Lessons in French (14 page)

attain.

Trev put down his cup. "Damme, you spent thirty guineas on those things?"

"Worth every groat, sir," Jock snarled.

Trev would admit that they made the big man look quite the Cossack. All he required

was a saber and some tassels hanging off his ears to be fit to ravage a town. But Trev

made it a strict policy never to mock his valet's sense of style. He did not care to have one

of those ham-sized fists in his teeth.

"You'd better take them down to the inn directly and find out a launderer," he advised.

"Perhaps they can be boiled."

"And shrink to nothin', and bleach besides," Jock mourned.

"Then you can give them to me," Trev said soothingly. "I'll wear them to bed, like a

sultan's pajamas."

Jock made a rumbling growl, stalking toward the kitchen door.

"You're certain this doctor has our right direction?" Trev asked after him.

"No, sir, I told 'im to go to Madrid," Jock snapped, holding the door in his giant paw so

that a gust of freezing wind blew in Trev's face.

"You're so fetching when you're savage," Trev murmured.

The door closed with a solid thud, shutting out the sleet. Trev contemplated the dark

splay of liquid trickling across the stone floor, oozing its way toward his polished boot.

He heaved a sigh and got up to find a mop.

Callie had been out to feed the orphan calf and back to change long before her sister and

Lady Shelford joined her in the breakfast room. She sat beside the window, gazing out at

the drooping trees and sleeting rain, trying not to dwell upon the empty gate where one

large and placid bull had not been awaiting his morning treat.

"It's my sister's
personal
correspondence, ma'am." Hermey paused by the door,

allowing Lady Shelford to precede her into the room. "She is quite mature enough to

dispense with anyone's approval of any letters she may receive."

The countess was carrying a sealed missive. She ignored Hermione and held it up,

looking at Callie. "I do not think it suitable for Lady Callista Tallefaire to be in

clandestine communication with a bachelor, however mature she may be. Not in this

house!"

"Clandestine!" Hermey exclaimed. "Oh, that is not true! It was delivered quite openly!"

Callie stood up, a familiar tightness forming at the base of her throat. She could not

bear a scene with Dolly, not just now. "What is it?" she asked dubiously.

"It's a letter addressed to
you
, Callie," Hermey said hotly, "and she has no right to keep

it from you!"

"I'm sure it's only a note from Mr. Rankin about the cook for Dove House." Callie

looked at her cousin's wife. "Please, read it if you like, ma'am."

Dolly held the note, looking down at it. Callie could see that there was an imprint of

deer antlers upon the cover, the inn's insignia. She hoped that Lady Shelford would not

decide to throw some obstacle in the way of hiring a cook.

"Most unseemly," Dolly said, lifting her pale and elegant chin. "I don't know why you

wouldn't use an appropriate intermediary when dealing with a common innkeeper."

"I've known Mr. Rankin since I was a little girl, ma'am," Callie said.

"Indeed." She walked across the room and handed the note to Callie. "Pray leave any

reply beside the table in the hall, and it will be forwarded for you. You need not concern

yourself to convey it in person."

"Thank you, ma'am." Callie kept her voice gentle. She wished only to escape the room.

Hermey could not wed her baronet and give them an opportunity to depart quickly

enough for Callie. She took the note, laid it down beside her cup, and offered to pour

some tea. She did not want to retreat too hastily, for fear of arousing new suspicion.

There was a slight chance that the letter was from Trevelyan—it was thicker than a mere

confirmation of the cook's acceptance needed to be, and he might have used the inn's

stationery to write. She dreaded to open it here. His earlier note to her had been quite

unexceptionable, but with Trev there was no predicting.

"I've already had my tea," Hermey said as Callie filled a cup for Lady Shelford. "Come

up to my room, Callie, when you've done with yours. I want to tell you what Lady

Williams said to me yesterday. You won't credit it, but she insists that striped redingote

only needs to be edged with blue fur to make a winter coat. Pink and blue for winter! Can

you just imagine what a sight I should make? Come and help me choose another lining."

