by Louise Allen
‘I have eaten, ma’am, some time ago. I would not have intruded if I had realised you were entertaining company.’ Marcus was chillingly polite.
‘Of course you would not,’ Antonia replied with what she hoped was maddening complacency.
Donna shot her a reproving look, made an excuse and left. Antonia glanced sideways at Marcus’s unsmiling face. ‘You seem out of sorts.’
Marcus met her eyes steadily, then suddenly smiled, his brow clearing. Antonia had the distinct impression she had overplayed her hand. ‘Not at all, Antonia. I merely called to see if you had experienced any more difficulty with the bank while I have been in Town.’
‘Oh, have you been away? Now that I think of it, I do believe one of the servants mentioned that you were not at Brightshill. Have you been absent long? For ourselves, we have been so busy that time has just flown by. Thank you for enquiring, everything has proceeded most smoothly.’
They were strolling towards the house as they spoke. Antonia was very conscious of his nearness. From the very beginning, she had found Marcus a dominating physical presence, but since experiencing his kisses she was acutely aware of his hands, of the breadth of his shoulders, of the very scent of him. It was most unsettling to find the sensations she had experienced under the moonlight recurring now in full daylight. There was absolutely no excuse for it, she told herself severely.
When they arrived at the front door, which still stood open, she asked, ‘Would you care to see the work we have had done?’ She felt that some conciliatory gesture was owing, considering that Marcus had been so helpful in obtaining the necessary funds for the work.
It became obvious as they walked through the house that he must take a personal interest in the practical details of his own estate. The questions he asked the plasterers and roofers who were putting the finishing touches to the attic rooms were informed, and Antonia was surprised by his easy manner with the men.
It was partly explained when the plumber said, 'If you care to take a look at the roof, Your Grace, you will see we used the same way of fixing the lead-work as we did at Brightshill.’
Antonia stepped back into the shadows and watched Marcus talking to the men. They were deferential, she realised, not entirely because of his rank, but because in him they recognised someone who understood the needs of a big estate and of their place within it.
As he talked his face lost all its severity and his whole frame was relaxed as he handled a damaged piece of lead pipe handed to him by the plumber. Here was a far cry from the magistrate punishing a poacher, or the brusque landowner giving orders to his gamekeepers.
William Hunt the plumber pointed at something out on the leads. To Antonia’s astonishment, Marcus stripped off his coat, rolled up his shirtsleeves and swung out of the cramped dormer window onto the flat section of the roof.
When the plumber and his mate had followed him out she strolled across to the window and watched them. To her alarm, Marcus was leaning dangerously over the parapet, prodding at brickwork and throwing comments over his shoulder to Hunt. Incomprehensible remarks about flashing, downpipes and rain hoppers floated back to her.
Gradually her alarm ebbed. As Marcus got to his feet, Antonia found her eyes drawn to the play of strong muscles under the fine linen the breeze was flattening to his back. He stood, one foot on the parapet, looking out over the grounds. As he turned to toss a remark back to the plumber, the wind caught his hair, blowing unruly tawny locks into his eyes.
‘I agree, you had better talk to Miss Dane about those downspouts. A decision must be made one way or another,’ he was saying prosaically as he pushed back the hair and met her eyes.
Across the space their gazes clashed and locked, his eyes holding a question she could not decipher. As she searched his face, Antonia realised with a jolt that she was falling for Marcus Renshaw and that if he made any answering sign of partiality she would run to his side, however many workmen were present, however inappropriate the setting.
The moment seemed endless, but only a few seconds could have passed because Hunt was saying to her, ‘It’s like this, ma’am. The weight of rainwater coming down off this roof is too great for the size of hopper. It’s difficult to explain without you seeing it.’ He scratched his head, clearly at a loss for the words that could better explain the situation to a lady who, he clearly assumed, could not hope to understand technical matters of this sort.
Marcus strode across to where she stood at the window and extended his hand. ‘Come, Miss Dane, it is safe to step out. The roof is quite flat for the most part.’
