Miss Dane and the Duke

by Louise Allen

  ‘I bid you both good night.’ Marcus gave no sign of having heard a word she said. ‘I wish you well of your union. It will, I am certain, bring joy to your friends.’

  He snatched up the rest of his clothing from the river bank and strode off out of sight, managing to look magnificently ducal despite his bare feet, soaked shirt and tousled hair.

  There was a moment of stunned silence. Antonia stared blankly at Jeremy who wore an expression compounded of sheepishness and defiance.

  ‘How dare you?’ she stormed, consumed by so many roiling emotions she hit out regardless of who suffered. ‘How could you say such a thing, to imply that you and I are to be married? Where does that leave me now?’

  ‘In better case than you were in five minutes ago,’ he retorted hotly. ‘You should look to your reputation, Antonia, and consider yourself fortunate it was I who discovered you just now. I may not be a duke, but your name will be better protected as my wife than as that man’s mistress.’

  They glared at each other in the moonlight, as she felt her underlip quivering. She was not going to cry. She was not.

  Jeremy took one step forward, then another. ‘Really, Antonia, what would you have had me do? I had to think quickly, and it was that or hit him on the jaw. If I could have managed it,’ he added with rueful honesty.

  ‘I wish you had,’ Antonia responded mutinously. Suddenly she felt very, very tired. She sat down with an unladylike thump on the river bank.

  ‘No, you do not,’ Jeremy said firmly. He sat down beside her and put one arm round her shoulders in a comradely manner. ‘Fist fights are bloody, unpleasant and rarely achieve anything. Now, tell me what this is all about so we can find a solution to this coil.’

  ‘This is not a legal problem you can resolve by consulting a few dusty tomes,’ Antonia snapped, then relented immediately. ‘Oh, Jeremy, I am sorry, you are a good friend to tolerate my temper.’ She twisted round to meet his eyes. ‘I did wonder if you had a partiality for me, at first. But you have not, have you? I am right?’ she persisted.

  Jeremy smiled. ‘There was a time when I felt fairly sure I was going to fall in love with you. But there is nothing quite as dampening as the discovery that the object of one’s interest has her affections fixed firmly elsewhere. That said,’ he added firmly, ‘it is no reason why we should not deal very well together, you and I.’

  Antonia kissed his cheek with real affection. ‘You are a dear, Jeremy. But I cannot, I love him, you see.’

  ‘Then why do you not marry the man, then?’ he asked with a touch of impatience. ‘Has he not asked you? He is obviously deeply attracted to you.’

  Antonia smiled wryly. ‘Oh, he has asked me to be his wife. But then I discovered that Marcus Renshaw is a man who is attracted to many women. In my case, the attraction is embellished by the thought of getting his hands on Rye End Hall and its lands.’

  ‘The lands are neither here nor there, I would guess. I assume you are referring to one woman in particular? One with expensive gowns, a curvaceous figure and a fine pair of eyes? I can quite see her attraction,’ he added mischievously.

  ‘Mutton dressed as lamb,’ Antonia responded indignantly. ‘And married mutton at that. You are as bad as he is. I wonder what she looks like first thing in the morning.’ Without the paint and the curling irons and the expensive corsetry…

  ‘Mmm…’ Jeremy said speculatively.

  ‘…before her maid and her hairdresser and goodness knows what cosmetics have come to her aid.’ She looked at Jeremy sharply. ‘You are teasing me.’

  ‘Of course I am teasing you. Women like that are commonplace in London. She is doubtless an entertaining and compliant mistress – and one with an elderly complaisant husband, there usually is. A gentleman like Allington is going to expect his entertainment – he is, after all, not a monk.’ He paused and cast her a doubtful glance. ‘You must forgive me being so free-spoken, Antonia, I will say no more if I am offending you.’

  ‘No, Jeremy, you are telling me nothing that I had not already fathomed for myself, I have had London Seasons, after all. But how could he continue the liaison while he paid court to me?’

  ‘Er…’ Jeremy was clearly searching for a tactful way of expressing himself.

  ‘Oh, I know that in arranged marriages these things happen. But I truly believed he had at least respect and affection for me. But to flaunt his mistress so openly… I could not marry a man who was so careless of my feelings.’

