Free Lessons in French by Laura Kinsale Page A

quite beautiful in an
    unyielding way, her hair such a pale gold it was almost white, her features as strong and
    expressionless as some classical statue of Minerva. Her skin seemed so fine and thin that
    the bones showed too near the surface, as if she might crack like a marble stone if struck.
    Trev made a deeper formal bow as she committed to walk across the room to him.
    "Monsieur le Duc," she said, holding out her gloved hand. " Bienvenue. I am Lady
    Shelford. Ah—f lowers! Thank you. You must have heard of our happy news. But you
    shouldn't have left your poor mama. How does she do?"
    He found himself giving up Callie's posy, having little choice as she took it from his
    hand and passed it to the footman. Keeping any hint of irony from his voice, Trev
    conveyed his mother's heartfelt thanks for the magnificent basket of green apples. He was
    surprised to find that Lady Shelford condescended to lead him to the tea table and see that
    he was served. He had not thought he would rate so high in her social calculations. She
    even lingered with him. He took advantage of it to extend his felicitations on the betrothal
    and casually hope that Lady Hermione would not go too far away from Shelford when
    she was wed.
    "Oh, they will live in town," the countess said in an uninterested voice. "He has some
    sort of situation in the Home Office. His duties keep him tied to Whitehall."
    "Ah. London." Trev would have liked to pursue this topic, but he could not find a
    nonchalant way to ask where Callie would pasture her bulls in London. "That will be a
    gay life for Lady Hermione," he said politely.
    "Indeed." She did not appear gratified by the thought. "You're recently come from
    Paris?"
    "No, I went direct to Calais from my home," he lied, avoiding any possible
    acquaintances of hers who he might have been supposed to encounter in Paris.
    "Of course. You did not wish to delay." She touched his arm, allowing her gloved
    fingers to trail across the back of his hand. "You must tell me anything that can be done
    for your poor mother. I might send someone to help in the kitchen, perhaps?"
    Trev lifted his lashes. He met her eyes and found an unmistakable look there, a flagrant
    physical awareness of him under her impassive smile. He was a great appreciator of
    women, and he knew well enough that his admiration was generally returned, but he
    avoided liaisons with females of easy principles. His grandfather and mother had been
    neither romantic nor reserved in their counsels to a hot-headed and well-favored young
    boy. Trev had been brought up with no illusions about ladies of society or ladies of the
    streets.
    "You are too kind," he said. "I beg you won't put yourself to the trouble." He kept his
    voice neutral and his bow respectfully stiff. He felt vaguely insulted that she would make

    even a delicate advance at the same time she offered assistance. "I only wished to convey
    my thanks to Lady Callista for her help. She's not at home?"
    "It would seem that she is not." The countess looked around as if she had no notion
    whether Callie was present.
    "Perhaps I might write her a note," Trev said, when she did not make the offer.
    "Oh. Yes, if you like." She gestured toward a carved secretary and turned away.
    He wrote standing up, dipping a pen and helping himself to the paper. Only a sentence,
    conveying little but his mother's thanks, since he could discover no wafer to seal it. He
    had a notion that Lady Shelford was just the sort to take a glance at other people's
    correspondence. When he straightened, he found that she was watching him from the far
    side of the room. He folded the note. With a little less than courtesy, he gave her a nod
    and handed his letter to the footman as he departed.

    As the porter held the door for him, Trev glanced over the curving drive toward the stable
    range. A thought occurred to him. He signaled to the postboy to hold his chaise and
    walked across the gravel toward the outbuildings.
    He knew the