"Oh, you skewered him quite well yourself," Trev said.

"I hope so," she mumbled.

"What a very rude fellow," Mrs. Farr said. She peered at Callie with new interest. "I'm sure you ought not to know such a person, milady."

"No!" Callie said instantly. "I don't. That is-" She bit her lip. "I really don't know him at all, or wish to. I hope that you don't suppose-that anyone should think-oh, please don't mention-"

"I wouldn't breathe a word!" Mrs. Farr said, which Trev took to mean she would wait at least until Callie was out of sight before she began to spread the tale. He didn't care for the speculations that were likely to result from a story of some stranger accosting Lady Callista in a public inn. But as Callie f loundered through a disjointed sentence, he could see that she was unable to summon any coherent explanation in the face of Mrs. Farr's growing curiosity.

"Major Sturgeon is beneath Lady Callista's notice," he said abruptly, judging that the truth was better in this case than the rampant conjectures that were bound to occur in a place like Shelford. "As a man who broke his word to her, he deserves no recognition from her, or from anyone who stands her friend."

"No, is that who he is?" Mrs. Farr gasped. "One of those villains who cried off on our Lady Callista? I declare, that he would dare to show his face in Shelford! That he would dare to speak to milady! Does he suppose he can worm his way back into your graces and propose again?"

"He is married now, Mrs. Farr," Callie said gently. "Doubtless he would simply like to express his deep regret or some such thing."

"His deep regret that his wife is an ill-tempered shrew, one hopes, and marrying anyone but you was the greatest mistake of his sorry life," Trev remarked.

Callie rewarded him with a tiny smirk. She seemed to be recovering her composure. "Oh, I should like that. I might have let him call, if he were going to say that."

Mr. Rankin paused in the door, peering in with a puzzled look. "Did the gentleman say he was leaving?"

"Driven off with his tail between his legs," Trev said.

"But he left his bags."

"Throw them into the street," Trev advised and enjoyed Callie's sudden giggle.

"He said he was staying the week," Mr. Rankin protested.

"Oh dear." Callie bit her lip. "What can he want in Shelford for a week?"

"Did he annoy you, milady?" the innkeeper asked anxiously. "He seemed a perfect gentleman, and so I was sure I ought to offer him a seat in here, instead of the tap."

"No, no, it was nothing," Callie said.

"I believe he recalled an urgent appointment," Trev said. "With a halibut."

"Indeed, I hope he found nothing to offend him about the Antlers."

"It was nothing of the sort, I assure you, Mr. Rankin." Callie sat up in her chair. "The gingerbread smells delicious; I hope we might taste it soon. And have you had a reply from the cook in Bromyard?"

"I have, milady. I was about to tell you when the officer gentleman arrived. She is at liberty to start on Saturday, and sent a recommendation from her employer. But two other families wish to take her on, and she advises that she cannot accept a post for less than thirteen shillings the week."

"Thirteen shillings!" quavered Mrs. Farr. "For a cook-woman?"

"Oh-she is in great demand, then?" Callie asked.

"I fear so, milady. I understand that the only reason she was willing to entertain my inquiry is because she would prefer to live within a day's drive of her family in Gloucester, and the other offers are farther afield."

"But why is she leaving her employer?"

"She's been these past ten years with a lady who now intends to make her home with a married daughter, due to her declining health."

Callie looked at Trev. "Thirteen shillings is a shocking swindle."

"No doubt she scents my desperation," he said. "My want of a convincing blancmange has carried all the way to Bromyard."

"I suppose if she's been with a lady in declining health, she must be accustomed to producing meals to tempt a delicate appetite," Callie said.

"The letter describes her just so, milady," said Mr. Rankin. "I'll fetch it for you." He bowed and went out.

"I think we might be wise to leap at this," Callie murmured. "Thirteen shillings or not."

"I'm wholly in your hands," Trev said. "She may gouge me to her heart's content if you think she can provide what my mother requires."

She gave a decisive nod. "Very true. There's no use in trying to haggle her down. We haven't the luxury for that. Mr. Rankin-" As the innkeeper returned, she took the letter and perused it brief ly. "I believe we must request her to come as soon as she may. If you'll bring me a pen and paper, I'll write out an offer."

"Make it fifteen shillings," Trev said.

"Fifteen?" Mrs. Farr groaned. "I hope my old cook doesn't hear of this, or I shall have no peace."

"I understand you, Mrs. Farr, I do!" Callie peered into the inkpot that the innkeeper provided. "But truly, it's a crisis. You may tell Cook that the duke is French and has no sense, and it's only to be expected that he'd be choused."

"Make it eighteen shillings," Trev said grandly. "Make it a guinea!"

"A guinea!" Mrs. Farr emitted a scandalized cry and took a deep draught of her smelling salts.

"You see?" Callie said, dipping her pen. "A complete f lat. Fourteen is our firm offer."

He winked at her. She gave him a bright glance and then bent to her task.

Callie parted from Trevelyan and Mrs. Farr outside the door of the Antlers. Trev had offered to escort her on any further errands she might have, but she declined, cravenly unable to endure more inquisitive looks and interested greetings. She walked down the street, hardly knowing where she was going. She was by no means accustomed to so much disorder in her feelings. For some years now-for nine of them, to be exact-she had found her pleasures in the quiet rhythm of seasons and animals. They had their certain habits and small adventures. They did not propose to come and see if she would climb down from her window at midnight, or jilt her and then request to call on her with a burning look. They might make her laugh with delight or weep with loss, but they never made a compliment to her complexion.

She had, of course, imagined a thousand times how she would accept the groveling change of heart from each of her suitors, starting with Trev. He was to have written her passionate, brooding letters and declared that his life was forfeit if she would not have him. That was after he had become unthinkably wealthy and recovered Monceaux, and declared on his knees that her fortune meant nothing to him and never had. He would take her penniless from the side of the road and threaten to shoot himself, or sail to Madagascar and become a pirate-which was just the sort of thing Trev would do-if she refused his love. After suitably ardent persuasion, she would reluctantly give up her plan to dedicate her life to good works and tapioca jelly, and accept his suit. Afterward they would become pirates together, and she would wear a great many pearls and rubies and skewer British officers.

Major Sturgeon, on the other hand, was to have behaved with considerably more circumspection, no doubt because her imagination had matured a few degrees by the time she grew out of her teens. He would have seen her across the room at a London ball, having pined in silence for many years. But now, at the sight of her, he could no longer contain his feelings. He would write her a sonnet and send it anonymously. It would be full of remorse and regret, and he would stand in the rain outside her house and stare for hours at the door. She thought perhaps he would finally find a way to come into her path and beg to call on her, only in a rather more tender and miserable tone of voice than he had used in the Antlers' parlor, rather than sounding as if he would like to call her out.