Read Online Lessons in French by Laura Kinsale - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Laura Kinsale
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made his cowardly bets. Callie despised the breed.
She hoped that he was merely passing through. The Bromyard fair had just ended, and
fairs always attracted such men. She thought she would make note of it to Colonel
Davenport. Just a word in the magistrate's ear, that whatever might be tolerated in
Bromyard, such activities were not to be countenanced in Shelford's village.
Four
BY NOONTIME, THE INHABITANTS OF DOVE HOUSE HAD full reason to be
grateful to Lady Callista. Not only had a hot meal arrived from the Antlers, but the
innkeeper's wife came with it. Mrs. Rankin insisted that she would stay to attend Madame
while his lordship's grace stepped down to the inn, where the barber was awaiting him
with water on the boil. A pair of men and a boy from Shelford Hall were already at work
clearing the chimney, and a basket of green apples sat on the front table, compliments of
Lady Shelford.
"You must call on her this afternoon, Trevelyan," his mother whispered, lifting her
hand weakly from the coverlet. "I shall undertake to survive alone for an hour, I pledge
you!"
He hesitated. But Mrs. Rankin shooed him toward the door, saying that it was no such
thing—Madame would not be alone. The innkeeper's wife was a tiny woman, but she had
the self-assurance of a scrappy terrier, admonishing Trev to have his coat brushed before
he presented himself at the Hall. He left her chiding his mother to take more beef stew or
find herself sorry for it, for if Lady Callista learned that Madame had not eaten well, it
would be a great shame and a black stain on the honor of the Antlers.
She did not use those words, precisely, but she managed to convey the importance of
the affair. Trev smiled as he closed the door. He was under no illusions. His family had
always been treated with friendly condescension in Shelford, tolerated but hardly
esteemed. It was Lady Callista's opinion that mattered to Mrs. Rankin.
It was Callie's opinion that mattered to him too. He submitted himself to the barber, had
his boots polished, made use of one of the inn's bedchambers to tie a fresh neck cloth,
compensated Mr. Rankin generously, and—having made himself plausibly presentable in
a lady's drawing room—hired the Antlers' postboy and groom to put a pair to his carriage
and drive him to Shelford Hall.
He arrived at half past two, which would give him the proper quarter hour to pay his
respects and convey his gratitude if she had not been in jest about her calling hours. He
hoped she had not. He carried a posy of soft white roses and russet-colored dahlias, cut
ruthlessly from his mother's tangled garden and tied with a ribbon. Small thanks, but the
best he could do.
The cream-colored limestone edifice of Shelford glowed like a Greek temple in the
autumn afternoon, a symmetrical facade of pilasters and porticoes set in a gem green
park. Chestnut trees dotted the rolling pastures, their leaves f laming with orange under
the sun. Trev was perfectly acquainted with the outside of the great house, in particular
the dark old yew under Callie's window, but he had never been invited to set foot inside.
A carriage was stopped before the stairs, disembarking a trio of well-dressed ladies. He
recognized none of them, but he judged their gowns to be expensive. The chaise had a
liveried footman, who sprang up behind as it moved away, grinding over the gravel down
the drive. Trev touched his card case in his pocket. He reminded himself that he was a
duke and a cousin of kings, even if they had been beheaded. He had a perfect right to the
title of useless aristocratic fribble.
The front door had already closed behind the ladies by the time Trev walked lightly up
the steps under the blank gaze of two footmen. He informed the porter that he requested
the honor of calling upon Lady Callista Taillefaire on behalf of Madame de Monceaux,
handed in his cards, and waited. He waited a very long time, cooling his heels on the
stoop,
She hoped that he was merely passing through. The Bromyard fair had just ended, and
fairs always attracted such men. She thought she would make note of it to Colonel
Davenport. Just a word in the magistrate's ear, that whatever might be tolerated in
Bromyard, such activities were not to be countenanced in Shelford's village.
Four
BY NOONTIME, THE INHABITANTS OF DOVE HOUSE HAD full reason to be
grateful to Lady Callista. Not only had a hot meal arrived from the Antlers, but the
innkeeper's wife came with it. Mrs. Rankin insisted that she would stay to attend Madame
while his lordship's grace stepped down to the inn, where the barber was awaiting him
with water on the boil. A pair of men and a boy from Shelford Hall were already at work
clearing the chimney, and a basket of green apples sat on the front table, compliments of
Lady Shelford.
"You must call on her this afternoon, Trevelyan," his mother whispered, lifting her
hand weakly from the coverlet. "I shall undertake to survive alone for an hour, I pledge
you!"
He hesitated. But Mrs. Rankin shooed him toward the door, saying that it was no such
thing—Madame would not be alone. The innkeeper's wife was a tiny woman, but she had
the self-assurance of a scrappy terrier, admonishing Trev to have his coat brushed before
he presented himself at the Hall. He left her chiding his mother to take more beef stew or
find herself sorry for it, for if Lady Callista learned that Madame had not eaten well, it
would be a great shame and a black stain on the honor of the Antlers.
She did not use those words, precisely, but she managed to convey the importance of
the affair. Trev smiled as he closed the door. He was under no illusions. His family had
always been treated with friendly condescension in Shelford, tolerated but hardly
esteemed. It was Lady Callista's opinion that mattered to Mrs. Rankin.
It was Callie's opinion that mattered to him too. He submitted himself to the barber, had
his boots polished, made use of one of the inn's bedchambers to tie a fresh neck cloth,
compensated Mr. Rankin generously, and—having made himself plausibly presentable in
a lady's drawing room—hired the Antlers' postboy and groom to put a pair to his carriage
and drive him to Shelford Hall.
He arrived at half past two, which would give him the proper quarter hour to pay his
respects and convey his gratitude if she had not been in jest about her calling hours. He
hoped she had not. He carried a posy of soft white roses and russet-colored dahlias, cut
ruthlessly from his mother's tangled garden and tied with a ribbon. Small thanks, but the
best he could do.
The cream-colored limestone edifice of Shelford glowed like a Greek temple in the
autumn afternoon, a symmetrical facade of pilasters and porticoes set in a gem green
park. Chestnut trees dotted the rolling pastures, their leaves f laming with orange under
the sun. Trev was perfectly acquainted with the outside of the great house, in particular
the dark old yew under Callie's window, but he had never been invited to set foot inside.
A carriage was stopped before the stairs, disembarking a trio of well-dressed ladies. He
recognized none of them, but he judged their gowns to be expensive. The chaise had a
liveried footman, who sprang up behind as it moved away, grinding over the gravel down
the drive. Trev touched his card case in his pocket. He reminded himself that he was a
duke and a cousin of kings, even if they had been beheaded. He had a perfect right to the
title of useless aristocratic fribble.
The front door had already closed behind the ladies by the time Trev walked lightly up
the steps under the blank gaze of two footmen. He informed the porter that he requested
the honor of calling upon Lady Callista Taillefaire on behalf of Madame de Monceaux,
handed in his cards, and waited. He waited a very long time, cooling his heels on the
stoop,
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