He stopped so suddenly that her skirts swirled around his boots. With a harsh exhalation, he said, "I beg your pardon. But by God—what a meddling old crow. What does that fellow mean by calling on my mother now, when I daresay he's never set his foot in her house before?"

"He's a meddling old crow," Callie said wryly. "But you were perhaps a little disrespectful."

"Impudent, you mean. I suppose that will be all over town by noon."

"Oh no." Her mouth made a tiny quirk. "By the next quarter hour, I should think."

"Well then," he said. "Do you prefer the scarf or the bag?"

"Perhaps I should cover myself with a rug." They were nearly abreast of the first thatch-and-timber houses that lined Shelford's only street. No one else had passed them yet, but there were a few people walking and one horseman ahead. "Good morning," she said hastily, in response to a greeting from the gentleman who trotted past. Her steps were growing more unwilling as they approached the populated part of the street.

"This is a Mrs. Farr about to accost us, as I recall," Trev said under his breath. "Widely known for her kind soul and foul-mouthed cockatoo." He took off his hat and bowed, reckoning he'd best make an attempt to rehabilitate himself. "Good morning, ma'am," he said cheerfully.

"I declare!" exclaimed the apple-cheeked widow, dropping a quick curtsy toward Callie amid an abundance of petticoats spared from sometime in the last century. "Good morning, milady. It couldn't be our young Frenchman who has you on his arm, now?"

"Good morning, Mrs. Farr," Callie said softly. "Yes, indeed, here is Madame's son come to her."

"An excellent thing," Mrs. Farr said in her quavery voice. "There's nothing to top it. What a fine gentleman!"

"I trust you're as well as you look, ma'am," Trev said. It was easy to smile affectionately at Mrs. Farr. "And how does Miss Polly do these days?"

"Oh, she's as cross as ever she was. Just fancy you remembering Miss Polly!"

"How could I forget? That bird taught me how to have my mouth washed out with soap."

"Pshaw, you aren't supposed to hear what she says!" Mrs. Farr said, lowering her voice with a quaking chuckle.

"No? You should have warned me before I repeated it to my mother."

"Evil boy!" Mrs. Farr simpered. "You never did!"

Trev winked at her. "Come into the Antlers and sit down to a cup of tea with us, Mrs. Farr. Lady Callista has undertaken to help me find a new cook for Dove House. I've no doubt your advice would be invaluable."

"I should be glad to do what I can to help." Mrs. Farr picked up her skirts and stepped toward the inn with a briskness that belied her gray hair and ancient voice. "And to guard milady's virtue," she added with smug smile.