frightening. I've had three offers myself and
survived them all."
"I know. I know !"
She looked so distressed that Callie rose and turned to her. "What is it? Now, do not
cry, love! I never thought you would be full of nerves over such a thing. He's the one who
should be anxious, and I've no doubt he's quaking in his shoes this minute at the thought
of making an application to you."
Hermey gave a choked sob. "Oh, Callie! I'm going to tell him that I want you with me
or I must refuse him, and I'm s-so afraid he will say no to it."
Callie paused. She met her sister's unhappy eyes. Then she turned and reached for her
nightcap, bending to the mirror and tucking up her hair. "You will tell him no such thing,
of course!" she said briskly. "You mustn't make a cake of yourself just when he's
proposed, you silly girl. Do you want to frighten him out of the house before you have
him fairly caught?"
"But I will tell him!" Hermey took a deep breath. "I don't care if he won't agree. I won't
leave you here alone with that… that—oh, I don't know what horrid name to call her!"
"Hush," Callie said, as her sister's voice rose. "He would think you addle-brained, my
dear, just when he's declared his deep love and abiding respect for you, to be told that his
bargain is two for one."
Hermey bit her lip. "Is that what he will say? That he loves me?"
"Certainly. That's what they all say."
"Well, if he truly does love me, then he'll let me have you with me. And your cattle
too!"
Callie laid her robe across the chair. She crossed to the bed and gave Hermey a hug.
"Perhaps he will. But pray do not tax him with it at the very moment that the poor man
makes his offer. There will be ample time to talk of such things later."
Hermione caught her hand as she pulled away. "Callie. I will not leave you here with
her. I couldn't bear the thought. I won't speak of it to him tomorrow, then—but I promise
you that I will." She lifted her chin defiantly. "And if he doesn't agree, then I will jilt
him."
"Excellent!" Callie said. "It's high time we started to even up the score."
An hour before sunrise, Callie was already making her way along the lane to Dove
House. The autumn air lay heavy with fog. They were still far from any snap of frost, but
the coolness of nighttime had begun to promise a chill. She pulled her hood closer and
assured herself that this early start was merely because she wished to avoid awkward
questions from Lady Shelford, not for any reasons having to do with pining or being
missed or anything of that nature.
She meant to prepare a breakfast, leave it set out on the parlor table under covers, and
return to Shelford Hall before anyone would suppose she had done more than make an
early visit to the farmyard. No one belowstairs at the Hall had questioned her need for
bread and bacon and butter. They were accustomed to any odd request from Callie for her
animals. But Dolly, Lady Shelford, was another matter. It would require some marvelous
persuasion, Callie feared, for her cousin-in-law to approve of lending out the undercook.
Callie wasn't hopeful about her prospects of success.
In the shadowy silence before dawn, she let herself into the scullery at Dove House and
laid out her burden. The kitchen was empty, but the fire had been banked properly and
took no great effort to revive. She envisioned a frigid wind blowing across the side of a
mountain. Casting herself as the pretty daughter of an old shepherd, she built up the fire
to a hot blaze in order to warm the rich and handsome traveler she and her faithful dog
had just rescued from the Alpine snows.
After she had renounced his fervent offer of matrimony in favor of the handsome-but-
poor blond mountain guide who had loved her since she was a child in the f lower-strewn
meadows, she slipped upstairs to look in on Madame de Monceaux. As she ascended, she
could hear a ponderous snoring all the way from the attic and supposed that the
survived them all."
"I know. I know !"
She looked so distressed that Callie rose and turned to her. "What is it? Now, do not
cry, love! I never thought you would be full of nerves over such a thing. He's the one who
should be anxious, and I've no doubt he's quaking in his shoes this minute at the thought
of making an application to you."
Hermey gave a choked sob. "Oh, Callie! I'm going to tell him that I want you with me
or I must refuse him, and I'm s-so afraid he will say no to it."
Callie paused. She met her sister's unhappy eyes. Then she turned and reached for her
nightcap, bending to the mirror and tucking up her hair. "You will tell him no such thing,
of course!" she said briskly. "You mustn't make a cake of yourself just when he's
proposed, you silly girl. Do you want to frighten him out of the house before you have
him fairly caught?"
"But I will tell him!" Hermey took a deep breath. "I don't care if he won't agree. I won't
leave you here alone with that… that—oh, I don't know what horrid name to call her!"
"Hush," Callie said, as her sister's voice rose. "He would think you addle-brained, my
dear, just when he's declared his deep love and abiding respect for you, to be told that his
bargain is two for one."
Hermey bit her lip. "Is that what he will say? That he loves me?"
"Certainly. That's what they all say."
"Well, if he truly does love me, then he'll let me have you with me. And your cattle
too!"
Callie laid her robe across the chair. She crossed to the bed and gave Hermey a hug.
"Perhaps he will. But pray do not tax him with it at the very moment that the poor man
makes his offer. There will be ample time to talk of such things later."
Hermione caught her hand as she pulled away. "Callie. I will not leave you here with
her. I couldn't bear the thought. I won't speak of it to him tomorrow, then—but I promise
you that I will." She lifted her chin defiantly. "And if he doesn't agree, then I will jilt
him."
"Excellent!" Callie said. "It's high time we started to even up the score."
An hour before sunrise, Callie was already making her way along the lane to Dove
House. The autumn air lay heavy with fog. They were still far from any snap of frost, but
the coolness of nighttime had begun to promise a chill. She pulled her hood closer and
assured herself that this early start was merely because she wished to avoid awkward
questions from Lady Shelford, not for any reasons having to do with pining or being
missed or anything of that nature.
She meant to prepare a breakfast, leave it set out on the parlor table under covers, and
return to Shelford Hall before anyone would suppose she had done more than make an
early visit to the farmyard. No one belowstairs at the Hall had questioned her need for
bread and bacon and butter. They were accustomed to any odd request from Callie for her
animals. But Dolly, Lady Shelford, was another matter. It would require some marvelous
persuasion, Callie feared, for her cousin-in-law to approve of lending out the undercook.
Callie wasn't hopeful about her prospects of success.
In the shadowy silence before dawn, she let herself into the scullery at Dove House and
laid out her burden. The kitchen was empty, but the fire had been banked properly and
took no great effort to revive. She envisioned a frigid wind blowing across the side of a
mountain. Casting herself as the pretty daughter of an old shepherd, she built up the fire
to a hot blaze in order to warm the rich and handsome traveler she and her faithful dog
had just rescued from the Alpine snows.
After she had renounced his fervent offer of matrimony in favor of the handsome-but-
poor blond mountain guide who had loved her since she was a child in the f lower-strewn
meadows, she slipped upstairs to look in on Madame de Monceaux. As she ascended, she
could hear a ponderous snoring all the way from the attic and supposed that the
Similar Books