  ‘Then marry me. I can assure you I would never be careless of how you felt. I can offer you the respect, affection and the companionship you deserve in a marriage which would maintain you in a fitting manner.’

  ‘But not love, Jeremy,’ she said wistfully. ‘You can’t offer me that.’

  ‘It will grow. I have the greatest admiration for love matches – after all, look at the example of my aunt and uncle. But very few people begin their married life with such strong feelings.’

  ‘And what would happen if you found the woman for whom you could feel such emotions after we were married?’

  ‘I would not look,’ he teased, squeezing her shoulder.

  ‘All men look, it is your nature,’ Antonia retorted, laughing, feeling surprisingly cheered. ‘No, Jeremy, I like you too much to marry you. Now come, admit it, I am not breaking your heart, am I?’

  ‘Madam, it is in pieces at your feet.’ He assumed an expression of anguish. ‘It will be noon tomorrow, at the very earliest before I have recovered.’

  ‘Mountebank. Help me to my feet, we cannot sit out here all night and I am ready to sleep on my feet. Goodness knows what hour it is.’

  As they strolled through the silent night, Jeremy asked sombrely, ‘This is all very well, but what will you do now? You are sure to encounter the Duke again.’

  ‘I shall pretend none of this happened. After all, he can say nothing without casting himself in a most unfavourable light. If an engagement between you and I is not announced, he will just see it for what it was, a device to get over the awkwardness of the moment.’

  When they arrived at the back door of the Dower House Antonia retrieved the big key from under a flower pot and unlocked the door. She turned back to Jeremy. ‘Good night, dear friend. I am sorry I have embroiled you in such a coil.’

  Jeremy smiled, then bent to drop a brotherly kiss on her cheek. ‘Do not give it another thought, my dear…’

  ‘Antonia,’ Donna’s cry of outrage sounded like a shout on the still air. Both Antonia and Jeremy started, presenting a picture of perfect guilt, she realised as she tried to suppress an hysterical laugh.

  Donna, hair in curl papers, her thin body encased in a flannel wrapper of hideous design, stood brandishing the poker she had apparently snatched from the kitchen range on her way to investigate the stealthy footsteps she had heard approaching the house.

  ‘Libertine! Blackguard! Rest assured your uncle shall hear of this you... you... whitened sepulchre, you!’ she stormed.

  ‘Donna, please put that poker down and stop abusing poor Mr Blake. He has done nothing to warrant your wrath – he was merely seeing me safely home after my walk.’

  ‘Your walk? At three in the morning? A tryst, more like.’

  Jeremy passed his hand wearily over his brow. Miss Donaldson, madam, I can assure you...’

  But Donna was well into her stride and was not to be deflected. ‘And I can assure you, sir, that you will marry this poor child at the earliest moment it may be accomplished without scandal.’

  ‘Jeremy, go.’ Antonia pushed her much put-upon friend in the direction of the back gate. ‘Donna, we will go inside and I will explain it all before we waken Jane. Then there would be a scandal.’ She wrested the poker from Donna’s grasp and pushed her down on a chair before the flickering light of the kitchen range.

  ‘That it should come to this. I only thank Heaven your poor mother is not alive to see this day,’ Donna moaned.

  ‘Oh, do be quiet, Donna,’ Antonia snapped. ‘Poor Mr
Blake met me quite by chance by the riverbank. I went for a walk because I could not sleep and he was listening to the nightingales. I had a fright because of... something I thought I saw in the undergrowth and Mr Blake came to my rescue.’

  ‘That’s as may be,’ Donna was still not mollified. ‘He took advantage of you – I saw him kiss you.’

  ‘If I had a brother living, he could not have kissed me more chastely, Donna. Jeremy Blake is my good friend, and only a friend.’

  To her alarm and utter astonishment, Donna responded by bursting into tears.

  ‘What is it?’ Antonia fell on her knees beside the chair. ‘Were you very frightened because you thought we were burglars?’ She took Donna’s hands in hers and chafed them gently. ‘You were very brave.’

  ‘But we thought, we hoped, you were going to marry him,’ Donna lamented.

  ‘Who? Who is we? You wanted me to marry Mr Blake? Then why make such a hue and cry? Oh, I am so tired I cannot think straight.’

