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."