"We ain't got your head for a numbers game, sir," Barton said humbly. "You're the lucky one. Charlie botched the calculations, and we come up short to pay out on St. Patrick when he won at Doncaster."

"That short? You'd better marry an heiress and be done with it."

"Ain't no heiress would have me, sir," Barton said.

"Then follow my example. Become an honest man."

Barton gave a snort. Then he began to chuckle.

"Go on," Trev snapped. "Get out of here before you wake the dead."

Callie was sitting at her dressing table, dreaming of escaping from pirates, wielding a sword like a muske teer while Trev kicked a scalawag overboard at her side. As her maid unwound the length of purple silk from Callie's head, Hermione peeked inside the door, interrupting Trev's desperate lunge to pull Callie from the path of a cannonball.

Her sister slipped into the room, holding her wrapper close about her. "You're home," she said. "I was hoping you wouldn't be too late. Mrs. Adam said they hadn't a thing to eat at Dove House."

"Nothing," Callie said. "And I'm afraid Madame has not long to live."

"Poor woman." Hermione walked restlessly to the window, plucking at the latch as if it were not closed properly. "But her son has come home? High time for that, they say. I didn't see him; is he a toler able gentleman?"

"Oh yes. Elegant manners." Callie watched her sister in the mirror. Hermey took after their mother, everyone said, with skin of smooth perfection and soft golden brown hair falling loose now down her back. The maid plucked at the ends of Callie's own red braids and began to unravel and spread them over her shoulders.

"Elegant," Hermey said. "Well, that's to be expected, I'm sure. He's Madame's son, after all. And a duke, or whatever sort of title they have over there now." She stopped her agitated pacing and made a sweeping f lourish with her thumb and pinkie finger, as if she were taking a pinch of snuff. "So very continental!" There was a f lush to her cheeks, a high color that was unlike her.

"Crushingly modish, I assure you," Callie said lightly.

"I'm sure you took him in dislike, then. It was good of you to offer to help."

Callie did not correct her. "I intend to do what I can for them," she said merely. "I mean to find some servants and see that the house is put to rights."

"Of course." Hermey made a distracted wave of her hand. She turned away and turned back again. "I was surprised to find you gone, though. I was looking for you after the waltz."

"Yes, I told Mrs. Adam-"

"I know. It's no matter. Only-" She hugged herself. A half smile of excitement curved her lips. "Your hair is so pretty when it's down! It looks like copper waves."

"Hermey." Callie tilted her head quizzically. "What mystery are you keeping from me?"

"Sir Thomas is coming to call on Cousin Jasper tomorrow!" she said breathlessly. "He told me so!"

Callie smiled at her. "Already!"

"Oh, Callie!" Hermey clasped her hands together, chewing her knuckles. "I'm so afraid!"

"Afraid? Of what, pray?"

Hermione took the hairbrush from the maid's hands. "Be so good as to go upstairs, Anne," she said primly. "I'll do that."

The maid curtsied and left the room. Hermey watched the door close behind her and then began to brush out Callie's hair. Callie could feel her sister's fingers trembling. "Hermey!" she exclaimed. "What are you afraid of?"

"It's just that-he said… he said he would do himself the honor of calling on the earl tomorrow. That means he's going to ask, doesn't it, Callie?"

"I should think so," Callie said. "He had no busi ness saying such a thing to you if he didn't mean it."

"I'm twenty," Hermey said. "Twenty! And it's my first offer."

"Well, you needn't make anything of that. You couldn't come out while Papa was so ill, and then you had to wait out the last year in mourning. You haven't even had a season."

"I know. But I'm almost-" She stopped, looking conscious.

"On the shelf?" Callie drew her hair over her shoulder, working at a tiny tangle. "Goose! I'm on the shelf, not you. You'll have your choice of suitors if you wish to wait until spring and go up to London. I hope you won't leap at this one if you don't like him."

"I like him," Hermey said. "Very much!"

Callie parted her hair and caught it, winding it about her head. Sir Thomas Vickery seemed a kind and quiet gentleman, the perfect sort of person to be perpetually an undersecretary. He rather reminded Callie of herself, which did not impress her greatly, but she could find nothing to object to in him. Indeed, she could only be glad that Hermey, who was a little f lighty, seemed to prefer a steady man. And he was drawn to her sister's vivaciousness no doubt-which would be just as well if the three of them were to form a household. At least there would be one person to make conversation at the dinner table.

"Well, then," she said. "If you like him that much, I advise you to wear that blue straw bonnet tomorrow and be in your best looks. I don't know how he can help himself but propose if he sees you in it."

"I think he will," Hermey said. "I know he will." She went and sat against the bed, still holding her wrap about her and shivering as if she were cold. "No, anything but blue, Callie. I think I will wear the apple green. Or the spotted lilac with the cream ribbon. Oh, I can't think. I don't care what I wear!"

"Calm yourself, my dear," Callie said at this aston ishing statement. Hermey always cared what she wore. "It's really not so frightening. I've had three offers myself and survived them all."

"I know. I know!"

She looked so distressed that Callie rose and turned to her. "What is it? Now, do not cry, love! I never thought you would be full of nerves over such a thing. He's the one who should be anxious, and I've no doubt he's quaking in his shoes this minute at the thought of making an application to you."

Hermey gave a choked sob. "Oh, Callie! I'm going to tell him that I want you with me or I must refuse him, and I'm s-so afraid he will say no to it."

Callie paused. She met her sister's unhappy eyes. Then she turned and reached for her nightcap, bending to the mirror and tucking up her hair. "You will tell him no such thing, of course!" she said briskly. "You mustn't make a cake of yourself just when he's proposed, you silly girl. Do you want to frighten him out of the house before you have him fairly caught?"

"But I will tell him!" Hermey took a deep breath. "I don't care if he won't agree. I won't leave you here alone with that… that-oh, I don't know what horrid name to call her!"

"Hush," Callie said, as her sister's voice rose. "He would think you addle-brained, my dear, just when he's declared his deep love and abiding respect for you, to be told that his bargain is two for one."

Hermey bit her lip. "Is that what he will say? That he loves me?"

"Certainly. That's what they all say."

"Well, if he truly does love me, then he'll let me have you with me. And your cattle too!"

Callie laid her robe across the chair. She crossed to the bed and gave Hermey a hug. "Perhaps he will. But pray do not tax him with it at the very moment that the poor man makes his offer. There will be ample time to talk of such things later."

Hermione caught her hand as she pulled away. "Callie. I will not leave you here with her. I couldn't bear the thought. I won't speak of it to him tomorrow, then-but I promise you that I will." She lifted her chin defiantly. "And if he doesn't agree, then I will jilt him."

"Excellent!" Callie said. "It's high time we started to even up the score."

An hour before sunrise, Callie was already making her way along the lane to Dove House. The autumn air lay heavy with fog. They were still far from any snap of frost, but the coolness of nighttime had begun to promise a chill. She pulled her hood closer and assured herself that this early start was merely because she wished to avoid awkward questions from Lady Shelford, not for any reasons having to do with pining or being missed or anything of that nature.