  ‘Lady Finch and I had such hopes of you and Mr Blake, such a suitable match. And then to think that he was just another heartless philanderer and then to discover you do not wish to marry him, after all...’

  ‘Go to bed, Donna,’ Antonia said wearily. ‘We have both had an over-exciting night.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  The next morning the atmosphere was awkward with remembered embarrassment and Antonia escaped to the drawing room to open the post. Her interest in a pamphlet on the manuring of roses sent by Sir Josiah waned, however, in competition with the memory of Marcus’s hard body, cold from the river, urgent against hers.

  She shivered despite the heat, recalling the feel of wet hair crisping under her fingertips as she had entwined her arms around his neck.

  With an effort Antonia pulled herself together and opened the next package which contained a very sprightly missive from Great-Aunt Honoria.

  ‘I find this new doctor most invigorating, my dear,’ the old lady wrote. ‘He advised changing from that lowering diet to one including red meat, game and Bordeaux and I feel not a day over fifty again! Your cousin Hewitt keeps urging me to rest – sometimes I think he wishes me to remain an invalid – but I find I am enjoying myself too much. And I confess, my dear, that new wife of your cousin Clarence’s is such a little peahen that I find myself quite rejuvenated by dislike for her! I know you are much engaged putting the Dower House to rights, but please come and see me soon now that I am returned to my own house. Town is short of company now, but you and I were always able to find some diversion to amuse us.’

  Antonia, delighted that her great-aunt was so much better, was indulging in a daydream of escaping from all the heartaches of home to a few weeks in London when Jane announced, ‘Lady Anne, Miss Antonia,’ making her start in her seat and drop the pamphlet on the Turkey rug.

  If there was any sort of atmosphere at Brightshill no reflection of it showed on Lady Anne’s face as she took a chair and accepted the suggestion of a glass of lemonade.

  ‘I will come straight to the point, Miss Dane: this is not a social call. I am in sore need of your help.’

  ‘My help?’ She had succeeded in startling Antonia. ‘Why, of course, any service in my power I will gladly perform. Is it the children?’

  ‘You are most kind. I am happy to say the children are thriving – they love the freedom of Brightshill after London. No, it is a certain social awkwardness.’ She took a strategic sip of her lemonade. ‘I felt Lady Reed was not happy. I assumed she was pining for her husband, Sir George. After all, he has been down at Brighton doing whatever one does with troops for months.’

  There was a slight pause while she drank more lemonade and Antonia’s imagination ran riot. ‘Naturally, I assumed that, if I were to invite him to Brightshill to join our house party, this would lift Lady Reed’s spirits.’

  ‘A natural, and most thoughtful, assumption,’ Antonia said, straight-faced, commendably concealing her bitter amusement at the thought of Claudia pining for anyone but Marcus.

  ‘Well, I thought so. So I wrote to him. But my brother seems most put out.’

  ‘I wonder why.’

  ‘I cannot conceive.’ Both ladies sipped their lemonade thoughtfully. ‘And as for Claudia, why, she was positively petulant. And the wretched man is arriving tomorrow and my husband is no help whatsoever, just keeps saying that he cannot see what the problem is.’

  ‘But how can I help?’ Antonia asked This reported reaction only confirmed her belief that Marcus was still hopelessly entangled in Claudia’s lures. The husband would be a complication he did not want. Poor man, serving his King and country in the army while behind his back his wife… She shut the picture from her mind.

  Lady Anne smoothed her skirts. ‘The first dinner will be a very awkward affair, I fear, and I thought to myself, how could I dilute the mix? I felt I could confide in you because you know everyone, and are such delightful company. I know it is a lot to ask, but if you could just help me smooth the path, I would be so grateful. Sir John and Mr Leigh were only saying over breakfast how long it seemed since you were last at Brightshill….’ She broke off, regarding Antonia with a ruefully apologetic smile.

  Antonia felt torn. She wanted to see Marcus, be with him, yet she knew it would be painful and humiliating to see him anywhere near that woman. On the other hand, an ignoble spirit of revenge prompted her to witness the lovers’ discomfiture when Sir George arrived. And, setting all other considerations aside, she liked Marcus’s sister and wanted to help her.

