thank you.' He gave a weary snort. 'How many times have I said that? I'll try if I can to achieve some originality when I've had more sleep.'
She paused on her way to the door. She had meant only to say that he had no need to thank her, but something in his tired smile made her touch his arm. 'I'm so glad you've come home,' she said softly.
He stood still for a moment. Then abruptly he gripped her hand. 'Oh God, I can't even think how to tell you-' He seemed to hear the desperation in his own voice, and let go of her with a rueful laugh. 'Well. You'd better make your escape immediately, before you find me pressing kisses to your feet. Or somewhere equally improper.'
Callie ducked her head. She lifted her skirts and hurried up the steps out of the kitchen.
The fog still lay heavy when she reached the pasture, softening and obscuring the trees and hedges. Hubert stood waiting at the gate, a dark shape in the mist. As she came to the fence, he broke off his placid chewing and lifted his huge pink nose, snuff ling loudly in expectation.
Callie pulled a loaf of stale bread from her basket. She stepped up on the rail. The bull nosed gently, tickling her fingers, and took the bread on his long tongue. He curled it into his mouth. Callie scratched his broad forehead while he chewed with an air of satisfied contemplation.
He had good reason to feel satisfied with himself. Hubert was an excellent specimen. He measured five feet six inches at the shoulder and eleven feet ten inches from nose to tail. He boasted a superbly mottled coat, red and black on a white ground. In addition to his size and beauty, he possessed all the highest perfec tions of a shorthorn bull: a clean throat, level back, impeccable big shoulders, ribs full and round, leading smoothly to long quarters. He had grown only one ring yet on his handsome horns, being just three years old, and his first crop of calves were on the ground this past spring, perfectly healthy and lively as larks.
She looked on him fondly as he blinked his generous lashes and turned his head to allow her better access to scratch behind his ear. She had been present at Hubert's birth, led him about at his mother's side when he was a baby calf, comforted him with treats when he was weaned, nursed the inevitable cuts and scrapes a young bullock inf licted upon himself by trying to reach that farthest blade of grass through the hedgerow, and brought him up to his impres sive prime. Hubert was the pride of the county, a fit successor to his celebrated grandsire, Rupert.
Even though he was a mottled shorthorn, rather than one of the cherished local white-faced breed, she felt perfectly certain that he would take first premium at Hereford. In a few days she would have him begin his leisurely walk to the city with her most trusted drover, moving at just the right speed to maintain his weight and muscle, but still arrive in good time for him to recover from any loss or scratch he might suffer on the journey.
As Callie leaned across the fence to rub his ear, a sudden growling bark made her startle and grab the rail. Hubert turned his big head as a brindled dog charged from out of the foggy lane, roaring and snarling. It stopped, teeth bared, a yard's length from her skirt.
Hubert stamped a hoof, lowering his nose to look through the rail. The dog rushed toward him, snap ping. In the f lash of the moment, Callie threw her basket, sending a shower of bread on the dog's head. It shied off for an instant, then paused, its heavy muzzle turned toward Hubert, its pink lip still lifted in a growl, quivering in every muscle.
'Silly creature!' Callie said in a jolly voice. She stayed on the rail but forced her muscles to relax. 'Now what do you suppose you're doing?'
The dog never took its eyes from Hubert. The bull had turned to face the threat, lowering his nostrils almost to the turf, blowing strong gusts of air against the grass. He began to paw the ground.
'What a funny dog!' Callie crooned in a quiet voice. 'What a foolish boy. You don't think we mean to hurt you?'
A man's voice called out from the road. The dog pricked its shorn ears and turned. But it did not retreat.
Through the light fog, she saw a stranger hurrying toward them. He called the dog again. This time it obeyed him reluctantly, swinging away and trotting to his side.
'Beg pardon, Miss!' He reached down and grabbed the dog by the collar. 'I'll put a rope on him.'
Neither man nor dog were from the neighbor hood of Shelford, where Callie knew every domestic creature and a good number of the wild ones too. The stranger wore a heavy overcoat and gaiters with an elegant top hat, a rather odd combination of country and city fashion. As he straightened up from tying the dog, he gave her a nervous smile, his mouth creasing too widely under high cheekbones.
'We'll go along now, Miss!' he said, touching his hat and dragging the dog as it snarled and lunged back toward Hubert.
She watched from the gate as his outline faded in the fog. He disappeared around the curve in the lane. The sound of the dog's barking diminished. One of those card sharpers and badger-baiters, she did not doubt, who would put his dog to fighting chained animals while he stood back and shouted and made his cowardly bets. Callie despised the breed. She hoped that he was merely passing through. The Bromyard fair had just ended, and fairs always attracted such men. She thought she would make note of it to Colonel Davenport. Just a word in the magistrate's ear, that whatever might be tolerated in Bromyard, such activities were not to be countenanced in Shelford's village.
Four
BY NOONTIME, THE INHABITANTS OF DOVE HOUSE HAD full reason to be grateful to Lady Callista. Not only had a hot meal arrived from the Antlers, but the innkeep er's wife came with it. Mrs. Rankin insisted that she would stay to attend Madame while his lordship's grace stepped down to the inn, where the barber was awaiting him with water on the boil. A pair of men and a boy from Shelford Hall were already at work clearing the chimney, and a basket of green apples sat on the front table,
