Lessons in French

  The cook paused a moment in her stride, gave the tableau in the garden an appraising look, and then walked stoutly forward, carrying her covered basket. The nurse stood stock-still, eyeing them suspiciously.

  "Giving the linens an airing!" Trev said, trying for a lighthearted tone in the face of the nurse's glower. "We thought they could use more sun."

  She did not appear to be amused. Indeed, she seemed to be making some effort to breathe, her chest rising and falling as she held herself ramrod-stiff.

  "I told Nurse, him's a Frenchie duke," Cook said conversationally. "Eccentric."

  Callie f lapped one corner of her sheet a little, to free it from where it threatened to tear open on the tip of Hubert's horn as the bull lifted its head. He took a step forward. The sheets began to slip.

  Trev speedily altered his tactic, injecting a note of curt haughtiness into his voice. "My mother is sitting up in the parlor, Nurse. She's been awaiting you for some time to help her back to bed. You may use the back entry. Cook, if you will delay a moment, I'd like to see what you've brought in that basket to tempt her."

  "Ah, sir," the cook said, nodding. "As you likes. The kitchen door's back round that way." She pointed obligingly for the nurse.

  With a little scandalized shake of her skirts, the nurse strode round the corner of the yard, avoiding a collapsed sunf lower that lay across her path like a fallen soldier. She vanished just in time. Hubert was beginning to move, easing himself forward, his great nose lifted under the sheets in the direction of Cook's basket.

  "What do you have there?" Trev asked.

  "Bath buns," the cook said.

  "Bath buns?" Callie exclaimed, taking a step back as Hubert pressed forward, moaning eagerly and trailing sheets. "Oh, thank the good Lord! Bath buns are his favorite. He'll do anything for them."

  Eleven

  "SEIGNEUR," HIS MOTHER SAID, HER WHISPERY VOICE drifting from the parlor as Trev attempted to pass the door unnoticed.

  He halted. Most mothers rebuked their sons by their full names when they were in hot water, but Trev had simply been "Seigneur" since he was old enough to dread the word. He knew he should have left by the stable gate, but he'd hoped the nurse had escorted his mother upstairs and back to bed by now.

  He considered feigning that he had not heard, but Callie was already stepping past him. She had lured Hubert to the rear of the property and established him comfortably in the closed stable, surrounded by ample hay spiked with scattered pieces of Bath buns to keep him occupied. Trev had feared that the bull would bellow again if she left him, but she claimed the hay and buns would be sufficient distraction for the moment. They'd left Callie's mount with him and tied Major Sturgeon's horse again at the garden gate. Now, as Trev paused, plotting how best to abscond before he was obliged to explain himself, she took his sleeve and called, "He's right here, Madame." She gave him a little tug toward the parlor door.

  Trev made an accusing face at her. She knew perfectly well what that "Seigneur" portended for him. He could bear any number of whippings from his grandfather, but to have his gentle maman call him on the carpet was more excruciating by far. Callie gave him a pert glance and a mock curtsy. She turned back as if to join Cook in the wrecked kitchen, but the grim-faced nurse appeared at the parlor door.

  "Madame wishes to speak to my lady also, if she would extend the honor," she said in a stern voice.

  "Hah," Trev said softly. He smirked and gave a bow as he gestured for Callie to precede him.

  She shook her head quickly, but he took her elbow and used his superior height and leverage to grossly unfair advantage, ushering her bodily through the parlor door ahead of him. Then he stood with her in front of him like a shield.

  "You may go upstairs, thank you, Nurse," the duchesse said mildly. "And close the parlor door, if you please." She waited until the nurse had shut the door with an offended rattle. Then she broke into an impish smile. "I fear she is very much… shocked… at this household."

  "I'd better speak to her directly," Trev said, seeing a chance of escape. "We can't afford to lose such an excellent woman." He turned toward the door, ignoring Callie's clinging hand and accusing look at his desertion.

  "Seigneur!" His mother stopped him. "I believe that I can soothe her… pelt—or is it feathers?"

  "Feathers, ma'am," Callie said in a small voice.

  "Thank you, my dear. Please sit down. I can do that soothing of feathers well enough myself. I wish to speak to you, Trevelyan. Before I expire of curiosity, and have no need of any nurse."

  Callie sank into in the nearest chair, gripping her fingers nervously. Trev determined to take some control of the interrogation, since it appeared to be inevitable. "Very well, Maman," he said briskly. "What would you like to know? It's about the bull, I suppose."

  "Yes. The bull. And the constable. And the bandage of your hand. And the much shouting, and your coat… torn, and the dog… and… a scurrilous fellow running about… whom I never saw before… in my life!" She panted a bit at the end of this list, overcoming a cough.

  "Scurrilous? That would be Major Sturgeon," Trev said blandly.

  "I think she means that other fellow," Callie said, sitting up straight. "I saw him too, Madame." She gave Trev a sideways look. "And Major Sturgeon is not precisely scurrilous."

  "I beg your pardon, my lady." Trev was not altogether pleased to hear her defend the major, even mildly. "I thought he was persecuting you. But I notice that you arrived in his company this morning. Do you like him better now?"

