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."

Eleven

Eleven

"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.