She stood by the sitting room window now, the room silent and empty behind her. It was very hard not to cry. She saw Mr. Downie go by in the street below, but she felt too shy to wave or call out, and there was no need, for she couldn't host a breakfast as her father had-it would seem a very strange thing for a spinster lady to invite a group of gentlemen and farmers to her rooms.
She had felt conspicuous enough arriving alone at the Green Dragon with only Lilly in her company, but the innkeeper knew her well and made her comfort able, kindly sending Farmer Lewis's offering of a jug up to her room. She wrote the good farmer a note of thanks, with a mention of how her father had always especially enjoyed to drink the product of his orchards, and wished him the best of luck with his entries this year. She sent it down with the boot boy. Then she did weep, just a little.
Her own stock was not to arrive until this evening, moving at a careful, steady pace along the back lanes the fourteen miles from Shelford. She herself had embarked much earlier than usual. The brief note Trev had left for her in the medicine chest had not been very informative, instructing her only to arrive at the Green Dragon as early as she could, and send Lilly out to the shops directly.
A great deal of shouting erupted below her as some crated pigs and geese had to be moved in order to accommodate the passing of a large closed van drawn by a pair of oxen. Callie recognized one of the Agricultural Society officers, Mr. Price, trying to settle a dispute over how wide the lane for traffic must be kept. He made a valiant effort, but after the van had lumbered through, the space narrowed rapidly behind it again.
She watched the vehicle creak to a halt across the street, just past her window, waved into place by two very large and daunting men in powdered wigs and matching green coats that stretched taut over their broad shoulders. Even before the doors were opened, they set about erecting the pen and tarpaulins to hide their entry. Callie bit her lip, her heart beating faster. She had never seen any cattle brought in a van before, though crates of the smaller stock often arrived on drays. But while the patient oxen stood waiting, the body of the van shifted and rocked ponderously on its axles in a manner no sheep or pigs would ever cause.
The crisp tarpaulins spread out in the morning sun, displaying a richly painted coat of arms with the name Malempré beneath. A gentleman came to the door of the ancient half-timbered tavern opposite to observe the proceedings. She could not quite see his face, but he was dressed in a very smart cape and tall crowned beaver hat. The way he lounged with elegant nonchalance against the doorway was all too familiar to Callie.
The pair of uniformed handlers paused as he spoke to them. A crowd was gathering, but more men in green coats seemed to appear from nowhere, waving and pushing the onlookers back. A boy who tried to peek under the tarp was summarily lifted by his collar and deposited in a watering trough, much to the amusement of his elders. Such curiosity about what lay behind the tarps was always discouraged by the jeal ously competitive herdsmen, and often not so gently.
From her vantage point above, Callie could see the doors opened, but she caught only a limited sight of horns and dark shoulders as the ramp thundered hollowly under the hooves of something obviously huge. It was Hubert, without a doubt. She stood holding her breath to see how he would accept the pen and tarps. But whoever handled him seemed to have him in control, no doubt aided by a number of Bath buns. The hanging tarps shook and shivered, waves passing over the coat of arms. Then they settled, showing only the pokes of elbows and occasional tug to keep the corners firmly closed.
Behind her, at a scratch on the door, Lilly entered with a bandbox on her arm. "You're desired to go to the dressmaker's shop in High Town, my lady," she said with a slight curtsy, her eyes dancing. "And here is a new bonnet for you to wear after you go there."
Lilly was clearly privy to a good deal more of the scheme than Callie yet knew, but the maid pressed her lips together and became provokingly mute about anything she had not been instructed to impart. Trev's charm had taken full effect on "Miss Lilly." Callie had already discovered that there was little hope of prying more out of her than she was willing to say.
Drawing a deep breath to fortify herself, Callie allowed the maid to help her with her cloak. Trev's plan was in full motion, and like someone caught in a rising f lood, she would be swimming as fast as she could to keep her head above water now.
The dress was a deep gentian blue, with a high-waisted satin ribbon over a corset that cupped and prominently lifted Callie's breasts. From the puffy f lounces at her shoulders, the neckline swept so low, she hardly dared look down. This expanse of her skin was covered, in a hypothetical sort of way, by a wisp of gauzy white scarf that seemed to want to work its way free with every move. Callie feared that this was no more than a false hope for modesty.
"Magnifique!" the dressmaker kept muttering to herself as she pinned and tucked and then placed the hat on Callie's head. She drew the sweeping front of the brim down over Callie's eyes and f luffed out the glittery blue veil that covered her face and the mass of red hair that was displayed behind. When Callie looked in the mirror through the veil, she saw a figure of mysterious fashion, slender and formidably stylish, perfectly dressed from the tight blue sleeves to the raking plume of the pale ostrich feather in her hat. "Magnifique!" The modiste congratu lated herself again. "Vous l'aimez, madame?"
Callie could hardly breathe in the tight corset. She swallowed and gave a slight nod. Indeed, it was impos sible to say she didn't like the dress-since she didn't even recognize the lady she saw in the mirror, she could only agree that it was a splendid costume. The modiste laid a soft cream-colored cashmere shawl over her shoulders, and Callie pulled it round herself, trying to hold it over her exposed breasts. But the dressmaker would have none of that.
"Non, non, madame," she said in French, fussing with the shawl. "You will allow the drape, eh? There. Perfect. If you will be so good…?" She gave a curtsy and opened her hand toward the door.
Callie had been informed by Lilly that she was now a Belgian lady of some wealth, who spoke both French and English, but she was to prefer French. Since Callie's French was only as polished as her ancient weekly lessons with Madame de Monceaux-and Trev's long-ago tutorials of quite another sort-she said nothing at all but did a great deal of nodding and murmuring wordlessly.
She emerged from the fitting room, looking about for Lilly. But the maid had vanished from the shop. Instead, against the light from the window, a tall figure turned toward her. Trev held his hat and a polished walking stick together in one gloved hand, looking extremely handsome and utterly continental. He smiled as he took her hand to his lips, raising his brows in a glance of pure masculine appreciation.
Callie felt the color rush up into her cheeks. She lowered her face quickly, but he lifted her chin on his fingers. "Magnifique, I must agree," he said softly. He also used French, which only reminded her more strongly of those long-ago days of ardent secrets between them. "Hold your head up, ma chérie. You're beautiful."
She raised her chin. She wasn't, of course, but she supposed that behind a dark veil she could play the part. As he stood close to her, he bent his head and let his lips drift over hers, with the gauze between them, while the dressmaker made little clucks of approving delight. Callie's heart felt as if it were beating too fast for her to breathe.