Callie knew he had not eaten anything at the assembly. In the f lickering shadows from the candle, his face seemed grim. As Lilly came into the chamber with a tray, he let go of Callie's hand and went to prop pillows at his mother's head. Then he stood back uncer tainly, looking like a man in a sickroom—helpless.

"The fire has gone out in the kitchen," Callie said, offering him a task elsewhere. "Is there someone who might see to it?"

"Jacques," he said immediately. "I'll speak to him." He made a courtesy toward his mother, bowed again to Callie, and left the room.

Relieved at his departure, she took the tray from Lilly's hands and arranged it for Madame. It was a natural thing; she had often done so for her father. The Frenchwoman lifted her lashes and gave a faint thanks. "I must apologize—" she murmured.

"Don't worry yourself, ma'am," Callie said briskly. "When the fire is rekindled, Lilly will bring up some tea." She sent the young maid downstairs and busied herself with an inventory of the medicine glasses and spoons on the bedside table, watching from the corner of her eye as Madame lifted an unsteady morsel of the pudding to her mouth. "How pleased I am that your son has come home!"

Even in her weak state, Madame's face seemed to come alight. She laid down the silver. "It is such bliss to me, Lady Callista. You cannot conceive!"

"But you must eat, you know, so that you have the strength to entertain him in fine style."

Madame de Monceaux picked up the spoon duti fully. But she laid it down again. "My dear—" She turned and gave Callie a wistful look. "You have been such a friend to us these years."

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.