He hadn't expected to have the Runners on his track. After a narrow escape from a brickyard where he'd been meeting with a clerk from the Bank of England, they'd made London too warm for him in the circles where he was asking questions. So even while he was developing a deep suspicion that there was something amiss with Callie's fortune, he'd been forced to abandon the inquiry and leave for a little holiday in the country.

He should have avoided Shelford, of course. He'd meant only to make a brief pause there to face his final farewells. Getting inside Dove House had not proved to be difficult, but staying only a moment with his maman proved impossible.

"Who are these… Runners?" she asked, frowning a little.

"Fellows from London. Thief-takers by trade." He saw her glance up at him quickly and gave her an easy shrug. "It's about the bull, I suppose. Lady Callista's magistrate friend is a determined prosecutor, but they'll never discover me under your bed, eh?"

She looked at him in that way she had, sidelong beneath her lashes—the one that reminded him where he had inherited his unsteady nature. Not from his upright patrician grandfather, certainly. "Oh yes," she said with a little dismissive gesture of her hand. "I have had news of Lady… Callista. She engages herself again… to marry. It is a very stupid thing."

Trev grew still. He said nothing, only let it wash over him and past, a wave of emotion and anger and all the things he had no right to feel. So, she had done it. He'd advised her to. He gave his mother a tight smile. "Congratulations to her. Sturgeon, I suppose?"

"That military man… who left her at the altar before." She made a sound of vexation. "It is because… you went away. I cannot approve!"

"It isn't your place to approve, Maman, after all." He took firm hold of his composure, building a wall between himself and the space Callie occupied in his heart. "It's not a bad match for her. She wants to have a home of her own and a place for her cattle. He should be able to give her that much, at least."

The duchesse sniffed, wrinkling her nose. "He doesn't love her."

"What's that to say? It's a marriage, not a love affair. He'll respect her as his wife, that I can promise you."

"Bah, how is that so, that you can promise it?"

Trev shrugged. "I had a little talk with him on the subject. In a back alley."

She lifted her slender eyebrows.

"You know I won't let him hurt her, Maman."

His mother gave a vexed sigh. She put her handker chief to her face as it become a cough. He watched her, concerned and guilty to see how weakly she moved.

"You should sleep now, before Nurse hears you and comes back to discover you dancing jigs against her advice," he said.