Her gaze lingered. He gave a small bow, finely calculated to avoid any presumption that she should notice him if she did not care to do so. She was quite beautiful in an unyielding way, her hair such a pale gold it was almost white, her features as strong and expressionless as some classical statue of Minerva. Her skin seemed so fine and thin that the bones showed too near the surface, as if she might crack like a marble stone if struck.

Trev made a deeper formal bow as she committed to walk across the room to him.

"Monsieur le duc," she said, holding out her gloved hand. "Bienvenue. I am Lady Shelford. Ah—f lowers! Thank you. You must have heard of our happy news. But you shouldn't have left your poor mama. How does she do?"

He found himself giving up Callie's posy, having little choice as she took it from his hand and passed it to the footman. Keeping any hint of irony from his voice, Trev conveyed his mother's heartfelt thanks for the magnificent basket of green apples. He was surprised to find that Lady Shelford condescended to lead him to the tea table and see that he was served. He had not thought he would rate so high in her social calculations. She even lingered with him. He took advantage of it to extend his felicitations on the betrothal and casually hope that Lady Hermione would not go too far away from Shelford when she was wed.

"Oh, they will live in town," the countess said in an uninterested voice. "He has some sort of situation in the Home Office. His duties keep him tied to Whitehall."

"Ah. London." Trev would have liked to pursue this topic, but he could not find a nonchalant way to ask where Callie would pasture her bulls in London. "That will be a gay life for Lady Hermione," he said politely.

"Indeed." She did not appear gratified by the thought. "You're recently come from Paris?"

"No, I went direct to Calais from my home," he lied, avoiding any possible acquaintances of hers who he might have been supposed to encounter in Paris.

"Of course. You did not wish to delay." She touched his arm, allowing her gloved fingers to trail across the back of his hand. "You must tell me anything that can be done for your poor mother. I might send someone to help in the kitchen, perhaps?"