It calmed her to reach this conclusion. She had been struggling in a welter of confused feelings ever since his return, unable to make sense of his intentions. As it all came clear to her now, the heavy feeling in her chest receded. It was not as if she had ever really believed that she would marry Trev. She couldn't even imagine it, in truth: living in France among strangers, dealing with aristocratic guests and the evil Buzot and great vats of wine. It was as improbable as her fantasies of Trev as a pirate and herself the captive governess who stole his heart by learning to wield a cutlass like a Cossack.

She smiled a little at her own absurdity. The kettle began to boil, a soft rumble in the quiet room. Callie made her tea and sat sipping it, trying to take a sensible view of her future. It was high time that she left behind these silly daydreams, before she became odd and ended up locked in some attic, collecting bits of string and candle wax and muttering.

She must exert herself to make the best of things as they were. She was dull and plain; a definite pronouncement had been made on the subject, and it was stupid to argue the point any further, no matter what Hermey and her father and the village goats might claim. They loved her—at least Hermey and her father did; she couldn't say about the goats—and people who loved one saw a different person, a person bathed in the f lattering light of affection. Look at how Hermey seemed so taken with Sir Thomas, who was certainly as dull as Callie, and perhaps even duller.

No, to live out her life as a spinster sister, politely unwanted, was impossible. She would marry Major Sturgeon in spite of his faithlessness. There was no other tolerable prospect. She knew the truth about him, and while she didn't enjoy knowing, there could be no further wound in it. Her eyes were open. It was a common thing among the ton, she believed, for a married couple to live quite-unrelated lives.

Before Trev went away, she would make sure that he knew she had accepted the officer's very f lattering proposal. He wouldn't depart thinking she was unhappy with her choice. She had never lied to him before, but she would.

A gentle knock made her put down her cup. The boot boy's muff led voice spoke the name of Madame brief ly as he slipped a folded paper underneath the door. She stood and peered down at the handwriting.