Callie lowered her face. "It's my pleasure to do what I can."

"The whole town has felt your kindness. But my family-you have been good to us beyond any hope that we… can repay you."

"Indeed, no, ma'am. Don't speak of repayment. Please do eat a little more!"

"I know your father did not approve of-any intimacy, may God bless him," Madame said. "I didn't blame him."

Callie had been fifteen when the émigré family moved into Dove House. Her father had been willing enough for her to take lessons to improve her French with Madame and her daughter, but in his curt summation, whatever wealth and rank the Monceaux had held before the Revolution, by the time they reached Shelford they were living upon little but pride and thin air, however refined it might be. And when her papa had discovered, somewhat belatedly, that a handsome son of Callie's own age had returned from school to live with his grandfather and mother and sisters, the earl's cool ness congealed to ice. The French lessons at Dove House had ceased.

At least to her father's knowledge. Callie had taken some further lessons at Dove House-if not entirely in French.

"That was long ago," she said. She sat down on the chair beside the bed and locked her fingers together nervously.

Madame took several slow bites, pausing for breath between each one. "I thought once-" She gazed down at her tray. "I thought-perhaps-I detected an attachment between you and Trevelyan."

"Oh no!" Callie said instinctively. She held herself rigid. Madame had never mentioned such a thing before.

"Ah-I am full of nonsense in my head tonight." She smiled a little. "It was long ago, as you say."

Callie sat mute, unable to steer between the treacherous shoals of conversation she perceived threatening on each side. She wondered if taking recourse to the sal volatile and burned feathers on the nightstand would help.

"I do think he has matured well, do you not?" Madame said faintly. "Though he took a fall from a horse, he told me-such a shame, that it has marked his face. He was always a perfect Adonis." She drew a hoarse breath. "So says his doting maman!"

"Is the pudding sweetened to your taste, ma'am?" Callie said in a stif led voice. "It's from Mrs. Adam. Tomorrow we'll see into procuring a woman to cook."

"So good she is, Mrs. Adam! She has warned me again and again against Mrs. Easley, but-you know- she is not such a bad woman, after all." Her voice trailed off into a small cough.

Callie did not need to be told that Mrs. Easley had been all the cook that Dove House could afford. "I'm sure that we can find someone more suitable, now that your son has returned." She was a little vexed that every subject seemed to lead back to Trev, but it was hard not to be glad at the look of relief on Madame's pale countenance.

"Oh yes-everything is so much better now!" the duchesse said.

"I'll make inquiries directly. And until we locate someone, we can very well spare the undercook and a maid from the Hall." Callie paused. "If Lady Shelford approves," she added belatedly, recalling that she no longer had charge of the housekeeping staff at Shelford Hall.

"Do not trouble yourselves at Shelford! Trevelyan will-" Madame lost her sentence in a fit of coughing. It grew worse, lasting so long that the tray shook and the Frenchwoman struggled for air.

Callie finally took the tray and helped Madame to lie down, keeping her own countenance calm with an effort. Hardly a spoonful of the pudding had been eaten, and every gasp seemed weaker. Madame lifted her lashes when the spell at last diminished, clutching the coverlet.

"Oh, Callie," she whispered with a faint sound of despair. "I don't want to leave him all alone."

"Rest now," Callie said, stroking her forehead gently.

The duchesse closed her eyes. She breathed shallowly, her lips working as if she would say more. But she sighed instead, holding on to Callie's hand. A single tear slid down the side of her face.

Callie stopped in the kitchen door, still startled at the sight of him, even though she should have been perfectly prepared. He sat at the kitchen table, watching Lilly measure tea into the pot, but he sprang up as Callie entered.

"Jacques! The tray." He glanced at a mountainous man who stood wedged between the table and a sideboard. "She didn't eat well?"

"Not very well," Callie admitted quietly, surrendering the tray to the scarred and gnarled hands of his hulking servant. "Lilly, you needn't carry up the tea after all. She's lain down to sleep now."

"Bring it to the parlor," Trevelyan said. "There's a fire started there."

Callie had been about to see if she might discover some supper for him, but he was already at her elbow with a light touch that had resolve in it. She glanced about quickly for Lilly as she found herself propelled up the short stairs and across the dark hall to the parlor. She did not really think he was going to despoil and plunder her person, or anything nearly so interesting, but the town of Shelford would be honor-bound to assume so, having exhausted the latest volumes of The Lady's Magazine and La Belle Assemblée, and being in grave want of a fresh topic of conversation.

In the firelit room, he set the chairs back from the hearth. "I beg your pardon. I hope you may draw a breath in here," he said. "I don't remember that the chimney used to smoke this way." He placed a chair for her. "I won't keep you long, I promise. Miss Lilly, you'll remain with us after you pour out the tea."

"Yes, sir." Lilly curtsied willingly. Mrs. Adam's pert maidservant was not always so eager to oblige, but she was clearly enthralled by a handsome gentleman who called her "Miss."

Callie was fully conscious of the master stroke he delivered in complimenting the maid and openly ordering her to remain as chaperone. Lilly was sure to portray it in a positive light to Mrs. Adam. From there it would be passed to all the society of Shelford who might be supposed to have any business to comment upon Lady Callista's concerns. This comprised a large circle, even discounting the goats.

His manners could be faultless when he cared to exercise them-a strict grandfather of the ancien régime and a gracious mother had seen to that. He perfectly comprehended the most arcane demands of courtesy, even if he had always been equally pleased to disregard them at his whim.

"Lady Callista-tell me-what do you think?" he asked bluntly as he sat down.

Callie bit her lip. "She's very happy that you're here."

He made a sound in his throat, a half-angry laugh. "Overdue as I am, you mean. God forgive me." He closed his hands on the arms of the chair for an instant and then said, "I'll summon a medical man from London tomorrow. What can some country surgeon know?"

Callie only nodded, watching Lilly pour the tea. She feared that another physician could do no more than ease the way a little, but she did not wish to say so.

"Please, if you can aid me in finding some staff- the expense is no object," he said. "A housekeeper and cook and some maids. And someone who can coax this abominable chimney to draw. Whatever is required. I wish the best that can be had, but I have no notion how to discover them."

"Of course. I'll commence to look directly in the morning. We can find a temporary cook and a maid in a few days, I think," Callie said. "But the neighborhood is thin of help, I fear. A good housekeeper may take some weeks to procure."

"Weeks!" he said.

"In the meantime, I'll make certain that things are managed better here."

He looked up at her. Callie met his eyes for just an instant. She saw the same f lash of knowledge and despair that she had seen in his mother's face. "I would be grateful," he said. "What an insufficient word."

"I'm truly glad if I can be of use," she said. "I haven't many duties to engage me at home now."