by Louise Allen
The door of the chaise swung open as soon as the vehicle came to a halt and, without waiting for the steps to be let down, a boy of about nine years tumbled out. For a moment Antonia thought he was about to throw his arms around Marcus, then he checked himself, pulled himself to his full height and with great dignity thrust out a small hand. Marcus solemnly shook it, then bent and scooped the boy into his arms.
The lad’s face broke into a huge grin which persisted as Marcus set him on his feet again just as a small blonde whirlwind threw herself at his knees. Marcus rocked slightly, then stooped again to pick up the child who snuggled her face into his neck and clung firmly.
Antonia drew back slightly against the drapes, feeling excluded from the affectionate reunion.
Still holding the child, Marcus stepped up to the carriage door and held out his hand to assist the young matron who had one foot on the steps. She was laughing up into his face as he bent and allowed his cheek to be kissed and Antonia realised, seeing the two dark blond heads together, that they must be brother and sister.
‘What an elegant ensemble,’ Donna remarked approvingly, her eye on the lady. ‘That moss-green pelisse and bonnet set against the paler green of her skirts is so tasteful and understated.’
‘And so flattering to her colouring,’ Antonia commented. ‘I had no idea the Duke had a sister. She must be, don’t you think? They are so alike. He is certainly a favourite with those children.’
His sister was saying something to Marcus that caused him to set his little niece down and step once more to the post chaise. Another lady was hesitating prettily on the top step, almost as if the unaided descent was too much for her fragile frame.
‘Well! That is most certainly not a sister, and possibly not even a lady,’ Donna remarked tartly.
‘She is very pretty,’ Antonia said, trying to be fair.
‘Artifice, pure artifice. She owes a great deal to the arts of her modiste and coiffeuse, and no doubt to the rouge pot.’
‘Donna. We are too far away for you to know that. How uncharitable you are this morning.’
They both fell silent as the lady allowed Marcus to hand her down, swaying towards him with one hand to her brow and a brave smile trembling on her lips.
‘Huh! Showing him what a dreadful headache she is suffering, but how brave she is being despite all,’ snorted Donna.
The apparition was swathed in madder rose silk with a velvet pelisse cut with fluttering edges, each trimmed with a gold tassel. She was poised carefully on the cobbles, as if reluctant to place her dainty kid boots on the horse-trampled ground.
‘She is tiny,’ Antonia observed, and indeed, as she stood, one hand firmly on Marcus’s arm, the stranger stood no higher than his shoulder. ‘No doubt another member of the house party, although, if I am not mistaken, Marcus is surprised to see her.’
‘Do you think so? Well, you know him better than I, my dear.’
It might not be apparent to Donna, but to Antonia, whose mind’s eye was so often full of every nuance of Marcus’s figure, a certain rigidity in his shoulders and an expression of bland politeness showed a change of mood.
The party was returning to the carriage, the post boys in their big boots swung up on to the horses’ backs and his groom led out Marcus’s mount. In a flurry of hooves the carriage and the two riders turned and were out of the yard, leaving it strangely empty to Antonia’s gaze.
Donna got to her feet and summoned the parlour maid, giving her instructions to carry their parcels down to Jem. ‘Tell him we will be at least another hour,’ she ordered, ‘and send him out for some bread and cheese and ale.’
‘Donna? Why are we not returning home?’ Antonia demanded as she found herself being hustled down the stairs and into the High Street once again.
‘We are going back to Mrs Mumford’s shop. We are going to buy several ells of ribbon to furbish up your russet walking dress, some velvet for a new pelisse, a new bonnet and,’ Donna’s gaze fixed on Antonia’s sensible walking shoes, ‘some kid boots.’
‘That is dreadfully extravagant,’ Antonia protested as they passed St Peter’s church.
‘No more than you deserve.’
‘This is not a competition,’ Antonia said.
‘Is it not?’ Donna’s lips were compressed.
