Lessons in French (12 page)

"Cider will do," the officer said brief ly.

Callie suddenly sat up and threw a look toward the newcomer. Such a horrified

expression came into her face that Trev almost reached out to support her as she

blanched, but then she put down her teacup and bent her head toward her lap, hiding any

glimpse of her face under the brim of her bonnet.

Mrs. Farr entered into a discourse on Congo, with a pekoe additive, versus a good

Imperial. The officer glanced toward their table with the brief disinterest of a stranger

obliged to share a public space—and then looked again. It was a penetrating look directed

at Callie, at the nape of her neck, where those singular red curls were as recognizable in

Shelford as any sign hanging outside a shop. Trev watched a play of emotion in the man's

face—the instant of detection, followed by a tightening of his thin lips, a straightening of

his shoulders. The officer turned away abruptly and sat down on the sofa.

Callie was hidden, but her breasts rose and fell with a rapid rhythm. Trev moved his

leg, pressing it against her knee in silent support and question. She turned her face

entirely away from the fire, staring toward the window as if she could escape by f lying

through it. Her eyes were wide with alarm.

"But if you care for a black tea, duke," Mrs. Farr said, "you cannot go wrong with the

Congo mix. Green gunpowder will kill you in a month."

"I'm sure it would kill you with one lucky shot, Mrs. Farr," Trev said. He looked at

Callie. "Are you feeling quite well, Lady Callista? Would you like to go out into the air?"

She nodded, standing up, clutching at Trev's arm as he offered it. Behind her, the

officer stood up at the same time.

"My lady," he said clearly.

Callie stood still, frozen like a deer at the sound of his voice.

"If you don't desire to acknowledge me, Lady Callista, I'll submit to your wish," the

man said. His nostrils flared. "I will not inflict myself upon you." He glanced an instant at

Trev, his aristocratic brows drawn together. Then he stared at Callie again. "But I would

call upon you, if you would… if you would kindly give me consent to do so."

She wet her lips. "Oh, I—no, I—" She took a deep breath, staring down at the floor. "It

would be very uncomfortable for me."

The officer's pale eyes snapped to Trev again. There was something… Trev held the

look. It was as if the other man grew taut with a personal challenge, directly marking

him. He might have thought it was jealousy, the way the two of them stood with their lips

buttoned and their faces rigid, like a pair of thwarted lovers, but Trev had a strong

suspicion otherwise. Unless Callie had participated in more romantic encounters than

anyone who knew her could believe, this would be one of the infamous jilts. A major of

cavalry, at that; Trev could read the insignia of rank now.

A fine coincidence. He didn't see how the fellow had any claim to resentment of

another man at Callie's side.

The officer looked again at her, his jaw set hard. "My lady, if you might consider—"

"I believe Lady Callista has made her answer known to you," Trev interrupted.

The man ignored him. "If you would see fit, my lady—"

"How curious." Trev gave an audible sniff. "I could swear I smell a day-old fish."

Callie's fingers nearly cut off the blood in his arm. She made a sound somewhere

between a choke and a whimper. The other man grew as scarlet as his uniform coat.

White lines played at the corner of his mouth. "I'm speaking to Lady Callista, not to you,

sir."

"I don't wish to speak to you," Callie said in a rush.

The officer stood very still for a moment. "As you wish, then, ma'am." He bowed stiff

ly and walked out of the room, casting Trev one more venomous glance as he left.

"Oh." Callie's voice trembled. She sat down with a plop.

Mrs. Farr leaned over, patting Callie's hand and peering into her face. "Poor dear,

you're ashen as a sheet. But the nasty gentleman is gone now. There, you see, he's calling

for his carriage."

Callie put her fingertips to her cheek, drawing a deep breath. "Pardon me, I didn't mean

to cause a scene. Thank you, Mrs. Farr." She lifted the cup that the widow poured for her

and took a convulsive gulp of tea.

"Number One?" Trev asked matter-of-factly.