Callie took advantage of this transparent scheme, since they both knew that Dolly

found nothing so tedious as discussing anyone's wardrobe but her own. "Perhaps the

coquelicot wool you purchased in Leamington?" she asked.

The countess made a sound of revulsion. "Please, you can't mean it, Callista. That

garish poppy orange? It should be burned, to spare me having to look at it again. You

ought to have bought a few more yards of the primrose I'm going to use for my pelisse,

Hermione, as I advised you."

"I think the coquelicot would be lovely," Hermey said loyally. "Come with us, ma'am,

and we'll spread it out on my bed with the pink. You'll see."

"I couldn't bear to look at it," Dolly said.

"I'll come." Callie took a perfunctory sip of tea and then walked to the door, carefully

timing her excuses to coincide with the arrival of a footman with Lady Shelford's barley

water. "I can bear to look at anything."

"Yes," Dolly murmured, "we've noticed."

Callie walked with Hermey to her sister's bedroom. Neither of them spoke. As soon as

the door closed, Hermey turned. "She's jealous! I vow it. You should have seen her

yesterday, pawing at Madame's son. It was revolting. She can't even tolerate that he

brought you a posy from his mother, of all things!"

"Oh dear, I hoped no one knew of that."

"Why shouldn't anyone know it?" Hermey demanded. "He made sure to correct the

footman about it, and rightly so. I hope he may elope with you and put her in her place!"

"I'll be certain to write to you from Madagascar if he does." Callie broke the seal on her

letter.

"Perhaps that's from him," Hermey said, leaning over her shoulder.

"No doubt these are my instructions on how to make a ladder out of bedsheets." Callie

stepped away. "You laid the coquelicot wool in your cedar trunk, if I recall."

"You noodle, you don't truthfully think I'd pair that with
pink
?" Hermey shook her head

and put her hand over her eyes. "And I won't peek, I promise."

Callie looked down at the letter. It was directed to her, under cover of Shelford Hall, in

a precise, broad hand that she did not recognize. She had not really expected it would be

from Trev, but it was not from

Mr. Rankin, either. She frowned, allowing the damp outer wrap to fall away.

My dearest Lady Callista Taillefaire,

I humbly beg you will accept my heartfelt apologies for causing you distress at our recent

encounter. Such was far from my intention. My only possible defense is that, in my

wonder at seeing you, I allowed my feelings to overcome me.

Yet I cannot pretend that I came to Shelford without the express hope of calling upon you.

I had intended to request your permission in writing before I imposed myself. However, I

found myself taken utterly off guard to realize that I was in your presence. I think now

that I should have picked up a newspaper and feigned that I did not exist. Indeed, how

should I suppose you would even recognize me—instantly, as I did you?

You think me a scoundrel, of course. And so I am. By what audacity I make this request, I

myself can hardly fathom. You have and you should refuse me. Nay, I think you would be

even more disgusted if I should tell you that my wife, God rest her soul, passed away

these two years ago, and it was not a happy marriage, to my shame.

What a botch I make of this. I am not a man to whom words come easily. I do not wish to

impose myself on you, and yet I would do what lay within my poor power to stand your

friend and amend the unforgivable.

I have removed from the Antlers so that you may be easy, and will remain a guest at Col.

Wm Davenport's house at Bromyard until Friday. I believe you are acquainted with him,

as he tells me he has recently obtained a singular bullock from the Shelford stock.

Do I have any hope that I have not sunk myself beneath reproach? If Friday passes and I

have no sign of it, I shall know and leave you in peace.

God bless and keep you, Lady Callista.

Yr Servant,

John L. Sturgeon, Maj.
7th Royal Dragoon Guards

"Oh, do tell me what it is!" Hermey made an impatient little hop. "You look as if you've

seen a ghost!"

Callie drew a deep, shaky breath. "Indeed. I believe I have." She handed the letter to her

sister.