Antonia let Marcus take her hand. His grasp was warm, firm and sure and she experienced no fear as she stepped up on to a box, then stooped to climb over the window ledge.
‘Thank you, Hunt,’ he said to the plumber. ‘I am sure you want to be getting on inside. I will show Miss Dane the problem.’
‘Oh, look, you can see for miles,’ Antonia exclaimed, gazing out over the greening Hertfordshire countryside and the great beech woods rolling over the scarp edge of the Chilterns towards the Vale beneath.
She leaned on the brick parapet, her eyes fixed on the distant horizon, happily unaware of the height until she made the mistake of looking downwards. The paved terrace four storeys below seemed to swim up to meet her as she recoiled with a gasp of alarm.
Marcus took her in his arms and spun her round so that his body shielded her from the drop and she was held hard against him.
Antonia’s eyes were tight shut. She did not like heights of any kind and she had never been so high before with so little between her and the ground. Her heart was beating hard and her breath tight in her chest. Her mind told her she was quite safe, but it did not appear to have convinced her body of that.
‘You are not going to faint,’ Marcus informed her firmly.
With her ear pressed against his shirt front Antonia felt rather than heard the command. The breeze had cooled the linen, but through it she could feel the heat of his body. He smelled faintly of cologne, leather and something which was indefinably Marcus.
‘Are you certain?’ She had never fainted before, but the mixture of sensations she was now experiencing made her feel she might do so at any moment.
‘Quite certain,’ Marcus assured her. He set her firmly at his side, his body between her and the drop, his arm still protectively about her shoulders. ‘You see, you could not possibly fall. Come over here and sit down away from the edge. You cannot go in until I have explained the deficiencies of your rainwater system or Hunt will be quite unable to proceed.’
Antonia glanced up, wondering at his mood, and caught the glint of amusement in his dark eyes. ‘Do you truly understand these matters?’ she asked as he handed her to a low brick wall safely away from the edge.
‘But of course, and so should you. I trust you also understand about the correct dimensions to ensure a chimney draws properly and the desirable fall of drains away from the house.’
‘I find nothing desirable about drains under any circumstances,’ Antonia stated firmly, trying not to wish he would put his arm around her again.
As though answering the thought, Marcus sat down beside her and almost casually tucked her arm through his. The thought of protesting at the familiarity flickered through her mind, only to be dismissed. It was certainly most improper, but then, who was there to see it? And it was broad daylight. He had kissed her in the moonlight yet had taken no further liberty. This was safe enough for propriety, Antonia told herself, although it was wreaking havoc with her sensibilities.
‘Those are fine chimneys on the Dower House,’ Marcus remarked, pointing them out through the trees. ‘Have you decided what to do with it?'
‘The men have begun work on it this week, although there is little wrong with the structure. Donna and I will be quite comfortable there.’
‘Then you will be selling this?’ He half-turned to face her, evidently surprised. ‘You have changed your mind since I made you an offer for it?’
‘No. I have no intention of selling Rye End Hall, it is my family home. I am to lease it out. Do you not recall? You were most slighting about the suggestion. But I am grateful that, thanks to your intervention, I have the capital with which to do the work here. I assumed you knew why I wanted the money. I was quite clear about it, I believe.’
‘I had thought those just hot words thrown at my head.’ Marcus smiled at her. ‘We were, after all, somewhat intemperate in our discussion of the matter, and I must admit I did not take your scheme seriously.’
Antonia stared at him, puzzled. ‘But what did you believe I wanted the money for, if not to renovate the house in order to lease it?’
‘Why, to live in moderate comfort as befits your station.’
‘So you influenced the banker solely out of concern for my comfort? You must have wondered how I intended to repay the loan,’ she exclaimed in a rallying tone. But underneath she felt a sudden surge of hope that he may have acted to keep her in the neighbourhood because he had a partiality for her.
‘I would hope that I always act for the comfort of others,’ Marcus replied drily. 'But there is an overriding consideration beyond that.’