  "He was helping me to find Hubert."

  Trev would have liked to inquire further into just how that came to pass, but he deemed it wiser to steer the topic away from Sturgeon and any other reason the constable might be calling at Dove House. Hubert was one thing; a warrant for his arrest was another. "So kind of him," Trev said, dismissing the major with a sardonic glance at Callie. "I suppose I must explain why the bull was in the house, Maman. It was to protect Lady Callista's reputation."

  "My reputation!" Callie gasped.

  He bowed to her. "You'll recall that you said you didn't wish for anyone to suppose you had stolen him back from Colonel Davenport."

  "Well, no, I don't wish for anyone to suppose that, but that isn't why he was in the kitchen!"

  "Then why was he in the kitchen?" Trev asked.

  "Because you led him in there, I must suppose."

  "And why would I do that?"

  "To keep the constable from finding him with you, I presume!" she responded indignantly.

  "And why did I have him with me?"

  "You said you had tried to purchase him from Colonel Davenport," she said. "But I don't know why you had him—"

  "Yes!" Trev interrupted triumphantly. "Why did I attempt to purchase him?"

  She blinked, shaking her head. "Well—you said you wished to—I thought—you implied that—" She bit her lip. "I thought you wished to give him back to me."

  "There, you see?" Trev said.

  She looked utterly bewildered. "See what?"

  "I did it for you, my lady. I wished to please you."

  "Well done, Seigneur," his mother said. "Our brains are quite cooked now."

  He turned to his mother. "And you also, Maman," he said. "I thought you would like it if I did something to make Lady Callista happy."

  The two women in his life both looked at him with their lips pursed, one with resentment and the other with dry amusement. "I see," his mother said.

  "Well, I do not," Callie said. "Why is Hubert dyed black, if you were only trying to buy him back for me?"

  "I must censure myself for that," Trev said, standing with his hands clasped behind his back, the better to look solemn and responsible. "I didn't call on Colonel Davenport myself, as I was preoccupied with my mother's situation." He glanced at Callie, to see if she would allow that as a defense. When she gave a little nod, acknowledging it, he continued. "So I delegated a… a gentleman of Jock's acquaintance, with full powers of negotiation to deal
with the colonel. I told him to purchase the bull at any price. I may have said to bring him to me under any circumstances. I was perhaps unwise in my choice of words. Or my choice of an agent."

  "Oh," Callie said. "Oh! Could this be the sharper who offered Colonel Davenport a huge sum for Hubert?"

  "Quite probably. Almost certainly. You see, Lady Callie," he said, with an air of hurt dignity, "it was not to use him for baiting."

  She cast her eyes down. "I never really thought you would do that."

  "Thank you." Trev cleared his throat. "I'm obliged to you. But it seems that, after being—ah— dismissed from the colonel's presence, in a rather abrupt manner, with the word that the bull was not for sale at any price, my agent discovered the animal wandering free on the road. Being a brainless but determined fellow, he saw this as an opportunity to convey Hubert to me, taking care to disguise him first by dyeing him a false color. And so, Maman—" He nodded toward his mother. "We are now in a fix."

  "But of course," she said, looking up at him appre ciatively. "I am in awe of the… greatness of… this fix. What do you propose to do?"

  "We must give Hubert back, ma'am," Callie said. "I can't keep him, I'm afraid, though I very much wish I could."

  His mother seemed to ponder this, studying Callie. "My son told me of this ridiculous card game where he was gambled away."

  Callie gave a small shrug. "It could not be helped. Hubert didn't really belong to me."

  His mother reached out to touch Callie's hand. "I'm so sorry, my lady. I know you… love the good creature. And I commend you well, Trevelyan—that you try to buy him again for Lady Callista. But it is—yes—a fix." She sat back, giving Callie a sidelong glance. "So you will do… what Trevelyan says, then? My son is so clever to fix a fix, you know?"

  "Do what?" Callie asked with a note of suspicion.

  "The cattle show… up to Hereford," the duchesse said. "I heard a little. It sounds to me like an… excel lent plan."

  "Oh no, ma'am, that will never do. I promise you. I would not dare to take Hubert to a show while he's in this state!"

  "Then what will you do with him?" his mother asked innocently.

  Callie clutched her hands together. She opened her mouth and then closed it.

  "I do believe that if he… remains here… he will be discovered from his… great bellow. It is a fine bellow, but… very loud."

  "Yes," Callie said wretchedly. "I fear so. Perhaps—" She turned to Trev with a helpless look. "Perhaps I could stay here and try to keep him quiet."

  "Until he sheds the dye?" Trev shook his head. "We'd never manage to hide him here that long. But I think I may have a likelier notion. It'll require a bit of nerve, but it ensures that Lady Callista wouldn't be accused of trickery and cuts short the whole imbroglio to a few days instead of weeks."

  "Nerve?" Callie asked dubiously.

  "Ah, but nerve is what Trevelyan has in abun dance," his mother said, with an approving nod. "Prudence—now that is a house of another color."