  ‘Lady Anne, of course, I will help in any way I can. When do you expect Sir George to arrive?’

  ‘Late this afternoon,’ Anne confessed. ‘That is probably why Marcus is so cross with me – l did rather spring it upon him. Oh, and I do hope Miss Donaldson will be able to join us.’

  ‘l am afraid she will not. She is already engaged this evening at Rye End Hall at a small whist party. Sir Josiah and Lady Finch have an elderly relative staying who is addicted to the game and Donna is to make up the four.’

  ‘What a pity. Never mind, I will end the carriage for you at seven o’clock.’

  Antonia dressed for the evening with great care, knowing that in any display of feminine charms Claudia Reed would win hands down. She possessed a wardrobe created expressly to exhibit her lures while all Antonia could do was to appear elegant and cool. She chose her newest gown in a shimmering celadon green silk, cut with total simplicity, and ornamented only with a gauze scarf of silver thread that matched her slippers.

  Donna, in a fuss because Antonia was attending a party without her, helped secure her dark curls high on her head with pearl pins so that the tendrils just brushed the tops of her ears.

  ‘Do not forget your fan.’ Donna hurried after her down the stairs as the carriage was waiting at the door. ‘It is so very close, I fear we will have a storm later tonight.’ At the front door she added, low-voiced, ‘And do make certain you are never alone with that wicked man!’

  Brightshill shone eerily in the purplish light of the approaching storm, lightning already forking through the sky far off over the Vale. The carriage horses shifted uneasily as the coachman reined in at the front door while the footman let down the steps to help Antonia alight.

  She was conscious of nerves as she stepped into the hall to be greeted by Mead the butler but, as he opened the double doors and she walked into the brightly lit salon, she felt her apprehension start to dissipate. She supposed, greeting her hostess and Lord Meredith, that it was like soldiers going into battle, once committed to action, it was strangely calming.

  Antonia made her way through the salon, exchanging smiles and greetings with Sir John and Mr Leigh, stopping to exchange a few words with Miss Fitch, who blushed prettily at the attention.

  At length, her circuit of the room brought her face to face with Marcus, who was standing before the empty grate, one foot on the brass fender rail. He straightened as she approached and bowed over her hand, but not fast enough for Antonia
to miss the gleam of, presumably reluctant, appreciation in his dark eyes as he took in her appearance.

  ‘You are in great beauty tonight, Miss Dane,’ he observed dispassionately. There was genuine admiration there, but an undercurrent of suppressed anger too. She was not forgiven.

  Antonia looked into his eyes and caught her breath with a shock of love and longing. She wanted to reach out and touch his hair, smooth out the tension that only she could discern in the taut skin over his high cheekbones and caress the lips that had kissed her so thrillingly only the night before.

  Instead, she looked at Claudia Reed sitting close to him and hardened her heart. No, she would not let herself be hurt by a man who continued his liaison with such a woman, so blatantly, so cruelly.

  ‘Is Mr Blake not with you?’ Marcus’s voice recalled her attention.

  ‘Mr Blake? Why, no. Were you expecting him?’

  ‘I expected you to be accompanied by your fiancé.’

  ‘My fiancé? Why, Your Grace, I am not engaged to be married to anyone.’ She widened her eyes innocently. ‘You must have dreamt it. The moonlight has such a strange effect, do you not find?’

  Marcus’s lips narrowed and his eyes sparked with unshielded emotion. Antonia found her wrist gripped none too gently as he pulled her closer to his side. ‘Do not toy with me, Antonia. Are you telling me Blake lied to me last night?’

  'Last night? I cannot imagine to what you refer, Your Grace. I was in bed last night.’

  She gasped as his fingers tightened and he bent his head so close to hers that she felt his breath on her mouth.

  ‘Last night, madam, you were in my arms on the riverbank and, if that fool Blake had not blundered in, I would have made you mine.’ His eyes glittered and Antonia was seized with the wild thought that he would take her in his arms, stride out into the night and complete his seduction there and then.

  ‘Marcus, do not monopolise Miss Dane, you have all evening to talk to her.’ Lady Anne advanced across the Chinese carpet towards them, ‘And here is Sir George just come down. Antonia, allow me to make him known to you.’