Antonia held her breath, waiting for him to finish the sentence.
‘It is of great concern to me, and our neighbours, that a fine estate such as Rye End Hall should not fall into rack and ruin. It leads to poverty, which in its turn brings about lawlessness and want.’
‘If your motives are so altruistic, Marcus, I am amazed you felt unable to air them the other day when I asked you directly why you had secured the money for me.’ Really. Just when she found she was liking the man – she could not bring herself to even think it might be anything more – he said something insufferable. ‘You will be pleased to hear that I am in hopes of securing a most respectable tenant for the house and the Home Farm,’ she added stiffly.
‘Ah, I thought I smelt a clerk this morning.’ Marcus seemed quite unaware of her discomfiture. Antonia sensed only his satisfaction at placing Mr Jeremy Blake.
‘Mr Blake is no clerk. He is a lawyer with the highest connections. I am most hopeful his principal, who is his uncle, will take the Hall.’
‘You are warn in your defence of, what is his name, Black?’
‘Blake. I found him a most amiable and intelligent person to do business with. And, of course,’ she added slyly, recovering her equilibrium, ‘such a gentleman. It would be a considerable asset to our social circle locally if he were to accompany his uncle here.’
‘I shall look forward to making his acquaintance,’ Marcus said politely. ‘But we stray from the point. You intend taking up residence at the Dower House?’
‘Certainly. Both Miss Donaldson and I expect to be most comfortable there. It is entirely the right size for two unattached ladies, the gardens can be made charming…’
‘So you intend to dwindle into respectable spinsterhood there, do you? No doubt you will be able to devote many fascinating hours to constructing a shell grotto in the grounds or perfecting your tatting.’
Antonia was taken aback by his sarcasm. Apparently it rankled that she had not chosen to sell the property to him. ‘Dwindle? Certainly not. We have every intention of entering fully into the social life of the district as soon as we are established at the Dower House. I have retained control of the lands other than those attached to the Home Farm, so I shall have tenants to oversee. Indeed, I have every expectation of being rushed off my feet.’
‘I am reassured to hear it.’ His brow quirked with what Antonia had come to recognise as hidden amusement. ‘May I hope you will visit Brightshill? I have a house party assembling soon. We may even muster enough couples to get up a dancing party on occasion.’
‘I should like that very much,' Antonia responded formally, although the thought of finding something in her wardrobe to match the London fashions of his guests was somewhat daunting. The light breeze suddenly strengthened and she shivered in her light gown. ‘We should go in, Donna will be wondering what has become of me.’
Marcus led her back to the edge and delivered a rapid, but clear explanation of what needed doing with the rainwater hoppers. Then he took her hand to help her across the roof before she could feel dizzy again. At the window he ducked through it first, before turning and holding up his arms.
‘I can climb down by myself, thank you,’ she said, blushing at the thought of such close contact. Again.
‘Antonia, there are two ways of doing this. Either I turn my back while you scramble down, doubtless tearing your gown in the process, or I lift you. In the most respectful way, of course.’ Amusement danced in his eyes. She knew he was laughing at her, but suddenly she did not care. She would be in his arms, however briefly, would feel his strength keeping her safe.
Wordlessly she reached for him and found herself swung effortlessly over the sill and into the attic. Marcus held her for a fraction longer than necessary, before setting her down on the dusty floor. ‘Tell me,’ he began, looking down at her.
‘Yes?’ Antonia lifted her gaze to his eyes, noticed a smudge of whitewash on his cheekbone, a cobweb caught in his unruly hair and ruthlessly suppressed the urge to brush them away.
‘Have you retained the fishing rights?’ He smiled, teeth white in the gloom.
So, standing here so close to each other evoked the same memories in him, too. ‘No, I am convinced I would never make a good fisherwoman, no matter how much I try,’ she said with a shaky laugh.
