Callie sighed. "It must be one of her friends, to congratulate me. Are they talking? I'm sure she won't miss me until after I feed Hubert."
"You're wanted to hurry, my lady." Anne placed a pin and stood back from an attempt to secure Callie's hair that was only partially successful. "There. I'll send the hall boy with some bread to the poor hungry beast. But you must hurry down." She met Callie's gaze in the mirror with an expression that they both under stood. If Callie delayed, the countess would make her life miserable in consequence.
"Very well." Callie rose. "Thank you, Anne, that will do, then."
"You looks very pretty, my lady, if I may say. The curls about your face become you."
"I only hope it won't fall down." Callie cast one last glance in the mirror and was surprised and discomfited to see that she did look rather well, but in a tousled and pink sort of way, very much as if she had just risen from bed after making love to a gentleman. Which of course was quite the fashion according to Hermey, but it was rather unnerving, considering the recent circumstances.
An impassive footman opened the door of the drawing room, which was even more alarming, since normally John would have returned a nod and smile to her greeting. Instead he stared straight above her head, which meant Lady Shelford was in high force this morning. But as Callie passed, he turned just slightly, lowering his lashes and lifting an eyebrow, and gave her what could only be described as a wink.
She hardly knew what to make of that. Just as she took in the fact that Major Sturgeon was also present, in addition to Lord and Lady Shelford and several persons who were strangers to her, she recalled that Trev had bribed the servants. The thought, and the footman's wink, combined to make her lose all hope of maintaining any composure as Major Sturgeon rose to take her hand and lead her into the room. She was so f lustered that she hardly knew what she was saying in reply to the introductions.
"But I'm enchanted to meet you!" A very pretty lady stood up from her seat beside the countess. She was small and fairylike, with a twinkling smile and a confiding air, quite as if she truly had been longing to meet Callie. "The duchesse has told me everything about you!" She turned to Lady Shelford as she caught Callie's hand. "It's most kind of you to receive me, ma'am, out of the very blue this way. But the duchesse insisted that I call on Lady Callista and give her my wishes to be happy."
"Mrs. James Fowler," Lady Shelford said belatedly. Her demeanor was not quite as coolly restrained as usual, and she glanced from the young woman to Callie in an odd, energized manner.
It was that peculiar look more than her words that struck Callie first. She was in the midst of some disjointed attempt at a courteous rejoinder when the realization dawned upon her. She stopped speaking, and before she could recover herself, the other woman smiled at her apologetically.
"Yes, I am that Mrs. Fowler," she said, managing to look abashed and charming at once. "I'm very notorious, I'm afraid."
Callie was simply speechless. She apprehended that her hand was limp as Mrs. Fowler grasped it warmly; she understood that she had to speak, to appear normal and at ease. But it was utterly out of her power. "Mrs. Fowler," she repeated stupidly.
She managed to return a slight pressure to the friendly handshake. Next to this delightful and delicate creature, she felt like Hubert standing beside a fawn. She was amazed that Lady Shelford had admitted such an infamous caller, but then Dolly had been fascinated and obsessed by reports of the crime and trial. She had even considering leasing a window overlooking the scaffold, but Lord Shelford had proved too squeamish to allow it and protested that she would be exposed to vulgar crowds. It was uncommon for the countess to submit to her husband's will, but the suggestion of vulgarity had impressed her, and she had reluctantly given up the plan. To have the scandalous Mrs. Fowler drop into her lap, or at least into her drawing room, must seem a windfall of no small proportions.
Callie summoned a shred of self-control, fearing that her shock would appear to be disapproval. "I'm pleased to meet you," she managed to say. "You are a friend of Madame de Monceaux?"
"An acquaintance merely," Mrs. Fowler said vaguely. "But I was on my way north to reunite with my little boy, and I couldn't but pause to look in on her, she is so amiable, is she not?" She gave Callie's hand a pat and looked directly into her eyes. "She particularly said that I must leave a card on you, Lady Callista." She paused. "Of course I didn't hope to find you at home, but what an honor it is!"
"Thank you. Pray be seated," Callie said weakly. This was Trev's wife, this exquisite small creature with the pixie eyes. And that pressure on her hand- Mrs. Fowler had been sent by the duchesse-she was here not to congratulate Callie but to find her husband, of course.
As Mrs. Fowler returned to her chair, a gaunt and balding gentleman stepped forward, the wispy remains of his hair f loating behind his ears. He placed one hand at his back and offered the other to her. "Sidmouth. Your servant, my lady," he said, brief ly bending over her fingers. "Accept my wishes for health and great happiness in your union."
A large dose of smelling salts would have been more useful to her. "Thank you," she whispered. She sat down abruptly in the chair that the major provided and clasped her hands.
Dolly turned to Mrs. Fowler and began to inquire about the conditions of women in the Fleet Prison, apparently oblivious to any crudeness in her enthusiasm to satisfy her curiosity and gather some morbid tidbits to spread. Mrs. Fowler replied gracefully and without any sign of resentment, describing her treatment as perfectly humane. She even glanced at the Home Secretary with a confidential smile, as if they were both connoisseurs of prisons, which Callie supposed they were. Lord Sidmouth, however, returned the familiarity with a cool and impassive glance.
A servant handed Callie a cup of tea. She sipped, finding herself so far beyond frantic that she was almost calm, sitting with her fiancé on one hand, the Home Secretary on the other, and directly opposite-but she could not even quite compose the thought in her mind. Mrs. Fowler kept glancing at her, even while replying so tolerantly to Lady Shelford's questions. With every look, Callie felt more naked, as if her hair had fallen down and her clothes vanished and she were lying tumbled in the bed with Trev the way they had been all night together, with his outraged wife standing over them in righteous fury.
Mrs. Fowler did not appear furious, however. She couldn't know the truth, of course-though Callie had rather the idea that a wife could somehow deduce these things by intuition or mesmeric currents or something on that order. It was the most disconcerting thing of all, to suddenly think of herself as the other woman, partic ularly in regard to this petite elfin beauty. Callie could perfectly comprehend that a gentleman would sacrifice his life and honor for a woman like Mrs. Fowler. She was a princess from a fairy tale, lovely and sweet and charming, with lips like a rosebud and petal-soft skin. Dolly seemed fascinated, and Callie could hardly blame her. It was absurd to think of this delicate creature sitting in a prison cell, and even more ridiculous to suppose that she could be hung for a crime.
But for the Home Secretary, who appeared to find her uninteresting, all the gentlemen in the room seemed quite taken with Mrs. Fowler. Only Major Sturgeon made any particular effort to keep himself from smiling foolishly at her. Callie saw him catch himself once and look deliberately away, glancing toward Callie to see if she had noticed. She took a gulp of her tea and lowered her lashes. She hardly blamed him. If Major Sturgeon had not been strongly attracted to Mrs. Fowler, Callie would have feared he was coming on with some sort of condition.