Callie peeked up at him. The only overt signs that he was now a very wealthy lord were his excellent carriage and elegant dress. He seemed to be traveling without pomp, or any retinue beyond Jacques. She rather liked him for it, that he had not changed his ways on regaining his family's riches and titles. Dolly had insisted on every point of ceremony since her elevation to the Countess of Shelford. Cousin Jasper's vague indifference to the dignity of his new title only seemed to goad his wife into greater concern for his position. She made certain that the smallest mark of respect toward the earl should not be overlooked.

It was a relief to escape, even for an hour, from the stif ling atmosphere that had been established at Shelford Hall. High form and etiquette always made Callie feel as if she should consult Burke's Peerage to make certain her name was actually in it, and discover how she ought to address herself in letters.

"I'll pass by the Antlers on my way back," she said, on a more comfortable subject, "and have them send over a hot dinner by noon. That must suffice for now, but their victuals are very plain, and I think it best to have a cook in the kitchen, so that Madame's appetite can be tempted with more delicate fare."

"Thank you. I hadn't even thought of sending to the inn."

"If you'll excuse me, I'll go up and attend your mother and make her comfortable before I go."

"Thank you, Callie." He pushed himself to his feet as she rose. "Thank you. I can't believe—" He shook his head with a baff led sound. "Who are these chuck leheads who let you slip out of their grasp?"

Callie was conscious of a sudden rush of blood to her cheeks. "Hardly that. They were made to pay handsomely for the privilege of relinquishing my hand, I assure you."

"So I should hope," he said. "Blackguards. Are you a great heiress, then?"

"Well, yes," she admitted. "At least, I suppose I am. After the last settlement—it does tote up to a rather large sum."

"How much?" he asked bluntly.

She bent her head. "Eighty thousand," she said in a smothered voice.

"Good God."

"So you see," she said, lifting her face, "I'm hardly an object for compassion."

"May I make you the object of my violent and unrestrained ardor?" He made a motion as if to loosen his neck cloth. "I'm a bit tired, but perfectly willing."

"My calling hours are from twelve to three, if you wish to importune me violently," Callie said, drop ping a quick curtsy. "But now I must see to your mother."

"Thank you." He gave a weary snort. "How many times have I said that? I'll try if I can to achieve some originality when I've had more sleep."