A Comfortable Wife

by Stephanie Laurens

  Antonia hesitated, studying his bland countenance.

  Despite his determination to remain distant, Philip felt his lips twist. He reached for her hand. "Antonia—"

  The sound of a heavy footstep had them both looking up.

  "Henrietta." Lips tightening, Philip caught Antonia's gaze. "I need you as my hostess, Antonia." His fingers tightened about hers. "I want you by my side."

  It took a moment for Antonia to subdue her response to his touch, his plea. Stiffly, she inclined her head; behind her, she could hear Henrietta on the landing. "You may count on me, my lord." She kept her voice low. "I won't let you down."

  Philip held her gaze. "And I won't let you down." For an instant, he held still, then, eyes glinting, swiftly raised her fingers to his lips. "I'll even promise not to bite."

  As the day progressed, Antonia found herself grateful for the reassurance. Henrietta had elected to greet her visitors at the bottom of the terrace steps; Fenton was stationed at the front of the house, directing all arrivals around the cor­ner to the south lawn.

  After settling Henrietta by the balustrade, Antonia, her eye on Mrs Mimms, approaching like a galleon under full sail, two anaemic daughters in tow, murmured, "I'll just go the rounds and check—"

  "Nonsense, my dear." Closing her crabbed fingers about Antonia's wrist, Henrietta smiled up at her. "Your place is beside me."

  Antonia frowned. "There's no need—"

  “What say you, Ruthven?'' Henrietta glanced at Philip, standing behind her, his gaze fixed on Mrs Mimms. "Don't you think Antonia should stand by us?"

  "Indubitably," Philip stated. He shifted his gaze to An­tonia, subtle challenge in his eyes. "How else, my dear, will we cope with Mrs Mimms—let alone the rest of them?"

  She had, of course, to acquiesce; the result was predict­able. Introduced by a beaming Henrietta as "My very dear niece—dare say you remember her—spent many summers here with us all. Don't know how we could have managed this without her", she found herself transfixed by Mrs Mimms' basilisk stare.

  "Indeed? Helping out?" Mrs Mimms cast a knowledge­able eye over the tables and booths scattered over the lawns and terrace. Her lips thinned as her gaze fell on Philip, already greeting the next guests. "I see."

  Those two bare words effectively summarized Mrs Mimms' reading of the situation. Determined not to let it, or anything else, rattle her, Antonia smiled serenely. "I do hope you enjoy yourself." With a gentle nod, she allowed her gaze to shift to Horatia and Honoria Mimms, both of whom had yet to drag their attention from Philip. Their protuberant eyes were fixed on his face in cloying adora­tion. "And your daughters, too, of course."

  Mrs Mimms glanced sharply at her offspring. "Come along, girls!" She frowned intimidatingly. "Stop dilly­dallying!" With a swirl of her skirts, she led the way up the terrace steps.

  Mrs Mimms was not alone among the local ladies in having seen in the Manor's invitation a chance to press their daughters' claims. That much was made clear as the guests flooded in. Antonia found herself the object of quite a few disconcerted stares. Many recalled her from her earlier vis­its; while most greeted her warmly, the matrons with un­married daughters in tow were distinctly more reserved.

  Lady Archibald was characteristically forthright in her surprise. "Damnation! Thought you'd disappeared. Or at least were safely wed!"

  Antonia struggled to hide her grin. It was impossible to take offence; her ladyship, while hardly the soul of tact, possessed an indefatigably kind heart. She watched as her ladyship, frowning, looked down on the mousy young lady hugging her shadow, her gaze, like all the other young ladies' gazes seemed to be, fixed on Philip. Lady Archibald humphed. "Come along, Emily. No point in making sheep's eyes in that direction."

  Antonia made a point of shaking hands with Emily, to soften that trenchant remark. But the girl appeared not to have heeded it, continuing to cast shy but glowing glances at Philip.

  After directing her ladyship and Emily to the terrace, An­tonia turned to greet the next guest, in doing so, she met Philip's eye.

  She had never before seen such an expression of aggra­vated exasperation on his face. It was a fight to keep her lips in the prescribed gentle smile; her jaw ached for a full five minutes. Thereafter, she studiously avoided his gaze whenever smitten young ladies stood before them.

