compliments of Lady Shelford.
'You must call on her this afternoon, Trevelyan,' his mother whispered, lifting her hand weakly from the coverlet. 'I shall undertake to survive alone for an hour, I pledge you!'
He hesitated. But Mrs. Rankin shooed him toward the door, saying that it was no such thing-Madame would not be alone. The innkeeper's wife was a tiny woman, but she had the self-assurance of a scrappy terrier, admonishing Trev to have his coat brushed before he presented himself at the Hall. He left her chiding his mother to take more beef stew or find herself sorry for it, for if Lady Callista learned that Madame had not eaten well, it would be a great shame and a black stain on the honor of the Antlers.
She did not use those words, precisely, but she managed to convey the importance of the affair. Trev smiled as he closed the door. He was under no illusions. His family had always been treated with friendly condescension in Shelford, tolerated but hardly esteemed. It was Lady Callista's opinion that mattered to Mrs. Rankin.
It was Callie's opinion that mattered to him too. He submitted himself to the barber, had his boots polished, made use of one of the inn's bedchambers to tie a fresh neck cloth, compensated Mr. Rankin gener ously, and-having made himself plausibly presentable in a lady's drawing room-hired the Antlers' postboy and groom to put a pair to his carriage and drive him to Shelford Hall.
He arrived at half past two, which would give him the proper quarter hour to pay his respects and convey his gratitude if she had not been in jest about her calling hours. He hoped she had not. He carried a posy of soft white roses and russet-colored dahlias, cut ruth lessly from his mother's tangled garden and tied with a ribbon. Small thanks, but the best he could do.
The cream-colored limestone edifice of Shelford glowed like a Greek temple in the autumn afternoon, a symmetrical facade of pilasters and porticoes set in a gem green park. Chestnut trees dotted the rolling pastures, their leaves f laming with orange under the sun. Trev was perfectly acquainted with the outside of the great house, in particular the dark old yew under Callie's window, but he had never been invited to set foot inside.
A carriage was stopped before the stairs, disem barking a trio of well-dressed ladies. He recognized none of them, but he judged their gowns to be expensive. The chaise had a liveried footman, who sprang up behind as it moved away, grinding over the gravel down the drive. Trev touched his card case in his pocket. He reminded himself that he was a duke and a cousin of kings, even if they had been beheaded. He had a perfect right to the title of useless aristocratic fribble.
The front door had already closed behind the ladies by the time Trev walked lightly up the steps under the blank gaze of two footmen. He informed the porter that he requested the honor of calling upon Lady Callista Taillefaire on behalf of Madame de Monceaux, handed in his cards, and waited. He waited a very long time, cooling his heels on the stoop, trying not to feel seventeen years old again, with the cut of a whip across his face and shame burning in his throat.
At last the door swung open under another foot man's white-gloved hand. The butler bowed. It was all a great deal more ceremony than he remembered from the old earl's days. The butler then had been an ally of his, an immensely tall fellow with a craggy, forlorn face. This new man was shorter and thicker, with a high reddish complexion in his cheeks. He looked as if he might have a temper. As Trev handed over his hat and gloves, he judged that the new fellow would peel to thirteen stone- not a bad physique for a middleweight boxer.
Their footsteps echoed in the domed vestibule, whispers of sound against the f luted stone columns and the marble f loor. The butler showed him into an empty anteroom with a few stiff chairs and some paintings of cattle on the walls. Trev wished now that he'd merely left a note of thanks with the f lowers, instead of sending up the cards. He felt as unwelcome at Shelford Hall as he ever had.
There was already sufficient indication that his family was not held in large regard here. The basket of apples from Lady Shelford might just as well have been a chilly announcement that no more was owed to Dove House than token civility. So it had hardly been a shocking blow when Mrs. Rankin conveyed the news that, due to some impending social event, Lady Shelford could not see her way to lending out the undercook even for a few days. The innkeeper's wife had delivered this intelligence with an eloquent shrug, as if it were exactly what one might expect.
'This way, sir.' The stolid butler returned after some delay. The servant nodded brief ly as he held the door open.
Trev followed him up the wide curve of the stair case, carrying his posy. From the drawing room came a loud murmur of voices. Quite a large afternoon gathering it seemed. Pausing in the doorway, he saw that the pleasant, sun-filled chamber held a number of visitors, mostly congregated about a young couple at the head of the room.
A quick glance round as he was announced did not reveal Callie among the group. He disguised his vexa tion, being utterly at sea without knowing which of these females might be Lady Shelford. No one moved forward to greet him, so he stepped into the room and stood a moment, listening.
It didn't take long to deduce that the pair of young people standing shyly by the fireplace were newly betrothed. Amid talk of a ball and a formal announce ment, someone said gaily that Lady Hermione would be wise to order her bride-clothes early from Paris. Trev realized with a slight surprise that this was Callie's sister.
She did not resemble Callie at all. She was some what prettier, to be sure, but it was an ordinary pret tiness, neither objectionable nor memorable. Now that he guessed who she was, he could vaguely recall a prattling and sociable child from his earlier days in Shelford, but little sisters had not interested him very deeply at the time. She seemed tolerable enough now, if perhaps a little too forced and gay in her gestures. Doubtless she was nervous at being the center of attention. A forgivable offense. But no hint of stif led mirth in her expression made him wish to tease a smile from her, as Callie's did.
