by Louise Allen
‘How pleasant it is to travel in such comfort,’ Antonia observed, running an appreciative hand over the seat beside her. ‘One would hardly credit that this is the same track over which we jolt with Jem in the dog cart.’
The observation seemed to start a train of thought in Donna’s mind. ‘It would be such a relief to me to see you settled into a mode of life suited to your breeding,’ she sighed.
‘Mmm?’ Antonia pretended not to hear. ‘Oh, do look at the setting sun on the west face of Brightshill, turning the stone pink. How very pretty.’
Marcus came out onto the steps as the carriage pulled up, sending Donna into a flutter by handing her down with a bow giving Antonia the leisure to observe him. She reflected that his rangy figure and long well-muscled legs could bear the fashion for tight trousers better than most. His coat of dark blue superfine set superbly across his broad shoulders and his shirt front gleamed white in the now-lengthening evening shadows.
His glance as he handed her down was openly appreciative and his fingers found, as if by chance, the gap between the pearl buttons at her wrist, lingering caressingly on the smooth flesh there. Antonia shivered and met his eyes. There was banked fire behind the bland politeness of his expression, a danger she had only glimpsed before when he was angry. But he was not angry now. Antonia, recognising raw desire for the first time in her twenty-four years, dropped her gaze and swallowed hard.
It was only a few minutes later when, still shaken, she was following Lady Anne’s maid to a bedchamber to leave her cloak and tidy her hair, that she wondered why he had not shown those feelings when making his declaration. How could she have resisted him then?
Donna came over and pinched her cheeks. ‘You do need a little colour, you have gone quite pale, my dear.’
The butler was waiting at the foot of the stairs. Not by a flicker of his well-schooled features did he show that he had ever set eyes on Miss Dane before, although it had been a scant three months since she had been man-handled through this very hall by two burly gamekeepers.
‘Miss Dane. Miss Donaldson,’ he announced, throwing open the salon doors with a flourish.
Antonia summoned up all the poise necessary to confront the patronesses of Almack’s in critical mood, straightened her spine, took a deep breath and sailed into the room.
The men came to their feet, but Antonia was conscious only of Marcus’s eyes upon her, on her lovely new gown of dull gold silk, on her bare shoulders rising above the slope of her bosom revealed by the cross-cut of the bodice.
Her grandmother’s diamond eardrops trembled against the bare column of her throat and her hair had been caught up severely and allowed to tumble from the crown á la Dido. She believed she looked really quite fine and it seemed he shared her opinion.
Marcus stepped forward. He took her hand and murmured, ‘Behold me ruthlessly suppressing the desire to sweep you into my arms and kiss you insensible.’ When she gasped and blushed he added, out loud, ‘Miss Dane, welcome to Brightshill.’
‘Thank you, Your Grace.’ Antonia dropped a curtsy. So he did desire her. She felt positively dizzy. ‘It is not, of course, the first time I have visited here.’ She had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes narrow warily, before she added, ‘I have a vague memory of coming here with my grandfather, many years ago.’
He turned to greet Donna, but not before Antonia caught the hint of a sensual smile of recollection on his lips. It heightened her recollection of that audacious kiss in his study and her cheeks were warm when he turned to her again.
‘May I make you known to my sister, Lady Anne Meredith and to her friend, Lady Reed.’ The two ladies rose and exchanged bows with the new arrivals, Anne Meredith with a warm smile, Lady Reed with a speculative glance that was not lost on Antonia. ‘Miss Fitch.’ The young lady, only just out of the schoolroom, blushed charmingly at being the centre of attention and retreated hastily to her place beside Lady Anne.
‘May I also present Lord Meredith, Mr Leigh, Sir John Ollard.’ The gentlemen bowed in their turn.
Antonia found herself seated next to her hostess, who was making polite enquiries about the move to the Dower House. It did not take long to find herself at ease with Marcus’s sister. Lady Anne appeared to have none of her younger brother’s hauteur, despite her choice to retain her own title as a duke’s daughter.
