To the nondiscerning eye, he might possibly resemble the lumps of covered garden bushes, assuming the bushes were small trees, but Trev feared he looked very much more like a bull with a pair of sheets and a counterpane laid over him. Trev was frantically trying to invent a reasonable tale to cover the situation when the advancing pedestrians appeared round the curve of the lane.

Trev looked toward them. Then he closed his eyes, let go of a harsh breath, and thanked every saint in heaven and a few well-known sinners in hell. It was only the new cook and his mother's nurse, with no other companions.

The cook paused a moment in her stride, gave the tableau in the garden an appraising look, and then walked stoutly forward, carrying her covered basket. The nurse stood stock-still, eyeing them suspiciously.

"Giving the linens an airing!" Trev said, trying for a lighthearted tone in the face of the nurse's glower. "We thought they could use more sun."

She did not appear to be amused. Indeed, she seemed to be making some effort to breathe, her chest rising and falling as she held herself ramrod-stiff.

"I told Nurse, him's a Frenchie duke," Cook said conversationally. "Eccentric."

Callie f lapped one corner of her sheet a little, to free it from where it threatened to tear open on the tip of Hubert's horn as the bull lifted its head. He took a step forward. The sheets began to slip.

Trev speedily altered his tactic, injecting a note of curt haughtiness into his voice. "My mother is sitting up in the parlor, Nurse. She's been awaiting you for some time to help her back to bed. You may use the back entry. Cook, if you will delay a moment, I'd like to see what you've brought in that basket to tempt her."

"Ah, sir," the cook said, nodding. "As you likes. The kitchen door's back round that way." She pointed obligingly for the nurse.

With a little scandalized shake of her skirts, the nurse strode round the corner of the yard, avoiding a collapsed sunf lower that lay across her path like a fallen soldier. She vanished just in time. Hubert was beginning to move, easing himself forward, his great nose lifted under the sheets in the direction of Cook's basket.

"What do you have there?" Trev asked.

"Bath buns," the cook said.

"Bath buns?" Callie exclaimed, taking a step back as Hubert pressed forward, moaning eagerly and trailing sheets. "Oh, thank the good Lord! Bath buns are his favorite. He'll do anything for them."

"SEIGNEUR," HIS MOTHER SAID, HER WHISPERY VOICE drifting from the parlor as Trev attempted to pass the door unnoticed.

He halted. Most mothers rebuked their sons by their full names when they were in hot water, but Trev had simply been "Seigneur" since he was old enough to dread the word. He knew he should have left by the stable gate, but he'd hoped the nurse had escorted his mother upstairs and back to bed by now.

He considered feigning that he had not heard, but Callie was already stepping past him. She had lured Hubert to the rear of the property and established him comfortably in the closed stable, surrounded by ample hay spiked with scattered pieces of Bath buns to keep him occupied. Trev had feared that the bull would bellow again if she left him, but she claimed the hay and buns would be sufficient distraction for the moment. They'd left Callie's mount with him and tied Major Sturgeon's horse again at the garden gate. Now, as Trev paused, plotting how best to abscond before he was obliged to explain himself, she took his sleeve and called, "He's right here, Madame." She gave him a little tug toward the parlor door.

Trev made an accusing face at her. She knew perfectly well what that "Seigneur" portended for him. He could bear any number of whippings from his grandfather, but to have his gentle maman call him on the carpet was more excruciating by far. Callie gave him a pert glance and a mock curtsy. She turned back as if to join Cook in the wrecked kitchen, but the grim-faced nurse appeared at the parlor door.

"Madame wishes to speak to my lady also, if she would extend the honor," she said in a stern voice.

"Hah," Trev said softly. He smirked and gave a bow as he gestured for Callie to precede him.

She shook her head quickly, but he took her elbow and used his superior height and leverage to grossly unfair advantage, ushering her bodily through the parlor door ahead of him. Then he stood with her in front of him like a shield.

"You may go upstairs, thank you, Nurse," the duchesse said mildly. "And close the parlor door, if you please." She waited until the nurse had shut the door with an offended rattle. Then she broke into an impish smile. "I fear she is very much… shocked… at this household."

"I'd better speak to her directly," Trev said, seeing a chance of escape. "We can't afford to lose such an excellent woman." He turned toward the door, ignoring Callie's clinging hand and accusing look at his desertion.

"Seigneur!" His mother stopped him. "I believe that I can soothe her… pelt-or is it feathers?"

"Feathers, ma'am," Callie said in a small voice.

"Thank you, my dear. Please sit down. I can do that soothing of feathers well enough myself. I wish to speak to you, Trevelyan. Before I expire of curiosity, and have no need of any nurse."

Callie sank into in the nearest chair, gripping her fingers nervously. Trev determined to take some control of the interrogation, since it appeared to be inevitable. "Very well, Maman," he said briskly. "What would you like to know? It's about the bull, I suppose."

"Yes. The bull. And the constable. And the bandage of your hand. And the much shouting, and your coat… torn, and the dog… and… a scurrilous fellow running about… whom I never saw before… in my life!" She panted a bit at the end of this list, overcoming a cough.

"Scurrilous? That would be Major Sturgeon," Trev said blandly.

"I think she means that other fellow," Callie said, sitting up straight. "I saw him too, Madame." She gave Trev a sideways look. "And Major Sturgeon is not precisely scurrilous."

"I beg your pardon, my lady." Trev was not altogether pleased to hear her defend the major, even mildly. "I thought he was persecuting you. But I notice that you arrived in his company this morning. Do you like him better now?"

"He was helping me to find Hubert."

Trev would have liked to inquire further into just how that came to pass, but he deemed it wiser to steer the topic away from Sturgeon and any other reason the constable might be calling at Dove House. Hubert was one thing; a warrant for his arrest was another. "So kind of him," Trev said, dismissing the major with a sardonic glance at Callie. "I suppose I must explain why the bull was in the house, Maman. It was to protect Lady Callista's reputation."

"My reputation!" Callie gasped.

He bowed to her. "You'll recall that you said you didn't wish for anyone to suppose you had stolen him back from Colonel Davenport."

"Well, no, I don't wish for anyone to suppose that, but that isn't why he was in the kitchen!"

"Then why was he in the kitchen?" Trev asked.

"Because you led him in there, I must suppose."

"And why would I do that?"

"To keep the constable from finding him with you, I presume!" she responded indignantly.

"And why did I have him with me?"

"You said you had tried to purchase him from Colonel Davenport," she said. "But I don't know why you had him-"

"Yes!" Trev interrupted triumphantly. "Why did I attempt to purchase him?"

She blinked, shaking her head. "Well-you said you wished to-I thought-you implied that-" She bit her lip. "I thought you wished to give him back to me."

"There, you see?" Trev said.

She looked utterly bewildered. "See what?"