Lessons in French (9 page)

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 flagrant

physical awareness 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 nearer. He tilted

his head, bending a little, and saw that her chin was wet with tears.

"Callie," he said in dismay. "What is it?"

She set the milk bottle in the straw. The calf nosed it and licked at the nipple. There

was a long silence, and then she wiped her cheek.

"My cousin has lost Hubert," she said in a small voice.

"Hubert?" For a moment he was bewildered, and then recollection struck him. "Hubert

the bull? The one you're taking to the Hereford show?"

"Yes. Rupert's finest grandson."

"What do you mean, lost him? He's got loose?"

She shook her head. "No. Cousin Jasper lost him in a game of whist at the assembly last

night. Colonel Davenport is coming tomorrow to lead him away."

"A game of—but Hubert doesn't belong to him! He's yours, is he not?"

"My father didn't specify it," she said. She gave a wan shrug. "I don't suppose it was

something he thought of, to change his will over a bull calf."

"And your cousin put him up for stakes?" Trev said incredulously. "A bullock?"

She lifted her face. He saw for the first time that her eyes were red and swollen.

"Colonel Davenport has tried to buy him for a year now. He's offered a great deal of

money, but we never accepted. Cousin Jasper feels very badly about it. I think he was not

himself."

"Was he drunk, the stupid devil?"

"I don't know. I shouldn't think so. He said was trying to be affable with the other

gentlemen. Lady Shelford won't allow him to gamble for coin."

Trev scowled. "He sounds a very fool."

"He is not quite—" She pulled her apron from the calf's searching mouth. "He finds it

difficult to be comfortable with people. I can understand it."

"I don't!" Trev said with exasperation. "What sort of man is this, to gamble away an

animal when he knows he has no right?"

"He's the earl," she said simply.

"He should buy him back for you."

She drew a deep breath. "Yes, he did try. And Colonel Davenport said he wouldn't part

with Hubert for any price now. He's going to show him at Hereford for the cup and then

take him about the country to all the exhibitions."

Trev made a skeptical sound. "There's a price that would change his mind, I vow."

"Yes," Callie said. "No doubt." She pulled a wrinkled handkerchief from her apron and

blew her nose. "But he turned down two thousand pounds."

Trev whistled through his teeth.

"In a year I might save that out of my pin money," she said thickly from behind the

handkerchief. "But I don't know what he would accept. And Hermey is going to live in

London. Where would I keep a shorthorn bull anyway?" Callie stared at the calf as it

nuzzled her skirt. "It's only that—" She turned away, blowing her nose. "I shall miss him

a little. I had not thought to say good-bye so soon."

He stood a moment, holding his hat, f licking his thumb against the brim. "This Colonel

Davenport is coming tomorrow?"

"Yes." She took a deep, shaky breath and turned back. "I beg your pardon, I don't mean

to burden you with my vapors. Did your mother take some stew?"

"I'm certain that she did. I left her under the command of the formidable Mrs. Rankin."

She smiled faintly. "I'm afraid we still have no cook. Lady Shelford doesn't wish to lend

out anyone from the kitchen."

"So I heard."

"I'll speak to her again this evening. Perhaps I can persuade her," she said.

"No, Callie. No."

She glanced up. Weeping did not complement her; the puffiness about her eyes

obscured any hidden spark of humor. He had a sudden desire to reach over and gather her

close and promise that she would not lose Hubert or Shelford Hall or any of the things he

knew she loved. With some effort, he resisted it. He had a bad habit of pledging things

that were out of his power.

Instead, he said, "I don't wish for you to plead anything more from Lady Shelford.

We'll muddle through without the undercook."

"There's a woman in Bromyard who might be in search of a new position. Mr. Rankin

was going to inquire. I'll see him again tomorrow, after—" She paused. "After Colonel

Davenport has taken Hubert."

She said it very bravely, which only made him want to beat this Colonel Davenport

senseless and then run her cousin through the heart with a saber.

"Perhaps he'll change his mind," he said.

She gave him a tremulous smile and shook her head.

"He might," Trev insisted.

For a moment she looked up at him. "Please don't make me hope for it."

"No—I suppose—forgive me. I wasn't thinking. May I walk you back to the house?"

"Thank you. I would rather not go back quite yet." She caught the rope on the calf's

halter and curled it around her hand, looking down.

"Don't cry, Callie," he said stupidly.

"No, no. I won't. I'm not."

He curbed himself fiercely from saying more. He could hardly bear to stand and watch

her hide her face under the bonnet. "Good afternoon, then," he said. "When you go in, tell

the footman that I brought the roses for you, not for your sister."

He arrived back at Dove House in a dark disposition. The ponderous carriage, purchased

for the sole purpose of providing a suitably glossy background for the Monceaux crest,

was no more than a nuisance now. The modest stable at Dove House was too small to

house it. His mother could not even rise from her bed, so there was little hope that she

would see it. As he stepped down at the gate, he told the groom to take up Mrs. Rankin

and drive the vehicle back to be lodged at the inn.

The innkeeper's wife was descending the stairs as he entered, clearly in some haste to

depart. "Beg pardon, your grace, she's sleeping, and I must be back to put a turkey on the

boil, or there'll be no supper in the parlor. Shall I send your manservant over to you?"

"My manservant?" Trev asked. "No, he's gone up to London since early this morning."

She gave him a shrewd look. "I hope you don't take it in bad part that I say so, but I fear

he hasn't gone nowhere. He's made himself more than at home in the taproom all the

living night and day."

"The taproom?" Trev repeated in astonishment. "You're mistaken. He slept here last

night and left at dawn."

She cocked her head. "Did he, your grace? But he told us that you'd put him up at the

Antlers for your convenience."

"I did no such—" He checked himself and then swore under his breath. "Tell me, how

tall is this manservant? Is he a big man?"

"Big? No, sir, not at all. He's less than a middling sort, I'd say." She looked at him with

a growing alarm. "He is yours, ain't he not? He hasn't choused me with some Banbury

tale of you putting him up with us?"

Trev's mouth flattened into a thin line. "Does he have a brindle dog with him?"

"Aye, that he does, one of them fightin' curs. We had to put it in the shed, and it barked

all night until he took the thing out to walk at dawn. He said it was your grace's animal."

"Deuce take the fellow! It is not."

"Then he's not your servant, your grace?"

"My God, I suppose I must claim him." Trev tossed his hat down on the hall table.

"Turf him out, Mrs. Rankin, and tell him to tie himself here at once if he cares to live

another day. You may bill his board to me."

The landlady looked relieved. "I'll send him to you straightaway, your grace. And

forbid him the taproom?"

"Oh, with my blessing. He won't be lingering in Shelford, in any event."

Trev cut short Barton's excuses and apologies, keeping him standing in the kitchen.

"Spare me the sad tale! Doubtless I should have known to scout the local taproom for any

pestilent acquaintance of mine engaged in a swindle."

"I didn't think you'd begrudge me and poor old Toby a bed, sir," Barton said

reproachfully. "You never did a'fore."

"Try, Barton—try to recall that I've turned you off. You are seeking other

employment."

"Sir." He shifted his feet, plunging his hands into his pockets. "Sir, I don't want no other

employment."

"What is it you expect of me?" Trev lowered his voice to an exasperated hiss. "I'm done

with blacklegs and sharpers. I have no work for you now."