As Antonia had observed in the inn yard, Anne Meredith shared Marcus’s colouring and bone structure, making her a handsome rather than a pretty woman. She made the best of her looks by dressing á la Turque in dramatic jewel-coloured silks and a turban-like headdress. The regard of her husband was amply demonstrated by the very fine suite of emeralds at her neck and ears and Antonia admired the manner in which she carried off the entire ensemble.
They were comfortably moving on from the perils of house removal to the best way of approaching the layout of a small pleasure garden when Antonia became aware that someone was watching her intently.
Lady Reed was quite openly assessing Antonia, her chilly blue eyes moving from the diamond eardrops to the little kid slippers, so newly dyed bronze to match the stripe in the silk. Antonia felt uncomfortably as though she was being priced on a market stall and being found wanting.
Nettled, she turned with a chilly smile, determined to outface the older woman. But it was too late. Lady Reed got to her feet and strolled, with maximum effect on the onlookers, to talk to Mr Leigh.
Donna had been making small talk with Sophia Fitch, an uphill battle with so shy a child. Antonia could just hear their conversation. ‘Is not Mr Leigh the younger son of the Earl of Whitstable?’ Donna enquired.
‘Yes, Richard,’ Sophia confided, blushing rosily.
Ah ha, Antonia thought, so that's the way the land lies. She was amused to see Miss Fitch casting a dark look at Lady Reed.
The young man in question appeared less than comfortable at being the target for her ladyship’s attention. She was resting one hand confidingly on his sleeve, her face upturned to his, her eyes big and appealing as she hung on his every word.
Antonia caught Donna’s eye and almost collapsed into giggles as Miss Donaldson cast her gaze ceiling-wards. Still amused, she glanced round and saw Marcus watching the tableau stony-faced.
She was speculating upon his thoughts when the butler announced that dinner was served. Lord Meredith offered her his arm and the entire party made its way through to the dining room.
Antonia blinked in the dazzle of light from the two magnificent chandeliers suspended over the table. Despite having had three of its leaves removed to accommodate a party of only nine, the table still dominated the room with its burden of crystal, fine china and decorative pieces.
With five women and four men the seating plan at the table was, of necessity, unbalanced but Lady Anne, as hostess, had sought to overcome this as best she could. She and Marcus faced one another down the length of the board while he had Lady Reed to his right and Antonia on his left. Lord Meredith on Antonia’s left faced Miss Fitch and Miss Donaldson and Lady Anne was flanked by Sir John and Mr Leigh.
Conversation was at first general as servants poured the wine. Antonia made small-talk with Marcus about the originality of the display of flowers down the centre of the table.
‘Yes, the hothouses are producing particularly well this year,’ he agreed. ‘You must allow me to show you round them one day soon, Miss Dane. I would value your opinion on any improvements we might make.’
Antonia’s heart leapt at the use of the word we. But no, she was reading too much into the word. Doubtless he meant his gardening staff and not the two of them as man and wife. She still could not believe in his proposal of marriage, still could not trust his motives for making it.
The ambiguity had not been lost upon Claudia Reed either. Across the table, she glanced sharply from Antonia’s face to Marcus’s inscrutable expression and immediately began to talk to him of mutual acquaintances in London.
‘I do declare, Renshaw,’ she drawled, touching
his sleeve, ‘your hothouses are now far superior even to Lord Melchitt’s. I remember so clearly the advice you gave to him when we were in Bath last Spring.’
She looked at Antonia as she spoke, her blue eyes signalling quite clearly the message that she and Marcus had a history, shared not only friends, but experiences, too.
Antonia smiled sweetly back, refusing to be drawn. Doubtless Lady reed was one of those ladies who resented any other woman receiving masculine attention in her vicinity. She began to converse with Lord Meredith, who was offering her the dish of poached turbot. Marcus’s chef had excelled himself and the fish dishes were followed by elaborate entrées of truffled roast chicken, glazed ham and dainty savouries in pastry cases.
Antonia caught Donna’s eye across the table and smiled at her companion’s carefully schooled expression. After months of frugal housekeeping and good, plain fare culled from the land or their garden, this sumptuous menu with its rich sauces was almost overwhelming.
