"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 his 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."

Callie drew a deep breath. She felt her facade of forced cheerfulness slipping. "Good morning."

He tilted his head, smiling a little, looking at her with such unspoken understanding that she had a very strong urge to walk straight up to him, lay her head upon his elegantly tied neck cloth, and weep her heart out.

"You forget your mother, my lord," she said, taking refuge in a frosty tone. "Surely you don't intend to leave her alone? I can't think it wise."

He nodded in agreement. "Yes, it's always useful to pick a quarrel when one is feeling low. Come with me into the high street, and I'll undertake to start a brawl for your further diversion."

She felt a small smile welling up, overcoming the immediate threat of tears in her throat. "How civil of you."

"I know. Particularly as I'll be bound to wrinkle my only coat." He let the gate fall closed and took her arm. "My mother is much improved this morning, with some excellent nourishment and a good night's rest. Mrs. Adam has arrived with Lilly to undertake nursing duties, and I am expelled as a dangerous man."

She glanced at the house. "Mrs. Adam is here? I should go in and lend her help."

"No, you should not. She's certain that I intend to lure Lilly into the debauched harem that I maintain in the opium dens of Paris." He turned her toward the lane. "Be so good as to thwart me from this evil scheme. You can begin by distracting me with a walk to the post office."

She smiled, though it was slightly watery. "I see that it's my Christian duty, when you put it so. I only hope I may not succumb to your wicked plot myself."

"Oh, I have far more sinister plans for you. I mean to entice you to a dish of tea in the public parlor at the Antlers. I will certainly set a chair for you, and possibly I may even speak French."

Merely walking at his side, with her gloved hand resting on his arm, was rather alarming. She remem bered that he had brought roses, though she had not told anyone they were meant for her. "Thank you for your call yesterday," she said shyly. "And for the beautiful posy."

"Hardly enough to convey my gratitude," he said.

She had not, of course, supposed the f lowers were meant as anything more than an expression of thanks. "We'll inquire about the Bromyard woman at the Antlers," she said, grasping at a practical topic. "I have high hopes of her."

"The dahlias reminded me of your hair," he said pensively. "That deep copper color. Only a little darker."

"Oh," Callie said. She lifted her skirt and stepped over a tuft of grass. "I do hope she knows how to cook. Truly cook, you know. Something that your mother would like."

"And the roses-pretty and pale, with a f lush of pink. Very like your cheeks when you blush."

"A blancmange, perhaps," Callie said brightly. "Or a custard."

"Your cheeks are nothing like a blancmange, I assure you, my lady. And certainly not a custard."

"A blancmange would be the true test of her skill," Callie said with difficulty. "I think we should ask her to make a blancmange."

"They're the classic strawberries and cream. Very English."

"Any sort of fruit trif le would make a good test, I agree," she said hastily. "But strawberries are out of season."

"Indeed, but they aren't," he said. He slanted one of those looks down at her that left her covered in confusion. It was very vexing. She ought to tell him to stop. But she didn't precisely wish him to stop. She rather wished to fall right back in love with him, like a veritable ninnyhammer, and believe against all fact and reason that he meant what he said.

"So you have met my sister and Lady Shelford?" she asked, her voice rather too loud. She could see some pedestrians in the sun-dappled lane, far down where it widened into something that could reasonably be called a street.

"Lady Shelford," Trev said. "I met her, yes. An awe-inspiring woman, to be sure. I'm afraid I didn't remain long enough to have the honor of an introduc tion to Lady Hermione. She was engulfed in well wishers. Has a date been set?"

"Next month," Callie said.

"They're impatient lovers," he commented.

"But poor Hermey has had to postpone so much because of-" She hesitated, then said, "She's hardly been away from Shelford at all, or met any eligible gentlemen, until we went to Leamington to the spa. Our father was ill for a long time, you see, and then he passed away last year, so we have been in mourning."

"My condolences."

Callie did not look up at him. "Thank you," she replied in a small voice.