Hermey snatched it and read, bouncing on her heels. Her mouth began to open wider

and wider. She looked up at Callie as she finished. "And who is this gentleman? Is he a

scoundrel in truth? Callie! Oh my, what have you been up to while no one was

attending?"

"I haven't been up to anything, I assure you. I was once engaged to marry Major

Sturgeon. You don't recognize his name?"

"Oh," Hermey said. "Ohhh." She sank slowly down onto the window seat and read the

letter again. Then she looked up. "You've seen him?"

Callie nodded. "He came into the Antlers yesterday morning, when I was discussing the

cook with Mr. Rankin."

"What did he say?"

"Very little. He requested to call on me, and I refused, and he looked as if he'd like to

run me through. And then he left. I can't imagine what he supposes to gain with this." She

sat down on the dressing stool and pulled her shawl closer around her in the bedroom's

chill. "Oh, I hope he will not persecute me all week."

"Persecute you! But it's so romantic!"

"Not in the least." Callie lifted her chin. "His wife has died, bless the poor woman, and

now he wishes to take another look at my fortune. No doubt he needs a mother for his

orphaned children too."

Hermey looked down, still holding the letter. "No, I suppose… you would not consider

it."

"Certainly not. The man cried off, Hermey. Don't you even remember how angry Papa

was? No reason given, but then Major Sturgeon up and married that Miss Ladd within the

two-month. It was ghastly."

"Yes, but—it was all so long ago, wasn't it? He's had a change of heart."

"I doubt that very much. I suppose you were a bit young to know the particulars. You

must have been no more than—oh, fourteen perhaps, at best."

Hermey bit her lip. "I do remember that it made you cry."

"Merely on Papa's behalf," Callie said staunchly.

"Men are horrid." Hermey stood up and f lung the letter. It fluttered into the air and

gently down onto the carpet.

"Well, I've not had much luck with them, but I'm sure that you'll find it a very different

matter." Callie leaned down and retrieved the letter. "For one thing, you would never

wear coquelicot with pink."

Hermey gave her a distracted smile and sat down again on the window seat. She toyed

with the new ring on her hand, tracing her fingertip round and round the opal cabochon.

Callie watched her sister's profile against the gray light. Quite suddenly, she remembered

Hermey's fear that Sir Thomas Vickery might not wish to have a spinster sister intrude on

his marriage. "Oh—" she said and stopped herself.

Hermey looked up.

Callie avoided her eyes and spread the paper on her lap. She felt a tightness in her

throat, some thing threatening to fill her eyes. She cleared it with a cough.

"It's such an odd letter," she said, pretending to read it again. "My first impulse was to

tear it up, but I must confess—this part where he admits he's making a botch of it…"

"Perhaps he's realized he made a botch of it years ago," Hermey said fiercely. "Which

he most certainly did."

"He does say it was not a happy marriage. Perhaps he was…" Callie tapped her fingers

on the sheet. "Well—things can happen, I suppose. Gentlemen find themselves…

embarrassed."

Hermey looked at her aslant, her neat eyebrows raised. Callie did not know if she

understood.

"I think perhaps he was in love with this other lady," Callie said.

"Oh poo. Then why did he ask you to marry him?" Hermey asked naïvely.

"Papa arranged it. But—" She broke off, at a loss to explain to her sister that it was

quite likely Major Sturgeon had not been faithful to Callie during their engagement. "I'm

not the one to cause a gentleman to forget his prior feelings, I don't think."

Hermey rose abruptly and crossed the room. She sat down on the bench and gave Callie

a hard hug. "This dreadful major doesn't seem to have forgot you, though. I wish you may

make him fall wildly in love, and then give him the cut and let him pine away until he

dies of consumption."

"While writing poems in a garret."

"A freezing garret. With rats."

Callie turned the letter and squinted at it. "I'm not certain Major Sturgeon could bring

himself to write a poem."

"For you, he would do anything!" Hermey opened her arm in an eloquent wave.