She gave a sigh. It turned to a cough, and he reached for her medicine glass, but she shook her head. "No, I don't wish to… sleep." The color was very high in her cheeks, so that she looked younger, almost a girl in the candlelight. "Trevelyan," she said. "Tell me, have you ever considered to… propose to Lady Callista Taillefaire?"

"Certainly. I've offered myself to her several times," he said casually. "But alas!"

"Alas?" His mother tilted her chin. "Do not tell me she refused you."

"Not everyone appreciates my virtues as you do."

She pursed her lips. "I dare say that Lady Callie… I believe she… has some appreciation."

"Do you? I'm f lattered. Her father was of another opinion, however."

She frowned a little, a pretty sulk, like a thwarted child.

He turned a page. "Mr. Thomas Haynes, of Oundle, will soon publish a treatise on the improved culture of the strawberry, raspberry, and gooseberry," he announced. "This can't possibly animate us so much, however, as the news that the Rev. James Piumptre has made considerable progress in printing his English Drama Purified, and it will appear in the early spring."

She put on a smile, only half attending. Trev feigned a concentrated attention to the journal, watching her fold the edge of the coverlet over and over with her fingers.

"It was before, then?" She looked up searchingly at him. "You asked her before you went away?"

He turned the magazine in his hands and rolled it into a cylinder. "Don't let us speak of this, Maman. Lady Callista has no desire to wed me, I assure you."

"But with Monceaux, the circumstances have so much… changed."

"Exactly. She would not wish to move to France, and leave her sister, and go away from all she knows."

"I think she might be willing."

"Maman—" he said.

"She can't wish to be a… spinster all her days."

"Please," he said, tapping the rolled journal against his fist. "Please."

She drew a deep, unhappy breath. "You love her."

"Damn," he said, staring into the dark corner of the room.

They sat without speaking. Trev felt all his lies and failures hovering on his tongue—only the knowledge that he would disappoint her yet more kept him silent.

"Is it money, Trevelyan?" she asked at length. "I know you have not told me… the whole. Do you have no money?"

"I have a great deal of money, Maman. A very great deal of it."

That he could say with full truth. She looked at him, her eyes large and brilliant in the unsteady light.

He drained his wine and set the empty glass on her table. "Come, madame le duchesse, don't you want me to find a girl of the old blood, to dignify Monceaux with her prestige?"

"No," his mother said. "I want you to be happy. Lady Callie would… make you happy."

He smiled wryly. "I'm not so sure I would make her happy."

"Why not?"