Trev's mouth quirked. "I see. And how did you dispatch the other two, ma mère?"

Callie took a sharp breath. She looked back and forth between her husband and the duchesse. "Trev! You can't be accusing your mother of… of—"

"Of blackmailing them all into jilting you?" He grinned. "Indeed not. I'm not accusing her. I'm about to get down on my knees and express my burning gratitude to her."

"It was nothing, my son," she said demurely. "Mrs. Easley obliged me by cutting up the papers and pasting them and seeing the notes delivered."

"Ma'am!" Callie exclaimed.

"I hope you are not too angry with me, chérie. I know that it hurt you a little each time, and for that I am very, very sorry." She gave Callie a worried look. "You did not greatly wish to marry any of them, did you?"

"Well, no, I didn't, but—"

The duchesse lifted her chin. "None of those men could have loved you as you deserve," she declared, "or they would not have paid the slightest heed to a silly note."

Callie was much struck by this view of the matter. "I suppose you're right," she said wonderingly. "Though I never thought any of them loved me at all."

"Fools," the duchesse and her son said at one and the same time.

They sounded so much alike, the one word so full of haughty French disdain, that Callie laughed and put her hands over her mouth. She wrinkled her nose against the sting that came to her eyes. "Oh," she said, "I am so fortunate to have you both."

Trev took her chin between his fingers and bent to kiss her gently on the nose. "Not you. I'm the lucky one here, ma mie. You are my fortune."

The End

Author's Note

Author's Note