"Quite likely. But your name need not be made public. 'He did it for the honor of a lady,' they'll say."

"Oh, that will cause a deal of frenzied speculation," she said in satisfaction. "Everyone will wonder who is this mysterious lady."

"No, of course it will be obvious I did it for you. Any constable could discover that. What else have these three fellows in common?"

She made a puff of dismissal. "No one would believe you did it for me."

"Why not?"

"Because." She stuck out her tongue at him. "Gentlemen don't do that sort of thing for me."

"They don't kill their rivals?" he asked in bewilder ment. "These Englishmen are such dull dogs."

"Well," she said with that little glint of mischief. "Yes, they are, rather."

He grinned at her. They had somehow stopped walking. She was looking up at him shyly, a clear invitation on her lips. The fact that she had no idea of it only made the latent enticement more tempting. Humble Callie with her kissable mouth and laughing eyes; she'd be astonished if he gave her a lesson, right here in the public lane, in what a red-blooded Frenchman would do.

"Good morning to you, my lady!"

Trev looked up, startled by the loud voice. Callie's fingers left his arm as if it burned her. A portly gentleman paused before them, the fan of his white beard rounding out his face, spreading like an old fashioned ruff over his clerical collar. He bowed toward Callie and nodded at Trev.

"Mr. Hartman," Callie said, sounding as if she could not catch her breath. "Mr. Hartman, oh yes." She became tangled in an introduction in which she could not seem to decide who to introduce to whom, or what anyone's name was. "That is-um, Monsieur-you'll remember our rector. Ah, of Monceaux. Monsieur… our parson!" She made a gesture of her hands as if she were shooing them toward one another.

"Of course." Mr. Hartman took off his hat with a practiced expression of concern. "I'm just on my way to pay a call at Dove House, monsieur le duc. I fear Madame is in a grave crisis?"

As he spoke, he assumed an odd affectation of an accent, so that Trev was moo-shur l'duck. The citizens of Shelford always took to French when they wished to put him in his place. Clearly Mr. Hartman did not approve of Callie's escort.

Her cheeks were the color of crushed strawberries. Trev was embarrassed too, caught enjoying himself while his mother was in a grave crisis. He was instantly annoyed with Hartman.

"She's a good deal better this morning, thank you," he said with easy English and a cool demeanor.

"Ah, she's improved." The news did not seem to please the parson. In fact his face drew downward into a more severe frown. "I felt deep apprehension from what I was told. I did not wish to leave her spiritually unattended at such a time."

"It's kind of you to come," Trev said dryly. As adher ents of the Roman Catholic rite, his family had seen very little of Mr. Hartman over their years in Shelford. "But I have some hope she'll survive for a few more hours."

"Well, certainly. I didn't mean, of course-" Mr. Hartman sputtered a little. "I should be glad to provide any comfort that I may in her extremity."

"Lady Callista has seen that my mother has every comfort," Trev said. "I suppose it's not too late to alter her popish tendencies, but I advise you to hasten."

"Really, sir!" Mr. Hartman gasped. "I had no intention, I assure you!"

"But pray don't let us detain you while she's in her extremity." Trev could see by the look Callie gave him that he was being outrageous. He took her arm again. "We're on our way to the Antlers for tea, leaving her to her fate. Good day!"

With a little application of force, he walked on, carrying Callie along with him. She threw a quick good morning over her shoulder and then allowed him to direct her forward. They walked at a brisk pace as far as the crossroad.

He stopped so suddenly that her skirts swirled around his boots. With a harsh exhalation, he said, "I beg your pardon. But by God-what a meddling old crow. What does that fellow mean by calling on my mother now, when I daresay he's never set his foot in her house before?"

"He's a meddling old crow," Callie said wryly. "But you were perhaps a little disrespectful."

"Impudent, you mean. I suppose that will be all over town by noon."

"Oh no." Her mouth made a tiny quirk. "By the next quarter hour, I should think."

"Well then," he said. "Do you prefer the scarf or the bag?"

"Perhaps I should cover myself with a rug." They were nearly abreast of the first thatch-and-timber houses that lined Shelford's only street. No one else had passed them yet, but there were a few people walking and one horseman ahead. "Good morning," she said hastily, in response to a greeting from the gentleman who trotted past. Her steps were growing more unwilling as they approached the populated part of the street.

"This is a Mrs. Farr about to accost us, as I recall," Trev said under his breath. "Widely known for her kind soul and foul-mouthed cockatoo." He took off his hat and bowed, reckoning he'd best make an attempt to rehabilitate himself. "Good morning, ma'am," he said cheerfully.

"I declare!" exclaimed the apple-cheeked widow, dropping a quick curtsy toward Callie amid an abundance of petticoats spared from sometime in the last century. "Good morning, milady. It couldn't be our young Frenchman who has you on his arm, now?"

"Good morning, Mrs. Farr," Callie said softly. "Yes, indeed, here is Madame's son come to her."

"An excellent thing," Mrs. Farr said in her quavery voice. "There's nothing to top it. What a fine gentleman!"

"I trust you're as well as you look, ma'am," Trev said. It was easy to smile affectionately at Mrs. Farr. "And how does Miss Polly do these days?"

"Oh, she's as cross as ever she was. Just fancy you remembering Miss Polly!"

"How could I forget? That bird taught me how to have my mouth washed out with soap."

"Pshaw, you aren't supposed to hear what she says!" Mrs. Farr said, lowering her voice with a quaking chuckle.

"No? You should have warned me before I repeated it to my mother."

"Evil boy!" Mrs. Farr simpered. "You never did!"

Trev winked at her. "Come into the Antlers and sit down to a cup of tea with us, Mrs. Farr. Lady Callista has undertaken to help me find a new cook for Dove House. I've no doubt your advice would be invaluable."

"I should be glad to do what I can to help." Mrs. Farr picked up her skirts and stepped toward the inn with a briskness that belied her gray hair and ancient voice. "And to guard milady's virtue," she added with smug smile.

Trev bowed gravely. "Everything I know of vice, I learned from your parrot, Mrs. Farr."

"Pshaw, you never did!" the widow said, sweeping ahead of them into the door of the inn.