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.’
‘Yes, I would like that.’ She looked up into his face, meeting his gaze frankly. She saw his face change, soften, as he extended his hand to lead her towards the long windows, which were open on to the balmy night. He helped her across the low threshold then, when they were both standing on the flagstones, tucked her hand under his elbow and strolled towards the balustrade.
Antonia watched their shadows precede them across the terrace, lengthening as the light diminished behind them. Her heart beat strong but steady and her certainty grew that Marcus would take her in his arms as soon as they were out of view.
He led her round the corner of the terrace, into the moonlight that bathed the garden. Moths fluttered around and the perfume of night-scented stock hung heavy on the warm air. Neither of them spoke. Antonia rested her hands on the cool roughness of the stone balustrade, quite content to wait for what would come.
The fine cloth of Marcus’s sleeve brushed against her arm, and she was so aware of him that it felt like his touch. After a long moment, he put his hands on her shoulders and gently turned her to face him. Antonia tipped up her face trustingly, inviting his lips. When the kiss came she returned it with ardour, melting into his embrace.
She was very conscious of his body hard against hers, of his breathing, of his desire for her. Finally he freed her mouth and looked down at her. His face was shadowed, but she could still read the question in his eyes.
‘Yes, Marcus,’ she said simply.
‘Yes?’
‘I will be your wife.’ She loved him, he desired her. It was enough to build on. It had to be.
He raised her hand to his lips, kissing her fingertips. ‘You have made me a happy man.’ It seemed as if he were about to claim her lips again, but he checked himself, glancing over her shoulder towards the house. ‘We had best rejoin the others, I do not want our absence remarked upon.’
Despite her happiness, Antonia felt a tiny chill at his correctness, his formality. She wanted him to sweep her up, cover her face with kisses, say how much he loved her…
As they rounded the corner of the terrace, Antonia glimpsed a figure slip back through the far windows and recognised Claudia’s flounced skirts.
Perhaps that was why he was being so restrained, he wanted to protect her from Lady Reed’s acid tongue. There was time enough to talk of love when they could be sure they were alone.
Antonia felt she was floating across the threshold, hardly needing Marcus’s guiding hand on her arm. She was so suffused with happiness that she was sure everyone in the room would be aware of it the moment they looked at them. It seemed they had been gone for hours, yet the card game was still in progress, Miss Fitch was still playing her pretty airs on the pianoforte and the clock on the mantel was just chiming eleven.
‘Shall we tell them now?’ Marcus whispered in her ear.
‘Oh, yes, I want everyone to share in our happiness,’ she murmured back.
Marcus pressed her hand, gazing deep into her eyes. His look promised so much that her breath caught in her throat. He glanced round the room at his friends, who were now looking towards them, perhaps wondering what they were doing, arm in arm. He opened his mouth to speak, then there was a quavering cry.
‘Ohh...’ On the chaise-longue, Lady Reed raised a trembling hand to her brow, moaned again, and slid gracefully from the low silk seat to the carpet where she lay motionless.
There was a general rush to her side. Lady Anne was there first, kneeling on the carpet, her hand under Claudia Reed’s head. Donna knelt beside her on the other side, chafing one limp hand between her own capable ones.
‘My dear,’ Lady Anne commanded over her shoulder to her husband who stood behind her, ‘Kindly ring for Mead. I fear we may need to call for the doctor, and we must certainly have her woman here.’
‘I shall do it, ma’am.’ Sir John strode to the fireplace and tugged hard at the bell pull.
Miss Fitch had started up from the piano stool in alarm and now stood, hand to her mouth, almost as pale as Lady Reed.
Antonia crossed to Mr Leigh. ‘See to Miss Fitch, or we will have another patient on our hands. Why not take her out on to the terrace? The fresh air will revive her.’
‘Willingly, Miss Dane, but do you think it entirely proper that I should do so in the absence of her chaperone?’
‘Goodness, yes.’ Antonia was losing patience with such a backward lover. ‘I can see perfectly well from here if you just step outside the window.’ She gave him a little push and he put one arm protectively around Sophia and ushered her out onto the terrace.
