At least to her father's knowledge. Callie had taken some further lessons at Dove House—if not entirely in French.

"That was long ago," she said. She sat down on the chair beside the bed and locked her fingers together nervously.

Madame took several slow bites, pausing for breath between each one. "I thought once—" She gazed down at her tray. "I thought—perhaps—I detected an attachment between you and Trevelyan."

"Oh no!" Callie said instinctively. She held herself rigid. Madame had never mentioned such a thing before.

"Ah—I am full of nonsense in my head tonight." She smiled a little. "It was long ago, as you say."

Callie sat mute, unable to steer between the treacherous shoals of conversation she perceived threatening on each side. She wondered if taking recourse to the sal volatile and burned feathers on the nightstand would help.

"I do think he has matured well, do you not?" Madame said faintly. "Though he took a fall from a horse, he told me—such a shame, that it has marked his face. He was always a perfect Adonis." She drew a hoarse breath. "So says his doting maman!"

"Is the pudding sweetened to your taste, ma'am?" Callie said in a stif led voice. "It's from Mrs. Adam. Tomorrow we'll see into procuring a woman to cook."

"So good she is, Mrs. Adam! She has warned me again and again against Mrs. Easley, but—you know— she is not such a bad woman, after all." Her voice trailed off into a small cough.

Callie did not need to be told that Mrs. Easley had been all the cook that Dove House could afford. "I'm sure that we can find someone more suitable, now that your son has returned." She was a little vexed that every subject seemed to lead back to Trev, but it was hard not to be glad at the look of relief on Madame's pale countenance.

"Oh yes—everything is so much better now!" the duchesse said.

"I'll make inquiries directly. And until we locate someone, we can very well spare the undercook and a maid from the Hall." Callie paused. "If Lady Shelford approves," she added belatedly, recalling that she no longer had charge of the housekeeping staff at Shelford Hall.

"Do not trouble yourselves at Shelford! Trevelyan will—" Madame lost her sentence in a fit of coughing. It grew worse, lasting so long that the tray shook and the Frenchwoman struggled for air.

Callie finally took the tray and helped Madame to lie down, keeping her own countenance calm with an effort. Hardly a spoonful of the pudding had been eaten, and every gasp seemed weaker. Madame lifted her lashes when the spell at last diminished, clutching the coverlet.

"Oh, Callie," she whispered with a faint sound of despair. "I don't want to leave him all alone."

"Rest now," Callie said, stroking her forehead gently.