Callie hid her gasp in a choked laugh. "What a fortunate escape for you, then! And still you didn't return to me?"
"I could not, my love. I was posted to the West Indies."
She stood frozen in sick amazement at his gall. After breaking off with her, he had wed Miss Ladd and gone to Norwich to have three children; he had not been posted to the West Indies. For a moment she could think of nothing to say. They had been strolling slowly, and the door of the Gerard lay only a few steps ahead. It seemed to her to be a portal of escape now, a place she could run away and hide. A furious part of her wanted to tear off her veil and reveal herself, but she could not be so rash in spite of the ugly lump in her throat. She had to be rid of him.
"It's a very affecting story, Monsieur," she said, assuming a cold hauteur. "I thank you for telling me, but still I don't recall anything of our meeting. I think perhaps you have confused me with another lady. Now I must leave you. Adieu."
She detached her arm forcibly from his clasp, in spite of his quick objection, and glanced back toward Charles. The footman came forward with a determined look on his face. Callie felt a wave of relief as the big servant imposed himself between her and Major Sturgeon. Charles escorted her up the steps. She dared to glance back once and was alarmed to see that the major followed them right into the hotel. She hurried her pace, going directly to the staircase. Only when she reached the upper f loor did she pause, catching her breath. He hadn't the effrontery to pursue her that far, at least.
She looked at Charles. "Merci," she said in grateful French. "I did not know how to escape him."
"Ma'am, I don't speak that Froggie talk, I'm sorry." The footman bobbed his head apologetically.
"Oh." It was a relief to slip back into her own language. She'd thought he must be one of Trev's French retinue. "I'll be pleased to thank you in English, in that case! I'm very glad to be rid of him."
"Was that officer swell taking liberties, then, ma'am? I weren't certain. I'd 'a made a dice box of his swallow, if ma'am just give me the office."
His thick slang was almost as foreign to her as the French, but she understood his meaning. "Yes, I'm sure you would have, but I didn't wish to make a scene." She paused, not sure if she should speak openly of Trev's plans. "Do you know my maid, Lilly?"
"Aye, ma'am." He nodded toward the street. "The little chick-a-biddy what's giving Monsieur's bruisers the chaffin' gammon up the tailor shop."
She was entirely mystified by this description of Lilly's activities but decided not to inquire into it too deeply. "Go down and tell her to wait for me at the dressmaker's," she said, "but she mustn't let the major see her. I'll stay here until he goes away, and then I'll be obliged to you if you'll take me to join her."
"Now you just leave that officer nob to old Charlie, ma'am. We'll give him some proper pepper, me and Monsieur's lads. He'll bolt off right handy, or we'll dislodge some of his ivories for 'im."
"Oh no. No, you must not start a fight-is that what you mean?"
He shrugged. "Won't be much of a fight, ma'am," he said with some regret. "Not unless he's got a screw loose."
"I don't want any sort of fight at all," she said hastily.
"We'll just carry him out, then," Charles offered.
"No no, nothing of that sort. We mustn't draw undue attention."
The footman submitted to this, though he seemed disappointed. "S'pec so, ma'am. It might blow the gaff, aye."
Callie realized that under his powdered wig and formal coat, the muscular Charles was quite a "bruiser" himself. Trev seemed in the habit of hiring very large menservants, for which she was rather grateful at the moment.
"I think it's best to wait quietly until he leaves," she said. "I'm sure he won't linger." She only wanted be out of this disguise, to retreat into the safety of her own rooms to lick her wounds, but the chambers at the Gerard were at least a refuge for the moment. She was glad now that Trev was gone for the night, so that she wouldn't have to tell him of her encounter with the philandering major. Not, at least, until she had composed herself. "Send word up to me when you're certain that he's gone away entirely. Make sure of it first. I don't dare to let him see me again."
Fourteen
A FIRE BURNED GENTLY, WARMING THE ELEGANT PARLOR. The tea tray still stood waiting on the table set for two. If not for Major Sturgeon, she might have been sitting here cheerfully with Trev, celebrating the successful announcement of the Malempré Challenge. Instead she was feeling as if she had been soundly slapped. She took off the veil and sat down heavily.
She had not desired to marry the major, but with no other happy prospect before her, she had allowed herself to consider it as a practical possibility. A marriage of convenience merely, but at least she would have her own home. He was so eager to marry her fortune, she was sure that she could negotiate anything she pleased in terms of her livestock. She was not averse to a household with children in it. She had a talent with them, as she had a talent with animals.
Infidelity-she had assumed that she could tolerate that. It wasn't as if she hadn't known what sort of man he was already. If she had taken a moment to think it through, she wouldn't have been surprised to find him entangled with another woman again even as he courted her.
But knowing precisely what he thought of her, hearing it said so bluntly-she felt as if a miserable thick stone were lodged in her throat. He gave her pretty compliments to her face, while in fact he thought she was cold and plain and dull. And she was. It was the truth of it that made what he'd said so painful. She did not really care what Major Sturgeon thought of her, but he wasn't the only gentleman she knew who could tell a lie with convincing skill.
She sprang up, gripping her hands together as she paced to the fireplace and back again. A horrid notion began to possess her. It was mortifying to think of how much she must have revealed of herself to Trev. He meant to give her three days of happiness, in the best way that he could. Husband and wife, deep in love, a little pretense of what she longed to have.
How Lady Shelford and her friend would laugh at that! Dowdy Callie, wed to a man who might have a love affair with any woman he chose. And she would have to sit with her eyes fixed on the toes of her shoes and listen to the whispers about it. She would rather live in a ditch and eat worms.
With Major Sturgeon's cold words to steady her mind and prevent any f lights of fancy, she tried to think back on the things Trev had said to her, the contradictions and awkward moments. He did care about her, she had no doubt of that. He didn't wish for her to be unhappy. He'd tried to buy Hubert back for her, he'd created this outlandish scheme to make an adventure for her, he worried that Major Sturgeon would hurt her. He said… he said that he loved her.
She should put no great stock in that, of course. Trev could not endure to see unhappiness around him. Nearly every adventure she had shared with him had been a rescue of some hapless creature from captivity, or a clandestine attempt to emulate Robin Hood on behalf of a downtrodden victim. If truth be told, she had known him to go to absurd lengths in his efforts to heal the smallest hurt or suffering in those he cared for. And if he could not do it, he would disappear.
She felt a deep chill inside, a prickle at the nape of her neck. She squeezed her eyes shut, remembering how she had almost-almost-blurted her dream out loud to him. He had understood her perfectly, of course, but he had not betrayed it. It was like a play, and they each had their parts. She could be Madame Malempré and enjoy this moment that he offered, understanding that it was only as enduring as a single waltz, but better at least than sitting out every dance.