  The novelty of the event had ensured a large turnout. All their neighbours had accepted, rolling up the drive in chaises and carriages, many open so the occupants could bask in the bright sunshine. Philip's tenants came in carts or on foot, lifting their caps or dropping shy curtsies as they passed the reception line on their way to join the congre­gation on the lawn.

  Amongst the last to arrive was the party from the Grange, some miles beyond the village. Sir Miles and Lady Castle-ton were new to the district since Antonia's last visit; she studied them as they approached, her ladyship strolling in the lead, an aloof expression on her lovely face, a slim, dark-haired young lady in her wake.

  "My dear Ruthven!" With a dramatic gesture, Lady Castleton presented her hand. A statuesque brunette, fashion­ably pale, she was elegantly gowned in figured muslin, her face set in lines of studied boredom. "What a novel—quite exhausting—idea!" A cloud of heady perfume engulfed the reception party. Her ladyship's gaze shifted to Henrietta. "I don't know how you could bear to handle all this, my dear. You must be positively prostrated. So naughty of Ruthven to expect it of you."

  "Nonsense, Selina!" Henrietta frowned and straightened her shoulders. "If you must know, having a major gathering was my idea—Ruthven was merely good enough to humour me."

  "Indeed," Philip drawled, releasing her ladyship's hand after the most perfunctory shake. He turned to Sir Miles. "I can confirm that it was not my will that gave rise to today's entertainment."

  Sir Miles, bluffly genial, was a stark contrast to his wife. Chuckling, he pumped Philip's hand. "No need to tell me that! Not a man here doesn't know what it's like."

  "As you say." Philip's smile remained easy as he nod­ded to the girl who stood between Sir Miles and his wife. "Miss Castleton."

  "Good afternoon, my lord." Boldly, Miss Castleton pre­sented her hand with the same dramatic flair as her mother. She accompanied it with an openly inviting, distinctly bra­zen look. Not as tall as Antonia, she was possessed of a full figure, more revealed than concealed by her fine muslin gown.

  Philip glanced at her hand as if mildly surprised to find it hanging before him. He clasped it but fleetingly, his gaze, blank, shifting to Lady Castleton, then Antonia as he half-turned.

  "Haven't introduced you to my niece." Henrietta ges­tured to Antonia, adroitly deflecting attention from Miss Castleton, who promptly pouted. "Miss Mannering."

  With a calm smile, Antonia held out her hand.

  Lady Castleton's sharp, black-eyed gaze travelled over her; an arrested expression flitted over her pale face. "Ah," she said, smiling but not with her eyes. Briefly touching Antonia's fingers, she looked down at Henrietta. "It's re­assuring to see that you've found someone to act as com­panion at last."

  "Companion?" Henrietta blinked; Antonia noted her aunt's straight back but could not fault her guileless ex­pression as she exclaimed, "Oh—I keep forgetting you're newcomers!’ Henrietta smiled, all confiding condescen­sion. "No, no—Antonia's often visited here. Been her sec­ond home for years. Now her mama's passed on, she's nat­urally come to stay with me." Turning, Henrietta squeezed Antonia's arm. "But you're right in part—it's a great relief to have someone capable of organising all this sort of thing—exhausting at my age but, as you must know, quite one's duty."

  Antonia took her cue, smiling fondly at Henrietta. "In­deed, but I assure you, aunt, I haven't found it exhausting at all." Glancing up, still smiling, she met Lady Castleton's hard gaze. "I'm quite used to organising such affairs—all part of a young lady's education, as my mama was wont to say."

  Lady Castleton's eyes narrowed. "Indeed?" “Be that as it may,'' Philip said, deftly coming between Anto
nia and Henrietta, "I believe it's time we adjourned to the terrace." Capturing Antonia's hand, he tucked it into one elbow, then held his other arm rigid as Henrietta leaned heavily upon it. "Sir Miles?"

  "Indeed, m'lord." Before Lady Castleton could reclaim the initiative, Sir Miles drew her arm through his, then of­fered his other arm to his daughter. "Couldn't agree more. Let's go, what?"

  Without a backward glance, Sir Miles ushered his ladies up the steps.

  Philip waited until they were out of earshot, then glanced pointedly down at the ladies on his arms. "Might I suggest, my dears, that we get this exhausting, exceedingly well-organised event underway?''