Mrs Mumford was almost overcome to receive further patronage from the ladies of Rye End Hall. She was commenting effusively on the elegance of taste shown by their selections while the assistant tied the parcels, when the shop bell jangled and in walked Jeremy Blake.
‘Ladies.’ He doffed his hat and bowed politely. ‘I trust I find you well? May I be of assistance to you with your parcels? I have only a small commission for some neck cloths, if they can be furnished, and then I am at your disposal.’
The ladies accepted gratefully. Donna, because she could never reconcile herself to her charge going out without a footman to carry her parcels, Antonia simply because she found Mr Blake’s company so congenial.
The neck cloths were soon added to the pile of purchases and the party made its way back along the High Street towards the King’s Arms.
‘l was intending to call upon you tomorrow,’ Jeremy observed as they crossed the street. ‘But as we have happily encountered one another, I wonder if I might raise the matter now?’
‘Please do so Mr, Blake. Have you heard from Sir Josiah?’
‘Indeed I have, ma’am. I would find it most helpful to know when I may order the paperhangers to begin. But,’ he added hastily, ‘I would not want to inconvenience you in the slightest.’
‘Thank you for your consideration. It must be an object with us to oblige Sir Josiah and Lady Finch in any way that we can.’ Antonia turned to Donna. ‘I can see no reason why the paperhangers cannot start now in the rooms we do not use, can you, Donna?’
‘I am sure we can oblige Lady Finch.’
‘I am most grateful. Is there any assistance I can lend you in your removal?’
They assured him that they had matters well in hand and they parted, Mr Blake on some further errand in the town, the ladies to rejoin Jem and drive home.
‘Well, my dear,’ Donna said briskly as the gig bowled past the castle ruins, ‘we shall be busy indeed. What with establishing ourselves in the Dower House and undertaking all that dressmaking, we shall scarce have a minute to spare. But we will prevail.’
‘You are enjoying the prospect, are you not, Donna?’ Antonia enquired drily.
‘I am, indeed. We have the prospect of a change of scene, of congenial company in Sir Josiah and Lady Finch and the house party at Brightshill, and some hard but rewarding work ahead. How far we have come from our first dismay at seeing Rye End Hall in March.’
‘How far, indeed,’ Antonia agreed. Her life had indeed changed greatly since that first, singular, encounter with Marcus Renshaw.
Antonia stood on a chair in front of the drawing room window and stretched up to catch a length of muslin on hooks. She was absorbed in trying to achieve a pleasing drape despite the draft from the front door that Donna seemed to have left open.
She stretched further, then the muslin slipped from her fingers and dropped to the floor, suspended only by the far corner. ‘Oh, drat.’
‘Allow me,’ Marcus from behind her.
Antonia spun round on the wooden seat, which tipped precariously, precipitating her into his arms, which were very ready to receive her. ‘Oh! Your Grace… You quite startled me.’
‘My fault entirely, Miss Dane. The door was open and no-one in sight, so I came in uninvited.’ He smiled down at her, causing Antonia’s heart to flutter uncomfortably.
‘We are being very formal this morning, are we not? However, I feel I must mention that something appears to be stabbing me in the right shoulder.’
Antonia hastily dropped her hands, which had been clasping his coat. ‘It is my pincushion. See, I have it tied to my wrist.’
She held up her hand to show him, and blushed when Marcus caught her w
rist between his fingers and bent his head over the velvet pad.
‘Marcus, you are tickling me.’
‘I am sorry, I have never appreciated the complexity of needleworking devices.’
‘Now you are laughing at me.’
‘Not at all, but I must wonder why the mistress of the house is scrambling about on chairs when she has servants to do this sort of thing.’ He released her hand and strolled across the parlour, surveying it as he did so. ‘You have made a great difference here in a short time. I should never have believed this place could look so elegant.’
‘Hardly that, although I flatter myself we have made it tolerably comfortable and homely. I have no fear of headless ghouls now.’ Antonia cast him a look from under her lashes, but failed to provoke any response other than a slightly raised eyebrow. ‘And as for the servants, they are assisting Miss Donaldson with our trunks.’