Lord Meredith proved to be genial and entertaining. Antonia guessed that he was less intellectual than his wife, and more concerned with his estates than with the arts or politics. He cast fond glances at his spouse, who appeared to be discussing the state of the Whigs with Sir John.
‘Intelligent woman, my wife,’ he confided in Antonia with immense pride. ‘Don’t understand why she finds politics so interesting. I’d rather go hunting, myself, but I like to see her enjoying herself.’
Antonia followed his gaze and thought how magnificent her hostess looked, her strong features animated by intelligence as she rallied Mr Leigh on his views on the government.
She was guiltily aware she had been talking far too long to Lord Meredith and should be devoting some of her time to Marcus. And she knew why – it was an effort to turn back into Claudia Reed’s glittering sights, but she did so.
‘Might I trouble you for the powdered sugar?’ Marcus asked. When she passed it he handed it on to Lady Reed who began to dip early strawberries into it before pressing them to her lips with little cries of pleasure.
Antonia regarded the spectacle with carefully veiled distaste, wondering exactly what was, or had been, the relationship between these two. Could she have been his mistress? Such things were not uncommon in polite Society, she knew. After all, Marcus was unmarried and no monk. She could not, however, admire his taste.
And, if Claudia Reed were his mistress, what was she doing here when he was courting Antonia? Was he motivated simply by his desire for her lands and a degree of attraction to her? Antonia acknowledged that her breeding, if not her present circumstances, made her an acceptable, although very far from brilliant, match. But she was never going to be able to employ the wiles and artifice of such a highly finished piece of nature as Lady Reed.
‘Renshaw tells me that you and Miss er… Dickinson have set up housekeeping in some quaint Tudor ruin.’ Lady Reed smiled sweetly with her lips, but her eyes remained cold. ‘How quixotic of you.’
‘Miss Donaldson,’ Antonia corrected evenly. ‘And, indeed, it would be most quixotic if the Dower House were a ruin, but in fact it is a most charming place, requiring only a little care and attention to make it a comfortable home once again.’
‘And that despite the headless ghoul,’ Marcus added, with a shared smile towards Antonia.
‘Will you never stop teasing me about my foolishness,’ she began but was interrupted by a squeak from Claudia.
‘A ghost! Oh, Renshaw, I am so relieved to be staying here at dear Brightshill. I know from past experience,’ she added to Antonia, ‘that there are no spectres here and, even if there were, I know Marcus would protect me.’
Only the memory of her own folly in flinging herself into Marcus’s arms saved Antonia from an acid rejoinder. Claudia’s intention was quite plain: she had established that she had been a guest at Brightshill before, and perhaps more than just a guest. She spared a passing thought for Sir George Reed, drilling his troops at Brighton. What was the man about to leave his wife to her own devices? Surely he must know her for what she was?
‘Ladies? Shall we?’ Lady Anne was on her feet, gathering the attention of the female guests. ‘I suppose we must leave these wretches to their port, and what they always assure us is not gossip but a serious discussion of affairs.’
Chapter Thirteen
In the drawing-room, Anne Meredith linked arms with Antonia and began to stroll up and down the length of the room. ‘What a charming gown, Miss Dane. May I ask who your modiste is? Surely not a provincial dressmaker?’
Antonia was saved from deciding whether to be frank or to turn the question by the intervention of Lady Reed. ‘Yes, charming simplicity. Almost naive, is it not? And that gold is such a difficult colour unless one is somewhat swarthy. For myself, with my fair skin, I have to choose only the purest colours.’
Antonia suppressed the desire to grind her teeth in the face of such comprehensive spite. She smiled instead, knowing that was the more provoking response. ‘How trying for you.’
Really, she fumed inwardly, men can be such fools. What does Marcus see in her? Then she looked at the perfect figure, the pert bosom displayed by expensive dressmaking, the pouting red lips and told herself not to be such an innocent. And with Sir George so safely out of the way in Brighton it would not be ghosts wandering the corridors of Brightshill at midnight.