  "'Horse,' Maman," Trev said. "A horse of another color."

  "A horse, then. What is this… scheme, mon chère?"

  Trev paced to the window, looking out before he drew the curtains. Sturgeon's mount was still tied to the post. Jock and Barton seemed to have succeeded admirably in keeping the major and his minion at bay, but there was no saying when the reprieve would be over. Trev turned back to the darkened room. "We mean to get Hubert back to the colonel, yes? And I suggested that we pass him off as an imported animal and perhaps promote a contest as a diversionary course, which would do for a short time. Then—after it's been widely seen that she has no part in bringing him to the show, we'll have Lady Callista observe him there, 'recognize' him under the dye, and declare his true identity, with a suitable show of shock and dismay of course, at which time he can be handed over to his rightful owner, dye and all."

  "Brilliant!" exclaimed his mother, overcoming a cough.

  "Absurd!" Callie squeaked. "You mean for me to identify him? In front of everyone? I couldn't!"

  "Why not? You'd only have to say the truth, that this is Hubert, and he's been dyed. You're in the clear. Let the others decide how he came to be that way. I'll make sure no one finds out."

  "But—" She looked as if she might faint in her chair. "In front of everyone!"

  "That would be best. It would make it convincing."

  She gave a little moan, shaking her head. Trev couldn't help but smile as he watched her struggle with the idea. It appealed to him, this scheme, now that he had formed it in his mind—though he had the wit to keep some of the riskier details to himself until she was committed beyond recall. He resisted the urge to pull her up to him and kiss her into acquiescence, holding her cheeks between his hands and breathing his recklessness into her—a persuasion he'd used more than once in the past.

  He would have kissed her now, but for his mother's presence. Not that it would shock his maman. Oh no—it was that she would be all too delighted.

  "Come, you admitted to me that you've had no adventures lately," he said to Callie. "It'll be amusing."

  She steepled her hands and pressed her fingertips to her chin, looking at him wide-eyed. In the dim light she was pretty and delicate, like a small white f lower peeking out from under the shade of showier plants. Trev felt such a rush of love that it was almost a pain in his chest and throat—he had to grip his bruised hand into a fist and drown the feeling in sharp physical hurt, mill it down like an opponent in a brutal match.

  "A lark," he said with a smile and a shrug. "Like the old days."

  "Oh, did you make larks with Lady Callista—in the old days?" his mother inquired, lifting her eyebrows.

  "One or two," he said casually. "Long ago, Maman. Sometimes we took an outing. A—ah—a supplement to her lessons in French."

  "That is alarming… news," she said, not appearing to be at all alarmed. "I must hope you did not lead my lady to… assist you in any of your regrettable… pranks."

  "Regrettable! Come, do you call releasing a baboon amongst a crowd of spectators at a cockpit regrettable?"

  "Trevelyan!" his mother said. "You didn't involve Lady Callista with… a cockpit, I pray!"

  "I had no choice," he said gravely. "She was in charge of freeing the birds while everyone else was distracted."

  Callie gave a stif led giggle behind her gloves. "Yes, I was, ma'am," she admitted, lowering her hands. "But no one noticed me, I assure you."

  His mother looked at her with interest. "And what… became of the baboon?"

  "Oh, Trevelyan made sure he was all right," Callie said. "They had been going to make the creature fight with a poor little monkey, but they both got away."

  Trev chuckled. "A fine chase those two led us!"

  "Oh yes. If not for that peculiar old gentleman you knew, no one would ever have caught them. But he was a marvelous handler of monkeys! It was quite astonishing, ma'am. He coaxed the baboon right down from a cottage roof!"

  His mother nodded wisely. "How fortunate that my son… acquaints himself with marvelous… handlers of monkeys."

  "Indeed it was, ma'am," Callie agreed. "But Trev was used to know all sorts of…" She trailed off suddenly, looking conscious.

  "Riffraff?" his maman supplied in a helpful tone.

  "The old fellow was perfectly respectable, I promise you." Trev gave Callie a wink. "For a gypsy, at any rate. I daresay they're dancing for coins to this day with him."

  Callie smiled up at him warmly. He cleared his throat, having provided his maman with far more fodder for her impossible hopes than was prudent, and added regretfully, "But it's true, my lady—I suppose you could not consider such an unseemly trick now."

  "Seigneur!" his mother chided. She leaned on the arm of her chair, looking less vigorous than she had a few moments earlier. But she said with staunch effort, "Lady Callista… is not… so poor-hearted… as that, I am sure."

  Callie observed his mother with a worried expression. "But I am poor-he
arted. Oh my. But I suppose…"

  "It's in a humanitarian cause," Trev offered when she hesitated.

  She glanced askance at him. "What humanitarian cause?"

  "To save my skin."

  "Ah," his mother said, breathing with difficulty. She was clearly losing strength. "I do hope you will… rescue his… shameless skin, my lady. As a particular favor… to me."

  Callie sat still, an array of emotions passing in f leet succession across her face. Then she stood up. "Yes, ma'am. I'll do what I can. But will you give me permission to ring for the nurse and lie down now?"