‘In that case, allow me to help you.’ He stopped to right the fallen chair and set it to one side. ‘I believe I can reach the hooks if you will explain how you wish the fabric to hang.’
Antonia, hesitated before gathering up the muslin and handing it to him. ‘I am trying to achieve a soft curve across the top of the window. A little more… A little more fullness on the left… Perfect. If you can just secure it there.’
They stepped back together to admire the finished effect. ‘Now, what is the next task?' Marcus asked.
‘I am certain you did not come here to hang curtains. I really cannot trespass on your time, especially when you have a house party assembled at Brightshill to claim your attention.’
Marcus appeared not to have taken in a word she had said. He was gazing at her in an abstracted manner, a slight smile on his lips.
‘Marcus?’ she prompted.
‘I do beg your pardon, Antonia, I was quite some distance away. I was in fact in contemplation.’
‘That much was plain,’ Antonia said somewhat acidly. ‘Might I enquire what it was you were contemplating?’
‘Mmm? Yes, of course you may. Matrimony.’
‘Matrimony? What can you mean?’
‘I mean that I am intending to make an offer of marriage, Antonia.’
Her heart sank towards her slippers as the image of a fragile blonde figure emerging from the post chaise filled her mind. With a great effort of will, she forced a small smile to her lips. ‘I am flattered that you regard me as a friend to be confided in on such a delicate matter.’
He took her hand in both of his and looked straight into her eyes. ‘I do not make myself plain, Antonia, and perhaps I should not have approached you like this although, in the absence of either father or brother… In short, Antonia, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’
Antonia gasped. She knew he found her attractive – his kisses had left her in no doubt of that – but she had never allowed herself to hope that anything more would come of it than a light-hearted flirtation.
She wanted to say, ‘Yes, with all my heart’, but her common sense held the words back. After all, he had made her no declaration of love, but in the past he had made a declaration of another strong motive for an alliance, his desire for her lands.
And he was a duke. Surely his world must be full of ladies who were prettier, better dowered and had more elevated connections than she had? Certainly a young lady of her class would be expected by Society to marry for position, but to become a duchess was far in excess of what she might aspire to.
His only reason for offering for her had to be the land. Gentlemen were obsessed with their estates, increasing them, perfecting them, and she supposed he was no different. There was a degree of liking between them, a frisson of desire and she was not totally ineligible, even if unlikely. But she had seen at first hand the destructive sadness of a marriage where the love of one partner, her mother, had not been returned by the other.
Marcus’s hands were warm and strong holding hers, she felt his gaze on her face but could not raise hers to meet it. If she did she knew she would lose all level-headedness. She swayed towards him, wanting to bury her face in his coat front, drink in the scent of him, give herself up to him.
Instead Antonia took a deep breath, gently freed her hands and sat down in the chair. ‘I am very sensible of the honour you do me, Your Grace,’ she began, surprised to find her voice so steady when her pulse was leaping.
‘But you are going to refuse me, are you not?’ Marcus’s voice was equally steady.
Chapter Twelve
‘Oh, no.’ Antonia did look up then, searching Marcus’s face for emotion and finding none. ‘I must… I must ask for time to consider my answer.’
‘I see. You would advise me not to give up all hope, then?’ he enquired drily.
He must be both surprised and, probably, insulted. He was a duke she kept reminding herself. Normally he could expect to get whatever he wanted.
‘How long would you require to make your decision?’
His lack of ardour helped her regain her own poise and Antonia’s reply was equally cool. ‘A few days. A week at most.’ He could at least seem disappointed, she thought resentfully.
‘Then we are agreed: I will raise the matter again a week from today, and until then, we will not refer to it. I trust you will still feel able to dine at Brightshill tomorrow. My sister is looking forward to meeting you.’
‘Your sister is here?’ Antonia was grateful for the change of subject. ‘Is she married? Is she accompanied by her family?’ It would not do to let him know she had been observing him at the King’s Arms.
