Callie cleared her throat. "Yes," she said, not quite adhering to her intention to speak the whole truth. "That is, his mother is very dear to me. He came here to say farewell to her before he left England. He's gone now."
A faint smile f lickered over his thin lips. "Doubtless." He regarded her for a few moments. "I must tell you, Lady Callista, that whatever his name may be, I was under a great deal of political pressure after his convic tion. The king most sincerely wished to pardon him."
She said nothing to that, not knowing what reply to make.
"I can't blame you if you don't follow these matters, of course. It was a most unpleasant case: a young woman of such… attractive manners. The public does not hold with hanging the young and lovely, and who can blame them? The newspapers became involved. Sides were taken. We'd have had riots. Yet a great crime had been committed, and the law must be satis fied. Particularly in a case of forgery. The faith of the nation rests on a signature, my dear. Our banks would fail if we could not trust the notes that are passed."
She nodded, feeling a little sick.
"Yes, I can see that you don't like what you hear. But a full pardon was not possible. He did not defend himself. The lady did. With vigor."
She frowned behind her mask. "But the evidence…"
"Such evidence as there was spared his life. The jury convicted him, and the judge condemned him to death, in accordance with the law. He received a conditional pardon. He was not transported by force or sent to the hulks. I felt at the time that a reasonable compromise had been reached between the demands of the law and humanity."
"At the time?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"Outright pardon is an infrequent grace, my lady, by necessity. The awful power of the law is tempered by the king's mercy, but you will understand that it must not be casually extended."
She blinked behind the mask. "But the king himself, you said-"
Lord Sidmouth's lips f lattened. "His Majesty in his compassion would pardon the entire roll of felons in Newgate," he said. "Your king, ma'am, has a very soft heart. And certain gentlemen of the sporting crowd had his ear in this case. It falls to me and his council to examine the petitions with a little more severity. When all the circumstances and the effect on the public mind were taken into consideration, we did not feel that this petition merited full pardon."
She bent her head, gripping her hands together and trying not to show her emotion. This seemed so unjust and capricious that she could not even speak- that he allowed Mrs. Fowler to escape in order not to disturb a mere ball, but would make an example to the country of Trev when they must have known he was not guilty.
"However," Lord Sidmouth continued evenly. "There are those rare cases in which the evidence of innocence is overwhelming." He looked up at her. "Reconsideration must be made. As you seem to take a friendly interest in his… ah… his mother… you may inform her that on the basis of what I have witnessed tonight, and these notes in evidence, the petition will be reopened. He will receive a full and unconditional pardon."
Callie sprang up from her seat. "Sir!" she exclaimed. "Oh, sir."
"Full and unconditional. She has my word on it."
Twenty-Three
SUCH WAS HER EUPHORIA THAT CALLIE WAS ALL THE way up the stairs and hurrying into the crowd of guests before she brought to mind that she had no one to tell the news. She paused, pushing the dangling plume from its favored position covering the right eyehole of her mask. All day she had felt benumbed, until she had discovered Mrs. Fowler's note, and then her determination to act on it had kept all other feelings at bay. But now the full impact of his absence came over her. It was nearly midnight; she couldn't even go to the duchesse. She experienced such a rapid descent in her emotion that she nearly stood there in the midst of the masqueraders and burst into tears.
"My lady." A gentleman spoke low, very near her ear.
Callie turned. Her mask and the plume obscured her vision, but that voice sent a shock of recognition down her spine.
"I've come for you," he said. He laid his hand on her arm.
She turned and saw him: masked, dressed in loose shirtsleeves, his collar open and a bloodred sash about his waist. He carried a sword in a glittering sheath, a real one-she recognized the elegant weapon that hung above the mantelpiece at Dove House. With his black hair and dark skin and a pair of yellow breeches thrust down inside his tall boots in the billowing Cossack style, he looked a corsair indeed.
She could have blurted out her news. It was her first thought, but hard on that came the memory of his leaving and what he had said to her. She stiffened, resisting his touch.
Guests nearby gave them curious glances, as well they might, for of all the costumes, his was the most simple and yet the most dramatic. Scandalous, without a waistcoat or cover for his shirt, with the muscle in his shoulders obvious and his collar points dangling carelessly down so that his throat and chest were half revealed. Dolly, in a small coterie of her friends, was staring openly.
"I'm shocked to see you here," she said, with more dignity than she could have summoned without a mask to hide her face.
He did not reply. He looked down at her, his mouth grim below the black mask tied across his eyes. The first notes of a waltz drifted above the crowd of guests. He caught her about the waist and swept her into the dance.
"I thought you were going elsewhere," she said, blowing the plume from her face as they turned.
Still he did not speak. Resentment began to rise in her, that he would come back again. Again! How many times was she to be teased and mocked? If he said again that he loved her, and that he must go away, she would scream. Perversely, she suddenly wanted to keep her hard-gained victory on his behalf to herself.
"To the devil, in fact," she added, lifting her chin.
"Oh yes," he murmured. "And this time I'm taking you with me."
Callie glanced up at him, tripping a little. He held her up in balance, turning them both to the music. Through the mask, his eyes glinted. She was already f lushed from the dance, but these words caused her to lose her breath for an instant.
Her agitation increased as she noticed Major Sturgeon coming toward them across the f loor. Her fingers tightened on Trev's shoulder. He glanced over her head and then gave a smile that was most piratical under the mask.
"Oh dear," she whispered. "Don't make a scene."
The smile vanished. He gazed down at her steadily. "Is that what you want? No scenes?"
As they swung and whirled to the music, his arms held her firmly but lightly, like a question. Another turn, and Callie saw the major again. He had stopped to let another couple dance past. She was having trouble finding her breath. Dolly and Hermey and Sir Thomas were standing along the edge of the f loor, all looking toward her. Lord Sidmouth also watched, tall and grave, without a mask to hide his stern features and f lyaway hair. With each circle, she realized that the audience to her waltz was growing, speculative glances and whispers behind fans. Callie felt herself shrinking. She was what she had dreaded to be all her life: the center of attention.
The music began to sweep to a close. Major Sturgeon reached them just as the orchestra ceased to play and a gong started to toll midnight. It was the signal for everyone to unmask, but instead, when the bell fell silent there was a frozen stillness; everyone paused and turned to look at Callie and her partner.
"Unhand my betrothed," the major said, his voice low but carrying in the weird quietness of the ballroom.
Trev ignored him. Instead he stood looking down at Callie. She was aware of her costume all disordered, her mask askew from the dance and her feathers fallen down. She must appear a ridiculous figure. But Trev tilted his head a little, an inquiry. "Make your choice, my lady," he murmured.