‘Practice is what you need, Antonia,’ he murmured, his gaze warm on hers. ‘You must come to Brightshill and let me teach you.’ He put up one hand as if to touch her face, but dropped it as heavy boots sounded on the floorboards outside. By the time William Hunt came in there was a clear five-foot space between them and Marcus was commenting on the state of the plasterwork.
Marcus took his leave soon after and Antonia drifted back to the small salon, half-excited, half-irritated with herself. She had been out for several Seasons, had engaged in elegant flirtations with eligible men at balls and dinners, so why did Marcus Renshaw have this effect on her? Her heart told her she was in danger of falling for him, yet her head told her it was impossible. He was a duke, for goodness sake.
She had been thrown into his company in the most extraordinary circumstances, hauled up before him as a common criminal. And their meetings since then had been characterised by an intimacy which was most unseemly. Antonia told herself firmly that it was this improper proximity that was fascinating her. And as for the Duke, he no doubt flirted with any lady willing to indulge him, and her circumstances were perhaps unusual enough to have piqued his interest.
By the time she rejoined Donna she thought she had her unruly emotions firmly under control. Donna, however, missed very little and she should have remembered that.
‘His Grace has gone?’ she enquired as she put aside her needlework.
‘Some minutes ago,’ Antonia replied indifferently. ‘He and Hunt appear to have settled a most difficult question to do with the downspouts.’
‘Indeed. And that necessitated you romping all over the leads?’
‘Hardly romping.’ Antonia laughed lightly, flicking through the day’s post. ‘The height is most disconcerting, although the view is wonderful, and I have learned all about rainwater hoppers.’
‘So you spent the entire time up there discussing drainage and the view?’
‘Oh, we spoke of our plans for the Dower House. And the Duke was kind enough to extend an invitation to Brightshill shortly. He is assembling a house party.’
‘Then I am not entirely without hope,’ Donna observed archly.
‘Hope?’ Antonia turned to look at her. ‘Of what?’
‘Of your moving in Society, of course, as is fitting.’ Donna kept her countenance schooled, but Antonia had the distinct impression that that was not her meaning.
Chapter Ten
‘Antonia, if you cannot find any rational occupation within the house, then please go ou
t and take the air, for I declare you are positively fraying at my nerves with this incessant fidgeting.’
The uncharacteristic sharpness startled Antonia. ‘Am I fidgeting? I am so sorry, I was not aware of it.’
‘You have done little else the past two days,’ Donna said more kindly. ‘You have embroidered two flowers on that scarf, only to pull both out again. The pages of that volume of Shelley’s poetry are still uncut, there are two letters awaiting reply from your cousin Augusta…’
Antonia put up her hands to stem the flow. She knew Donna was right, but she felt she could not settle to anything now the workmen had left and the big house stood ready for its tenant. Outside the windows the trees were heavy with fresh greenery, the newly-planted pleasure grounds were breaking with new growth and the very air was heavy with the promise of summer just around the comer.
‘If only we knew what was happening, whether Sir Josiah has decided to take Rye End Hall. It is a week now since Mr Blake’s visit and I had expected to hear from him several days ago.’ She paced restlessly across the drugget protecting the newly-laid carpet. ‘Donna, what if Mr Blake has failed to persuade his uncle? What shall we do then with all this money laid out and no way of repaying it?’
Donna got up and came to put her arm around her. ‘It is only a week, dear,’ she began soothingly when the sound of hooves crunching on gravel caught their attention. ‘Listen. No doubt that is the Duke come to call. Now that I think of it, it must be a week since we last saw him.’
The arrival of Marcus was hardly likely to be a soothing diversion, Antonia thought.
‘Mr Blake, ma’am.’ Jane the housemaid bobbed a curtsy in the open doorway.
‘Mr Blake. We had not looked to see you in person. What an unexpected pleasure.’ Relief swept through her. Surely he would not have come in person to give her an answer in the negative? ‘Do, please, take a seat, Mr Blake. May we offer you some refreshment after your journey? Jane, bring the decanters.’