‘Yes, Anne is the wife of Charles, Lord Meredith. He will join us later today, but my nephew and niece accompanied their mother.’
‘It must be pleasant to have children about the house.’ They must have been the charming children she saw arriving at the inn, greeting their uncle with so much affection.
‘Very. Young Henry has already dug holes in the lawn for his cricket stumps and his little sister Frances appears to regard me as an endless source of sugar plums.’
Antonia laughed, remembering the blonde girl clinging tightly to Marcus’s neck in the yard. ‘You pretend to be severe, Marcus, but I can tell you are a fond uncle.’ His affection for the children was a pleasing trait, another point in his favour. She wrenched her imagination back from that. She must be careful or she would find herself saying, yes, without properly considering this.
They both seemed relieved that the tension between them had passed. ‘And do you have many other guests?’
‘My sister was accompanied by an acquaintance of hers, Lady Reed. She comes alone. Her husband is at Brighton, commanding a regiment of foot.’
A friend of his sister’s, indeed. Antonia remembered the lovely face smiling up into his and felt a deep stirring of unease.
‘Two friends of mine are with us already, and my sister is chaperoning a Miss Fitch. Her mother and mine have some matrimonial enterprise in hand, but who the lucky man is to be, I have no idea as yet.’
‘You, perhaps?’ Antonia asked lightly.
Marcus laughed. ‘Good lord, no. I have it on good authority that she considers me to be almost in my dotage.’
Antonia looked at the tall rangy figure, the thick blond hair, the firm set of his jaw and wondered if Miss Fitch was in need of an oculist. No, Marcus Renshaw was in his prime. She buried those thoughts and protested, ‘Unkind, indeed. Why, you cannot be more than five and thirty.’
‘I am thirty, Miss Dane. However I am flattered you consider me so mature.’ His tone was severe, but his eyes were twinkling with amusement at her teasing.
‘Antonia dear, this hem… Oh, Your Grace, forgive me, I had not realised you were here.’ Donna had her arms full of dull gold silk which she was trying to conceal without crushing it fatally.
‘I was just leaving, Miss Donaldson, I would not dream of intruding further as you are so much engaged with domestic affairs. Good day, ladies.’ He paused in the doorway. ‘I look forward to your company tomorrow even
ing. I shall send the carriage at seven, if that is convenient.’
As soon as he was gone, Donna spread the fabric out over a chair back, tutting over the creases.
‘Donna, what are you doing with my new gown?’
‘I came down for your advice on the length of the hem. But I was so put about by finding the Duke here, I fear I have creased it. Do you think he will recognise the gown when he sees it tomorrow?’
‘What if he does?’
‘I would not have him know you are reduced to making your own clothes.’ Donna smoothed it down anxiously. ‘There, after all, it is not too badly crushed, it will steam out.’
‘I doubt whether the Duke of Allington, in common with most of his sex, would remember such a thing from one day to the next.’ Antonia was sorely tempted to tell Donna of Marcus’s declaration, then thought better of it. Her companion would see no obstacle to acceptance. Indeed, she would regard it as the height of her ambitions for Antonia, and would never enter into a rational discussion of Antonia’s misgivings on the matter.
‘Now, let me see what remains to be done with this gown, and while we work I will tell you what Marcus told me of his guests.’
‘It seems strange to be setting out in evening dress when it is so light,’ Antonia remarked as they settled themselves against the luxuriously upholstered squabs of the carriage Marcus had sent, just as he had promised.
‘Not so strange when you consider it is but a few weeks from the longest day,’ Donna observed prosaically. ‘But for me the strangeness lies in going out into company at all. It must be quite nine months since we last put on long gloves.’ She looked down complacently at her own, and adjusted a pearl button.
Antonia smiled back, thinking how like a neat little bird her companion was in her elegant dark garnet shot-silk with its modest infill of lace at the bosom. Miss Donaldson had never been a beautiful woman, even in the first flush of youth, but now, in her mid-forties, she had character and style and a surprising taste for fine fabrics and Brussels lace.
