Lessons in French Read Online Free PDF Page B

shook her head. "It's what I wish."
    "To leave Shelford Hall? But, Callie—"
    "It is what I wish," she said firmly. "And Hermione has promised she will not marry
    any gentleman who won't allow me to bring my bulls." She paused, realizing how
    unseemly that had no doubt sounded, and felt the red splotches bloom brighter on her
    cheeks. "Pardon me," she said. "But—you know what I mean." She blinked and averted
    her gaze in embarrassment, seizing the opportunity to stare into the dregs of her teacup
    and wonder what the scenery would be like in the outer reaches of Mongolia, if God
    would only answer her prayer and transport her there at once.
    "Yes, I know what you mean," he said. His voice held a hint of a smile. "Tell me, how
    does the magnificent Monsieur Rupert go on these days?"
    "Rupert has passed away," she said, on firmer conversational ground there.
    "God rest him." He clasped his hands behind his back. "I'm sincerely sorry to hear it. I
    was hoping to see him again."
    She lifted her eyes, surprised at the note of genuine regret in his voice. "Thank you. But
    he was upward of eighteen years, you know, and had a good and fruitful life. I've kept
    two of his sons, and a particularly promising grandson. In fact Hubert has developed so
    well that I didn't even enter him at the Bromyard fair this year, because he's taken first
    premium there once already. We're going directly to the county exhibition at Hereford
    next week."
    "Directly to Hereford. Indeed!"
    "Yes, and I feel certain he'll win one of the silver goblets." Her voice gained
    confidence. "His sire took first place last year among the Bulls of Any Breed, and Hubert
    is a finer animal on several counts. Only—I'm hoping that Hermione's husband will like
    them all."
    "The man would be a fool not to adore them, I'm sure."
    "Well, he need not write poetry to them," she admitted. "Some good pasturage will be
    sufficient."

    "No love poems, of course," he said gravely. "He wouldn't wish to make Lady
    Hermione jealous. But surely an ode would be appropriate?"
    She felt a smile lurking at the corners of her mouth. She pressed her lips together to
    conquer the quiver and put down her cup. If only he would not look at her quite so, with
    that gleam in his dark eyes. It had always made her think foolish, outrageous things. "I
    should see if there are any eggs to be had for your supper. I believe Madame said there
    was a hen nesting under the rosebush when I called last month."
    "No, I'm already a devil to keep you so long. It's far too late for you to be tangling
    among thorns and sulky chickens," he said. "Jacques will drive you home, and I'll lie
    awake and pine until you return. So do not tarry long, my lady."
    Callie stood up. "You've had no supper."
    "Not for the first time. I promise you won't find me expired of hunger, as long as you
    return promptly at sunrise. Or a little earlier, if you can manage it." He gave her a hopeful
    look. "Say, five or ten minutes from now?"
    She shook her head slightly, trying to remind him of Lilly. It was impossible that he
    meant anything by such absurd things as he always said—she should know that well
    enough—but still she could feel her thought less heart f lame with long-silent memories.
    His carriage held the scent of him. Even after he had closed the door and stood away,
    after the driver had clucked to the horses and the carriage began to roll, in the dark
    interior of the vehicle she breathed a faint perception of his presence, a hint of
    sandalwood and polished leather.
    Lilly sat up on the roof with Jacques, to direct the way to the gates of Shelford Hall.
    Inside, Callie ran her hand over the velvet seat of what was certainly an elegantly
    appointed traveling chaise. She could not see it well by moonlight, but she had discerned
    the coat of arms painted on the door. She would have thought Trev would drive a
    curricle, or even a cabriolet, something light and fast, but instead it was a great ponderous
    closed vehicle