  They saw Henrietta settled in her seat at one end of the long table, then Philip escorted Antonia to her chosen po­sition halfway down the board. "I never thought to say it, but thank heaven for Ladies Archibald and Hammond."

  As she sat, Antonia glanced at the head of the table where the two ladies in question, imposing matrons both, flanked Philip's empty chair. Settling her skirts, she cast a ques­tioning glance up at him.

  Philip bent close. "They take precedence over Lady Cas­tleton." With a glint of a smile and a lifted brow, he straightened and moved away.

  Antonia disguised her grin as a cheery smile; she hunted for Lady Castleton and found her seated on the opposite side, some places away, her exquisite features marred by an expression of disaffected boredom. Her ladyship's disdain, however, was not evinced by others; as the food, laboured over by Mrs Hobbs, Cook and a small battalion of helpers, appeared on the crisp damask cloth, genial conversation rose on all sides. As Fenton and his minions filled goblets and glasses, the festive atmosphere grew.

  Philip proposed a toast to the company, then bade them enjoy the day. When he sat, the feast began.

  From the corner of her eye, Antonia kept watch over the steady stream of maids carrying platters to the lower tables. To her mind, Philip's tenants were, in this instance, as im­portant if not more so than his neighbours. Neighbours would be invited on other occasions; this was one of the few when tenants partook of their landlord's largesse. Tres­tles groaned as trays loaded with mouth-watering pastries, succulent savouries and roasted meats, together with breads, cheeses and pitchers of ale, were placed upon them. The company seemed in fine fettle; she could detect nothing but unfettered gaiety around the tables on the lawn.

  She had wondered whether the noise from the lower ta­bles would prove overwhelming. As she returned her atten­tion to the conversations about her, she dismissed the thought; those on the terrace were more than capable of holding their own.

  The long meal passed without incident, bar an altercation which arose at the table set aside for the tenants' children, which their fathers promptly quashed. When the fruit plat­ters were all but empty, the boards were drawn; the dow­agers and others ill-inclined to the games, contests and feats of skill slated to fill the afternoon, settled in their chairs on the terrace to enjoy a comfortable cose and possibly a nap in the warm sunshine.

  The more robust of the guests adjourned to the lawns.

  Straightening from having a last word with Henrietta, Antonia found Philip by her side.

  When she looked her surprise, he raised a brow. "You didn't seriously imagine I'd brave the dangers of the lawns without you to protect me?''

  "Protect. . .?" Antonia temporarily lost her track when he drew her close, trapping her hand in the crook of his elbow. He was very large—and very hard; she was not yet accustomed to his nearness. "What am I supposed to pro­tect you against?" She managed what she felt was a cred­itably sceptical look.

  Her nemesis merely smiled. "Piranhas."

  "Piranhas?" Antonia cudgelled her brains as, with an elegant nod for the dowagers, Philip led her down the steps. "I thought they were fish," she said once they gained the lawns.

  "Precisely. Social but carnivorous and definitely cold­blooded."

  “On your lawns?''

  "Indeed. Here comes a young one, now."

  Antonia looked up to see Miss Castleton bearing down upon them, arm linked with Honoria Mimms.

  “Ah—Miss Mannering, is it not?'' Miss Castleton came to a halt directly before them. “Poor Honoria seems to have ripped her flounce."

  Looking thoroughly puzzled, Honoria was twisting about, trying to see her trailing flounce. "I don't know how it happened," she said. "I felt it rip but when I turned around there was nothing for it to catch on. Luckily, Calliope was standing close by and told me how bad it was."

  "Perhaps, if you would be so good, Miss Mannering," Calliope Castleton glibly broke in, "you might take poor Honoria up to the house and help her to pin up her lace?''

  Honoria blushed beet-red. "Oh, I couldn't—! I mean, you have all your other guests. . ."

  "Exactly," Philip calmly interjected. "As you've been such a good friend to Miss Mimms, Miss Castleton, I know you won't mind helping her to the terrace and asking one of the maids for assistance." He bestowed a smile of cal­culated charm on Honoria Mimms. "I'm afraid, my dear, that I have great need of Miss Mannering's talents at pres­ent."

  Miss Mimms was dazzled. "Naturally, my lord." Her eyes were wide and shining. "I wouldn't dream of. . .of dis­commoding you."

