Callie looked down at her hands clasped in her lap. He must be in great need of money. And since Trev, in spite of kissing her and informing her that his mother said he loved her, had shown more inclination to f lee to France than to propose, the major seemed to be her only remaining hope to avoid either billeting herself upon Hermey and Sir Thomas for life, living out her days under the whip of Lady Shelford's sharp tongue, or residing permanently under a pile of hay.

She was quite certain that Major Sturgeon intended to sacrifice himself on the Altar of Mammon and offer for her hand again. There was no other discernible reason for him to call on her. Heiresses must be thin on the ground in London this year.

The new Earl of Shelford appeared at the open door. Callie jumped to her feet, startled to find her cousin abroad and fully dressed at this hour. She performed introductions again, vexed to discover a slight quiver of apprehension in her voice. She hoped he would not ring for his wife. If anyone could drive Major Sturgeon off, it would be her ladyship. Though in truth, Callie wouldn't have been ungrateful for that. Caught between wishing to be rid of him and the apparent necessity of marrying him, Callie subsided into confusion and sat down again.

Lord Shelford was eagerly cordial to the major, as he was to everyone. He rang for coffee, complaining that Callie had overlooked this obligatory aid to any gentleman's comfort. The officer apologized again for his appearance and informed Lord Shelford of his spill from the horse. While his lordship expressed dismay and sympathy, Callie mused on the coincidence of two gentlemen, out of the very small number of gentlemen of her acquaintance, falling from horses within the same few hours. Perhaps they had collided with one another.

"Ah, I'm charged with a message from Colonel Davenport to you, sir," the major said in a slurred voice to Lord Shelford. "That bull of yours has got loose from its paddock. He asks you to keep a lookout. He thinks it may have an idea of wandering home."

"Hubert, do you mean?" Callie looked up. "Hubert is loose?"

"I don't know how he's called," the major said. "The bullock that Davenport won from his lordship in a wager, as I understand."

"Oh yes," Lord Shelford said uncomfortably. "That bullock. He's wandered off? Dear me. I suppose he will come here, yes. Nothing more likely." He cast a nervous glance at Callie.

"How long has he been out?" she asked sharply, standing up.