"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 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 de
sire 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 disposi tion. 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 f lattened 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 hie 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."
"You kept on Jock, sir," Barton said, his head bent. "You found work for him."
"As a valet! And I suppose you'd like to be my gardener?"
Barton looked up. "I'll do anything, sir! Only don't cast me off. Charlie washed his hands of me, and now me an' old Tobe ain't got nobody."
"Barton—" Trev leaned his shoulders on the wall, crossing his arms.
"Please, sir! Don't say no. After all the years I've been with you." He swallowed. "Please."
Trev gave a heavy sigh. He rested his head back and closed his eyes.
"Has I ever failed you, sir?" Barton asked. "Has I ever botched what you asked of me?"
"A hundred times," Trev muttered. He would have felt kinder kicking the dog away.
"I'll do better! There must be something I can do for ye," Barton said, his voice cracking. "Please."
"All right!" Trev stood upright. "All right, then. Don't snivel, for God's sake. I have a commission for you."
Barton's wide-mouthed grin spread across his face. "Sir? You mean it?"
"A single commission. One."
"Thank you, sir!" The man held himself up to his best height. "Whatever you wish!"
"I want you to purchase a bull for me," Trev said, "from a Colonel Davenport."
Barton nodded eagerly. "I'm a dab at a haggle, sir, and you know it. What's your limit?"
"No limit. The animal goes by the name of Hubert. The cost is no object."
"No object, sir?" Barton said, looking doubtful. "For a bull?"
"Shelford's prize bull. Davenport's to come and take him off tomorrow. Wait until that's done before you make your approach. Keep it quiet."
"Oh, aye, sir. Mum as a post. Don't want to drive the price up, eh?"
Trev could hear his mother begin to cough upstairs. He turned. "The price be damned," he said over his shoulder as he headed for the door. "Just make certain you get the bloody beast for me, will you?"
Five
WITH PAINFUL EFFORT, CALLIE KEPT HER COMPOSURE as Hubert ambled down the lane. She could have no complaint about the provisions made for his comfort: the drover offered water and tied him behind a cart full of hay. An exultant Colonel Davenport leaned down to shake hands with Cousin Jasper and turned his horse, trotting ahead of the cart as the little proces sion moved off. Hubert walked away, swishing his tail happily each time he snatched at a mouthful of hay.
Callie disengaged herself from her sister's sympa thetic hug and gave Cousin Jasper a bright smile as he tried again to stammer his regrets and apologies. The new earl wrung his gloves in his hands and looked miserable, blinking his wide brown eyes with a soft plea that she forgive him.
She had shed all her tears before dawn, brushing Hubert from his nose to his handsome rump, teasing out his tail pompom, buffing and polishing his hooves as if he were already going to a fair. It had given her something to do. Now, facing Cousin Jasper's wretchedness, she needed some further activity quite desperately.
"There, he's on his way. No more to be said." She interrupted the earl with ruthless cheerfulness. "Now I must walk to the village. Pray excuse me, Cousin!"
Hermey made no attempt to accompany her, for which Callie was grateful. She kept up such a brisk pace that by the time she reached Dove Lane, she was not quite so close to breaking down in tears, though she had to maintain a stern frown to prevent it. She had not intended to stop at Dove House, meaning to call first on Mr. Rankin at the inn and discover the news. But Trevelyan was just coming out, making h
is way through the overgrown garden.
He plucked at a long rose cane that attempted to grab his sleeve as he passed through the gate. "Good morning, my lady. May I give you my arm up the street? I'm engaged to escort this rosebush to the shops, but I'll fob it off."