Marcus had stepped across to speak to the butler, who turned and hurried from the room to summon a footman. Antonia cast a tolerant glance at the young people outside before strolling across to the chaise longue.
She felt no great concern for Lady Reed, convinced she was merely playacting, but, standing next to Lord Meredith and looking down at the prone figure, she began to have doubts for the first time.
Claudia was certainly pale, her body limp, her mouth a little open. She was lying in what must have been an exquisitely uncomfortable position without a sign of movement and appeared unresponsive to Lady Anne’s ministrations. ‘Oh, she is very convincing,’ Antonia muttered to herself, not quite under her breath.
‘I beg your pardon, ma’am? Did you speak?’ She had forgotten Lord Meredith at her side.
‘I said, “I fear she is sinking”,’ Antonia extemporised hastily. ‘Where can her maid be?’
As she spoke the woman hurried into the salon, vinaigrette in hand, and bent over her mistress to administer the smelling salts. Despite the strength of the vapour the only effect was a low moan and a brief fluttering of eyelids before they closed again. But Antonia, watching closely, caught the swift, assessing glance around the tableau of helpers that Claudia made in that moment.
She was looking to see where Marcus was, the devious baggage. All this was a device to divert his attention from Antonia. Well, we will see about that, Antonia thought grimly. ‘Oh, dear,’ she declared out loud in a voice of deep concern, ‘I fear such a long lasting swoon will be injurious to her health. We must revive her.’
As she spoke, she picked up a glass of water from the table that had been placed beside Lady Anne as she sat at cards. With one swift movement, she dashed it into the face of the prone woman.
With a shriek Lady Reed sat up so swiftly she almost overturned the women kneeling beside her. Her mouth opened and closed with shocked outrage as the water trickled down her face, turning her blonde curls into rats’ tails and sending the cunningly-applied lamp black on her lashes running down her cheeks.
‘You… you…’ she spluttered, turning furious blue eyes on Antonia.
‘No, do not thank me, I am only relieved that my actions have restored your senses,’ Antonia assured her earnestly.
The men had tactfully turned away and Anne Meredith and Donna, assisted by the maid, helped Claudia to the chaise. Donna glanced up, catching Antonia’s eye, her expression a mixture of amusement and censure.
The maid began mopping her mistress’s cheeks. When Lady Reed saw the black staining the cloth, she gave another shriek and demanded to be taken to her chamber.
‘Give me your arm, you stupid girl,’ she railed at the unfortunate maid. She stumbled from the room, Lady Anne in attendance, leaving a stunned silence behind her.
‘Poor gel,’ Sir John Ollard commiserated clumsily after a moment. ‘Quite understandable, though, that she should swoon. It is a devilish close night. Very quick thinking on your part, Miss Dane, I have to confess I was becoming anxious myself.’
Antonia, who by this time was feeling thoroughly ashamed of herself, glanced uneasily at Marcus. His face was impassive as he tugged on the bell pull again, but Antonia thought she could detect a hint of a smile at the edges of his lips.
Mead appeared with his usual quiet calm. ‘Your Grace?’
‘Please ascertain from Lady Anne whether she requires you to send for Dr Rush.’
‘I have already done so, Your Grace, and James has taken the gig to collect him.’
Antonia’s conscience was still pricking her. ‘Does Lady Anne require any assistance, do you know, Mead?’
‘I believe not, Miss Dane, thank you.’
The short silence was broken by Donna. ‘When it is convenient, Your Grace, I do believe it is time Miss Dane and I returned to the Dower House. Please bid goodnight to Lady Anne for us.’
As she spoke Miss Fitch, becomingly flushed, was helped across the threshold from the terrace by Mr Leigh. Donna gave the young woman a somewhat beady look, probably quite as capable as Antonia of spotting the signs of a first kiss. ‘My dear Miss Fitch, perhaps it would be better if you too retire now.’ Blushing, Sophia obeyed, whispered her good-nights and hurried from the room.
Marcus turned from holding the door for her. ‘I believe I can hear the wheels of the carriage on the drive. Let me accompany you to the front door, Miss Dane, Miss Donaldson.’
