He nodded in agreement. "Yes, it's always useful to pick a quarrel when one is feeling low. Come with me into the high street, and I'll undertake to start a brawl for your further diversion."

She felt a small smile welling up, overcoming the immediate threat of tears in her throat. "How civil of you."

"I know. Particularly as I'll be bound to wrinkle my only coat." He let the gate fall closed and took her arm. "My mother is much improved this morning, with some excellent nourishment and a good night's rest. Mrs. Adam has arrived with Lilly to undertake nursing duties, and I am expelled as a dangerous man."

She glanced at the house. "Mrs. Adam is here? I should go in and lend her help."

"No, you should not. She's certain that I intend to lure Lilly into the debauched harem that I maintain in the opium dens of Paris." He turned her toward the lane. "Be so good as to thwart me from this evil scheme. You can begin by distracting me with a walk to the post office."

She smiled, though it was slightly watery. "I see that it's my Christian duty, when you put it so. I only hope I may not succumb to your wicked plot myself."

"Oh, I have far more sinister plans for you. I mean to entice you to a dish of tea in the public parlor at the Antlers. I will certainly set a chair for you, and possibly I may even speak French."

Merely walking at his side, with her gloved hand resting on his arm, was rather alarming. She remem bered that he had brought roses, though she had not told anyone they were meant for her. "Thank you for your call yesterday," she said shyly. "And for the beautiful posy."

"Hardly enough to convey my gratitude," he said.

She had not, of course, supposed the f lowers were meant as anything more than an expression of thanks. "We'll inquire about the Bromyard woman at the Antlers," she said, grasping at a practical topic. "I have high hopes of her."

"The dahlias reminded me of your hair," he said pensively. "That deep copper color. Only a little darker."

"Oh," Callie said. She lifted her skirt and stepped over a tuft of grass. "I do hope she knows how to cook. Truly cook, you know. Something that your mother would like."

"And the roses—pretty and pale, with a f lush of pink. Very like your cheeks when you blush."

"A blancmange, perhaps," Callie said brightly. "Or a custard."

"Your cheeks are nothing like a blancmange, I assure you, my lady. And certainly not a custard."

"A blancmange would be the true test of her skill," Callie said with difficulty. "I think we should ask her to make a blancmange."

"They're the classic strawberries and cream. Very English."