Callie had mentioned going away with her sister when she married, but he had not understood that it was already a settled thing. He realized that he was frowning, and smoothed his face into a public smile as one of the women finally took notice of him.
She did not immediately move to greet him. He saw her give him the sort of cursory examination that any lady of the bon ton could perform in the f lick of a raised brow. Trev waited with composure while she made certain that he was in all points comme il faut.
Her gaze lingered. He gave a small bow, finely calculated to avoid any presumption that she should notice him if she did not care to do so. She was quite beautiful in an unyielding way, her hair such a pale gold it was almost white, her features as strong and expressionless as some classical statue of Minerva. Her skin seemed so fine and thin that the bones showed too near the surface, as if she might crack like a marble stone if struck.
Trev made a deeper formal bow as she committed to walk across the room to him.
'Monsieur le duc,' she said, holding out her gloved hand. 'Bienvenue. I am Lady Shelford. Ah-f lowers! Thank you. You must have heard of our happy news. But you shouldn't have left your poor mama. How does she do?'
He found himself giving up Callie's posy, having little choice as she took it from his hand and passed it to the footman. Keeping any hint of irony from his voice, Trev conveyed his mother's heartfelt thanks for the magnificent basket of green apples. He was surprised to find that Lady Shelford condescended to lead him to the tea table and see that he was served. He had not thought he would rate so high in her social calculations. She even lingered with him. He took advantage of it to extend his felicitations on the betrothal and casually hope that Lady Hermione would not go too far away from Shelford when she was wed.
'Oh, they will live in town,' the countess said in an uninterested voice. 'He has some sort of situation in the Home Office. His duties keep him tied to Whitehall.'
'Ah. London.' Trev would have liked to pursue this topic, but he could not find a nonchalant way to ask where Callie would pasture her bulls in London. 'That will be a gay life for Lady Hermione,' he said politely.
'Indeed.' She did not appear gratified by the thought. 'You're recently come from Paris?'
'No, I went direct to Calais from my home,' he lied, avoiding any possible acquaintances of hers who he might have been supposed to encounter in Paris.
'Of course. You did not wish to delay.' She touched his arm, allowing her gloved fingers to trail across the back of his hand. 'You must tell me anything that can be done for your poor mother. I might send someone to help in the kitchen, perhaps?'
Trev lifted his lashes. He met her eyes and found an unmistakable look there, a f lagrant physical aware ness of him under her impassive smile. He was a great appreciator of women, and he knew well enough that his admiration was generally returned, but he avoided liaisons with females of easy principles. His grandfather and mother had been neither romantic nor reserved in their counsels to a hot-headed and well-favored young boy. Trev had been brought up with no illusions about ladies of society or ladies of the streets.
'You are too kind,' he said. 'I beg you won't put yourself to the trouble.' He kept his voice neutral and his bow respectfully stiff. He felt vaguely insulted that she would make even a delicate advance at the same time she offered assistance. 'I only wished to convey my thanks to Lady Callista for her help. She's not at home?'
'It would seem that she is not.' The countess looked around as if she had no notion whether Callie was present.
'Perhaps I might write her a note,' Trev said, when she did not make the offer.
'Oh. Yes, if you like.' She gestured toward a carved secretary and turned away.
He wrote standing up, dipping a pen and helping himself to the paper. Only a sentence, conveying little but his mother's thanks, since he could discover no wafer to seal it. He had a notion that Lady Shelford was just the sort to take a glance at other people's correspondence. When he straightened, he found that she was watching him from the far side of the room. He folded the note. With a little less than courtesy, he gave her a nod and handed his letter to the footman as he departed.
As the porter held the door for him, Trev glanced over the curving drive toward the stable range. A thought occurred to him. He signaled to the postboy to hold his chaise and walked across the gravel toward the outbuildings.
He knew the way. Under the carriage arch, past the dim stall rows smelling of sweet hay and horses, then a goodly distance out along the walled lane with glimpses of a big kitchen garden through portholes in the brick. He was dressed for a drawing room, not a visit to the home farm, but he sidestepped the mud hole at the gate and evaded the importunities of a donkey. A pig watched him hopefully through the slats of its pen. Trev stooped to retrieve the remains of an apple that had rolled out and tossed it over the fence, receiving a grateful grunt in return.
A farm lad was shoveling at the manure pile, sending animal pungency into the air. He tipped his cap to Trev. 'Afternoon, sir.'
'Would I find Lady Callista here?' Trev asked.
'Aye, sir.' The boy nodded toward the bigger cow barn. 'M'lady's feedin' the orphan.'
Trev had guessed something of the sort. He took off his hat as he ducked under a dangling rope and walked into the shadows of the barn.
He saw her bonnet over a stall partition, the brim bobbing energetically. He paused, looking round the wooden barrier. Callie stood bracing herself against the enthusiastic assault of a large calf on the bottle she held. Under a copious canvas apron, she was dressed in a pink silk gown with a pair of muck boots poking out from beneath the ruff led hem.
'Have you deserted the drawing room, my lady?' he asked.
'Oh!' She started but only glanced aside without showing her face from under the wide brim of the bonnet.
'You had a caller,' he said. 'I even had my boots polished.'
'I'm sorry,' she said in a voice he could barely discern. 'I didn't expect-I shouldn't have gone away from the party, but-'
Her muff led words trailed off. She kept her face hidden. As he watched, she turned up the bottle to let the calf suck down the last of the milk. Trev took a step