He took advantage of the slight flurry whilst Donna settled herself in the corner of the carriage to say, low-voiced, ‘l will call on you tomorrow morning.’
Antonia pressed his hand in reply and let him hand her into the carriage. It took all her social training and self-control not to lean out of the window for a last glimpse of him as they turned the bend in the drive.
Donna was uncharacteristically silent. Antonia, braced for an inquisition, found it hard to deal with. ‘I wonder what can have been the matter with Lady Reed,’ she mused disingenuously. ‘Admittedly, the evening is warm, but she could hardly be said to be overdressed.’
It was difficult to make out Donna’s expression in the gloom of the carriage, but when she spoke her voice was dry. ‘I doubt it was anything to do with the heat.’ She paused, then, seemingly changing the subject, ‘You were out alone on the terrace with the Duke for a long time, my dear.’
Antonia knew her companion too well not to catch her drift. The temptation to tell Donna of Marcus’s proposal and her acceptance was strong, but then she thought better of it. Donna would be full of questions, none of which she could answer. No, better wait until Marcus had visited her tomorrow and then she could give her the glad news and a date for the marriage.
‘The air was very pleasant, quite refreshing,’ she said lightly. ‘Did you not observe how completely it revived Miss Fitch?’
Donna snorted. ‘What revived that young lady was having Mr Leigh hold her hand for twenty minutes and probably kiss her into the bargain. I am sure Lady Anne would not approve. I was in two minds whether to go out there myself.’
‘Why did you not?’ Antonia encouraged, happy that the conversation had turned from her own time on the terrace.
‘Because I was more concerned with what you were about.’ Donna was tart as she leaned forward to look into Antonia’s shadowed face. ‘To dash water over Lady Reed in that way was quite outrageous.’
‘It did revive her most effectively.’
‘Do not be so disingenuous with me, Antonia, I can read you like a book. No, it is not Lady Reed’s health that causes you concern, and well I know it.’
‘Do you think she was Marcus’s mistress?’ Antonia enquired. Is she still?
The improper question had the desired effect of completely distracting Donna from the scene in the salon. ‘Antonia! What an unseemly question. You should know nothing of such things. I am sure His Grace would not…’
'His Grace is thirty years old,’ Antonia retorted tartly. ‘He has hardly lived as a monk and Lady Reed is an attractive woman – even if she does black her lashes – with a complaisant husband hundreds of miles away.’
‘Antonia, stop it. You should not have such thoughts. Well, at least, if you do, you should not voice them aloud. A well-bred young woman pretends not to know how men go on.’
‘Donna, we both know what goes on.’ Her voice dropped and trembled slightly. She bit her lip to control it. ‘Do all men have mistresses, Donna, even after they are married?’
‘Some do,’ Donna admitted. ‘But those who have married for affection and who retain their feelings for their wives do not. Why, look at Lord Meredith, can you imagine him keeping a mistress?’
Antonia leaned back against the squabs with a sigh, looking out at the silent countryside, now bathed in moonlight. She was suddenly very tired, all the excitement of the evening, of Marcus’s declaration, ebbing away to leave her feeling somewhat low. Something was going to go wrong, she just knew it.
Entering the Dower House, she was glad of Donna’s silence and said her goodnights on the landing with only a few words.
She had been certain she would fall asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow, but in the darkness the foolishness of her behaviour came back to haunt her. How could she have thrown that water at Lady Reed? And in doing so, had she not behaved just as badly as the other woman?
Miserably, Antonia wondered if Marcus would think less well of her because of it, because she knew he had not been gulled by her expressions of concern for Claudia. She loved him and she wanted to appear wholly admirable in his eyes. In the darkness she tossed and turned, scourging herself with reproaches. A lady, one destined to become a duchess, would have behaved with dignity: after all, she was the one whom he had asked to marry. Why then descend to such jealous behaviour?
The night seemed endless, sultry and oppressive. When Antonia finally slipped into sleep it was only to dream vividly of Marcus, his lips hot on her throat, his arms binding her tightly to his body. When she woke it was to find the sheets tangled round her, her hair damp and tousled on the pillows.