She swallowed again and made a face, wrinkling her nose over the cup. "Major

Sturgeon." The saucer rattled as she put down the tea and looked at Trev. "What a

peculiar shock," she said weakly. "So odd, as we were just…" Her voice trailed off.

"Forgive me. I'm very startled." She gave an unsteady smile. "I must thank you for

skewering him so neatly."

"Oh, you skewered him quite well yourself," Trev said.

"I hope so," she mumbled.

"What a very rude fellow," Mrs. Farr said. She peered at Callie with new interest. "I'm

sure you ought not to know such a person, milady."

"No!" Callie said instantly. "I don't. That is—" She bit her lip. "I really don't know him

at all, or wish to. I hope that you don't suppose—that anyone should think—oh, please

don't mention—"

"I wouldn't breathe a word!" Mrs. Farr said, which Trev took to mean she would wait at

least until Callie was out of sight before she began to spread the tale. He didn't care for

the speculations that were likely to result from a story of some stranger accosting Lady

Callista in a public inn. But as Callie floundered through a disjointed sentence, he could

see that she was unable to summon any coherent explanation in the face of Mrs. Farr's

growing curiosity.

"Major Sturgeon is beneath Lady Callista's notice," he said abruptly, judging that the

truth was better in this case than the rampant conjectures that were bound to occur in a

place like Shelford. "As a man who broke his word to her, he deserves no recognition

from her, or from anyone who stands her friend."

"No, is
that
who he is?" Mrs. Farr gasped. "One of those villains who cried off on our

Lady Callista? I declare, that he would dare to show his face in Shelford! That he would

dare to
speak
to milady! Does he suppose he can worm his way back into your graces and

propose again?"

"He is married now, Mrs. Farr," Callie said gently. "Doubtless he would simply like to

express his deep regret or some such thing."

"His deep regret that his wife is an ill-tempered shrew, one hopes, and marrying anyone

but you was the greatest mistake of his sorry life," Trev remarked.

Callie rewarded him with a tiny smirk. She seemed to be recovering her composure.

"Oh, I should like that. I might have let him call, if he were going to say that."

Mr. Rankin paused in the door, peering in with a puzzled look. "Did the gentleman say

he was leaving?"

"Driven off with his tail between his legs," Trev said.

"But he left his bags."

"Throw them into the street," Trev advised and enjoyed Callie's sudden giggle.

"He said he was staying the week," Mr. Rankin protested.

"Oh dear." Callie bit her lip. "What can he want in Shelford for a week?"

"Did he annoy you, milady?" the innkeeper asked anxiously. "He seemed a perfect

gentleman, and so I was sure I ought to offer him a seat in here, instead of the tap."

"No, no, it was nothing," Callie said.

"I believe he recalled an urgent appointment," Trev said. "With a halibut."

"Indeed, I hope he found nothing to offend him about the Antlers."

"It was nothing of the sort, I assure you, Mr. Rankin." Callie sat up in her chair. "The

gingerbread smells delicious; I hope we might taste it soon. And have you had a reply

from the cook in Bromyard?"

"I have, milady. I was about to tell you when the officer gentleman arrived. She is at

liberty to start on Saturday, and sent a recommendation from her employer. But two other

families wish to take her on, and she advises that she cannot accept a post for less than

thirteen shillings the week."

"Thirteen shillings!" quavered Mrs. Farr. "For a cook-woman?"

"Oh—she is in great demand, then?" Callie asked.

"I fear so, milady. I understand that the only reason she was willing to entertain my

inquiry is because she would prefer to live within a day's drive of her family in

Gloucester, and the other offers are fartherafield."

"But why is she leaving her employer?"

"She's been these past ten years with a lady who now intends to make her home with a

married daughter, due to her declining health."

Callie looked at Trev. "Thirteen shillings is a shocking swindle."

"No doubt she scents my desperation," he said. "My want of a convincing blancmange

has carried all the way to Bromyard."

