Once before out of the Loyalty and Friendship which you bore So Nobly for my Late and Dearest Husband, you put Yourself at Great and indeed Mortal Peril for that which you Did Not Do. I depend on You then, that You will Not let that Sacrifice be in Vain, not on My Behalf, but in the Sacred Memory of Mr. Jem Fowler and to Protect his Innocent Child. I am in a Desperate way to Remove from England. I will tell you the Truth, that you may understand the Extreme Gravity of my Present Situation—I uttered a Second note, and it has now been Discovered. I will not attempt to justify my actions to you of all People. I was Imprudent, that I will Acknowledge. Jem would Forgive me, and I Beg that you will also and Help Me and my Blessed Child to Depart from England and reach Safety. E.F.

"Imprudent!" Callie whispered, opening her eyes wide. She stared at the swirling signature. She blinked and read the missive again. It still said the same things that it had said before. "Dear God."

It was a confession. It was not meant it to be so, of course. Trev had said she was a silly woman—she struck Callie as something very near to a raving imbe cile to have written this and handed it to a stranger.

Callie sat slowly, her knees buckling under her. She frowned down at the letter in her hands for a very long time. Once she started up from her chair, thinking to ring the bell and send to Dove House, and then sank down again without touching the pull. When she finally did send for a footman, it was to dispatch two messages—one, by word of mouth—to the Antlers, and the other, by a quickly written card, to Hermey's fiancé, Sir Thomas.

Finally Anne's discreet scratch came at the door, summoning her to have her feathers inserted. Callie folded the note carefully and slipped it into her bodice under the layers of gauze.

It had been Hermey's dashing idea to hold a masquerade, one taken up by Dolly with considerable enthusiasm. Callie had been too preoccupied with the circumstances of secretly entertaining a gentleman in her bedroom to pay much mind to the preparations, so that even though Hermey had regaled her with reports of the progress, she was astonished when she saw the transformation. The ballroom at Shelford Hall, which had not seen any large parties in Callie's lifetime, was fitted up as an enormous tent, canopied and draped with swags that alternated green and white with pink and lilac and yellow—all festooned with multicolored fringes and tassels. Under the radiance of the great crystal chandelier, with the music and the mixing of masked and costumed guests, the effect was dizzying.