Antonia’s first instinct was to have no more to do with Marcus. If he thought she was so complacent, or such a fool, as to tolerate him entertaining his mistress, then he had sadly misjudged her character. Then the doors opened and the gentlemen rejoined the party and she looked across the room and saw him.
Marcus was standing in the doorway, regarding her with a steady intensity that made her knees weak. Haughtily Antonia raised her brows and in reply, his lips curved into a smile so intense, so full of promise that her resolution melted and her pulse stammered. She smiled back into his eyes, seeing only him, conscious only of him, the sounds in the room fading into nothingness.
She was still arm-in-arm with her hostess and was jolted back to the moment by Anne exclaiming, ‘Ah, good! The gentlemen at last. Shall we make up a table or two of cards? Mead, set up the tables over here.’
As the butler directed the footmen, Miss Fitch murmured that she had no head for cards. ‘I am very foolish, I am afraid,’ she confessed.
‘I am sure you are merely being modest, Miss Fitch,’ Richard Leigh protested. ‘But will you not play for us, instead? I would be delighted to turn the music for you.’ He waved aside her blushing protests, lifted the lid of the pianoforte and adjusted the stool for her. ‘What piece shall we start with?’ he asked, coaxing her out of her shyness.
After a moment, under cover of the first bars of a Mozart air, Lady Anne remarked, ‘How charming. The child really does play beautifully.’
‘If one has a liking for the insipid,’ Lady Reed commented. ‘It is as well she has some talent to attract, I suppose, for she is otherwise unremarkable. So gauche.’
‘No more so than any girl of her age,’ Antonia retorted. ‘I find her refreshing. But then I have always preferred the natural to the contrived, and it would appear that I am not alone in my opinion.’ She nodded towards Mr Leigh, who was assiduously turning the pages, his dark head bent close to Sophia’s soft brown curls.
Lady Anne turned the conversation, but not before Antonia had caught a gleam of approval in her eyes. It seemed to Antonia that her hostess had no more liking for Claudia than she did, which made it even more obvious that the woman was there not at her invitation but at Marcus’s.
‘Now, let us set to partners,’ Lord Meredith exclaimed, tearing open the seal on the first pack of cards. ‘Miss Donaldson, do you care to play?’
‘Well, my lord, I must confess a distinct partiality for whist,’ Donna admitted.
Antonia laughed. ‘I warn you, Lord Meredith, she is a demon player.’
‘In that case,’ Lady Anne declared, ‘I shall claim Miss Donaldson for my partner.
’
‘Then I will partner you, Meredith,’ Sir John offered. ‘Unless either of you ladies, or you, Renshaw, wish to take my place. No? Very well then, Meredith, I am with you and we must hope the ladies will be gentle with us!’
Antonia moved to a sofa where she could listen to the music and watch the card players. Lady Reed, sighing heavily, drifted off to the other end of the room where she posed decoratively against a table and began to turn over the pages of an album of engravings.
Marcus was turning towards Antonia when his sister called to him. ‘Marcus, I need you. This hand is beyond everything and if I do not have your assistance, I must throw it in immediately.’
To cries of ‘Unfair!’ from the other men, Marcus pulled up a chair and settled at his sister’s side.
Antonia sat, the intricate melody on the edges of her consciousness, her eyes on Marcus as he teased his sister, dropping his head into his hands as she played a disastrous card. He was totally natural and at ease, his good humour and his affection for his sister evident.
Antonia had known in her heart for some time that she was in love with him, but seeing him like this, all his coldness and arrogance gone, she realised she liked him very much as well. And she could not deny that she could imagine herself mistress of Brightshill.
She sat there, warmed by her thoughts, dreaming a little, unheeding of time until she was brought back to the present by laughter at the card table.
Lord Meredith was totalling points and saying teasingly to his wife, ‘My dear, you and I will play the next rubber together and permit Miss Donaldson a partner more worthy of her skills.’
The table broke up and resettled itself amid Donna’s laughing protests. Marcus got to his feet and strolled over to the sofa where Antonia sat.
‘Antonia, I feel in need of some fresh air. Will you join me on the terrace? It is quite warm out.’