"I suppose if she's been with a lady in declining health, she must be accustomed to

producing meals to tempt a delicate appetite," Callie said.

"The letter describes her just so, milady," said Mr. Rankin. "I'll fetch it for you." He

bowed and went out.

"I think we might be wise to leap at this," Callie murmured. "Thirteen shillings or not."

"I'm wholly in your hands," Trev said. "She may gouge me to her heart's content if you

think she can provide what my mother requires."

She gave a decisive nod. "Very true. There's no use in trying to haggle her down. We

haven't the luxury for that. Mr. Rankin—" As the innkeeper returned, she took the letter

and perused it brief ly. "I believe we must request her to come as soon as she may. If

you'll bring me a pen and paper, I'll write out an offer."

"Make it fifteen shillings," Trev said.

"Fifteen?" Mrs. Farr groaned. "I hope my old cook doesn't hear of this, or I shall have

no peace."

"I understand you, Mrs. Farr, I do!" Callie peered into the inkpot that the innkeeper

provided. "But truly, it's a crisis. You may tell Cook that the duke is French and has no

sense, and it's only to be expected that he'd be choused."

"Make it eighteen shillings," Trev said grandly. "Make it a guinea!"

"A guinea!" Mrs. Farr emitted a scandalized cry and took a deep draught of her

smelling salts.

"You see?" Callie said, dipping her pen. "A complete f lat. Fourteen is our firm offer."

He winked at her. She gave him a bright glance and then bent to her task.

Callie parted from Trevelyan and Mrs. Farr outside the door of the Antlers. Trev had

offered to escort her on any further errands she might have, but she declined, cravenly

unable to endure more inquisitive looks and interested greetings. She walked down the

street, hardly knowing where she was going. She was by no means accustomed to so

much disorder in her feelings. For some years now—for nine of them, to be exact—she

had found her pleasures in the quiet rhythm of seasons and animals. They had their

certain habits and small adventures. They did not propose to come and see if she would

climb down from her window at midnight, or jilt her and then request to call on her with

a burning look. They might make her laugh with delight or weep with loss, but they never

made a compliment to her complexion.

She had, of course, imagined a thousand times how she would accept the groveling

change of heart from each of her suitors, starting with Trev. He was to have written her

passionate, brooding letters and declared that his life was forfeit if she would not have

him. That was after he had become unthinkably wealthy and recovered Monceaux, and

declared on his knees that her fortune meant nothing to him and never had. He would

take her penniless from the side of the road and threaten to shoot himself, or sail to

Madagascar and become a pirate—which was just the sort of thing Trev would do—if she

refused his love. After suitably ardent persuasion, she would reluctantly give up her plan

to dedicate her life to good works and tapioca jelly, and accept his suit. Afterward they

would become pirates together, and she would wear a great many pearls and rubies and

skewer British officers.

Major Sturgeon, on the other hand, was to have behaved with considerably more

circumspection, no doubt because her imagination had matured a few degrees by the time

she grew out of her teens. He would have seen her across the room at a London ball,

having pined in silence for many years. But now, at the sight of her, he could no longer

contain his feelings. He would write her a sonnet and send it anonymously. It would be

full of remorse and regret, and he would stand in the rain outside her house and stare for

hours at the door. She thought perhaps he would finally find a way to come into her path

and beg to call on her, only in a rather more tender and miserable tone of voice than he

had used in the Antlers' parlor, rather than sounding as if he would like to call her out.

In perfect honesty, she would have been quite content to leave these reveries safely in

her head and omit any actual experience of them. Instead of Trev, it was Major Sturgeon

who seemed to be assuming the role of brooding corsair, which was disconcerting in the

extreme. She had no inkling of why he could possibly wish to call upon her. Their

betrothal had been broken off through the medium of a letter, with no specific reason

given but that he felt himself unworthy of her hand. Since he had shortly thereafter felt

himself worthy to become engaged to another woman, she drew the obvious conclusion