  "Thank you, my dear." Philip took her hand and bowed over it, his grateful smile enough to turn any young girl's head. "I am in your debt."

  Honoria Mimms looked as if she would burst. Her round face alight, she grabbed Miss Castleton's arm. "Come on, Calliope—I'm sure we can take care of this ourselves."

  Beaming, Miss Mimms towed Miss Castleton towards the terrace. The sound of Miss Castleton's protests died behind them.

  Antonia opened her eyes wide. "Miss Castleton didn't seem all that taken with your suggestion, my lord."

  “I dare say. Miss Castleton, as you will have noticed, is somewhat enamoured of her own path."

  Antonia's eyes lit; her lips quirked.

  Philip noticed. "Now what is there in that to make you laugh?" Mentally replaying the conversation, he could see nothing to account for the laughter he sensed welling within her. He lifted one brow interrogatively. "Well?"

  Antonia's smile broke. "I was considering, my lord," she said, shifting her gaze to the crowds before them, "whether your last comment might not be an example of the pot calling the kettle black?"

  She glanced up at him; he trapped her gaze, both brows rising. For a long moment, he held her mesmerised; Antonia felt a shiver start deep inside, spreading through her until it quivered just beneath her skin.

  Only when awareness blossomed in her eyes did Philip glance away. "You, my dear, are hardly one to talk." After a moment, he added, his tone less dark, "I suspect that we should mingle. When are the archery contests scheduled to start?"

  The hours passed swiftly, filled with conversations. They strolled the lawns, stopping every few feet to chat with their guests. Antonia was of the firm opinion that Philip should spend at least five minutes with each of his tenants; it tran­spired he was of similar mind; she was not called on to steer him their way. A fact for which she gave due thanks.

  Her control of the fete and its associated events might be absolute; it did not extend to him.

  To her surprise, he held by her side, even waiting pa­tiently while she exchanged recipes with one of his farmers' wives. Despite the years, the majority of his tenants were still known to her; they were keen to renew their acquain­tance as well as catch up with their landlord. After every encounter, Philip drew her close before moving on.

  Exactly as if she did indeed provide the protection he claimed.

  While most of the mamas had read the signs aright and consequently made no effort to put their darlings in his way, their darlings proved less perceptive. Miss Abercrombie and Miss Harris, greatly daring, accosted them as they strolled.

  "Such a frightfully warm day, don't you think, my lord?" Miss Abercrombie's gaze was certainly sultry. She fanned herself with her hand, the action drawing attention to the ample charms revealed by
her deeply scooped neck­line.

  "Quite positively enervating, I think." Miss Harris, not to be outdone, fluttered her lashes and cast Philip a lan­guishing look.

  Antonia felt him stiffen; his expression was shuttered, remote.

  "Before you find yourselves prostrated, ladies, might I suggest you repair to the drawing-room?" Philip's tone alone lowered the temperature ten degrees. "I believe there are cold drinks laid out there." With a distant nod, he changed tack, steering Antonia away from the budding courtesans.

  After one glance at the rigid set of his lips, Antonia amused herself looking over the stalls. She could have told all the young misses that gushing declarations and fluttering lashes were definitely the wrong way to approach their host. He disliked all show of emotion, preferring the correct, properly restrained modes of interaction. He was a conven­tional man—she strongly suspected most gentlemen were.

  They paused to allow Philip to discuss crop rotation with one of his tenant farmers. Covertly studying him, Antonia smiled wrily. His languid indolence was very much to the fore, at least in his projected image.

  The girls watching could not hear his brisk words on ploughing and the optimum depth of furrows. As handsome as any, with that subtle aura of restrained power which de­rived, she suspected, from that affected indolence, while strolling the lawns with smoothly elegant stride, every movement polished and assured, he was a natural target for the sighing, die-away looks of the massed host of young girls.

  Quelling an unhelpful shiver, Antonia looked around. Horatia Minims and two of the girls from the vicarage stood in a knot nearby, giggling and whispering. Feeling im­measurably older, she let her gaze pass over them.

  Concluding his discussion, Philip placed his hand over hers and turned towards the archery butts. “Looks like the contests are well underway." He glanced down at her. "I'm not at all sure you shouldn't be the one to present the ribbon to the winner."

  Antonia shook her head. "You are their master—to the youngsters you're an idol. Of course they want you to award the prize."