An afternoon spent in turning out both their wardrobes passed swiftly
‘It is as I feared,’ Antonia said gloomily over a cup of tea as they reviewed their findings. ‘We each have one pair of respectable evening gloves, there is enough ribbon to furbish up your gown and your slippers are presentable. But our stockings are woeful, my evening slippers scuffed and not a single gown of mine is such that I could either wear it or cut it up to make another with any pretensions to style whatsoever.’
‘None of this is insurmountable,’ Donna said firmly, setting down her cup and raising her voice. ‘Jane!’ The girl hurried in, only to be dispatched to find Jem and order his presence with the gig the next morning. ‘We can try what Berkhamsted has to offer and go further afield if necessary.’
‘But, Donna,’ Antonia protested, ‘we cannot afford to shop for any of this.’ She was utterly bewildered by the other woman’s enthusiasm.
‘Nonsense. You have money left from the loan. Look upon this as an investment.’
‘You cannot seriously be suggesting that I use that money for husband-hunting?’
‘I did not say anything of the kind. But you cannot go into Society attired like a milkmaid. And if you are not to go into Society, pray tell me why we have been wasting so much time and money to establish ourselves in the Dower House?’
‘Oh, very well,’ Antonia conceded. There was no gainsaying her companion in this mood. ‘But we only have a week in which to prepare.’
‘It will suffice. If luck is with us, we shall be able to obtain copies of the Ladies’ Intelligencer in Berkhamsted, which will give us an inkling of the current mode. I have already found an excellent shop for haberdashery. Remember, I told you of it when I bought the linens last month? And there are several drapers. One, at least, must have some acceptable silks.’
‘But we do not know which dressmakers to trust,’ Antonia protested.
‘Dressmakers? No time, my dear. We will sew the garment ourselves. With my skill for pattern cutting, and your fine stitchery, we may save several pounds and no one be any the wiser. Now, let us have some supper and retire early. We have a busy day before us tomorrow.’
‘Now this will become you very well,’ Donna said with satisfaction, holding up the dull gold silk against Antonia’s face. ‘That subtle counter-stripe in the weave picks up the brown of your hair beautifully.’
‘Indeed yes, ma’am,’ Mrs Mumford the linen draper hastened to add her voice. ‘If you intend to make this gown here,’ she gestured to a striking fashion plate open on the counter, ‘I can think of nothing that will cut and drape better.’
‘It is very expensive,’ Antonia demurred, wistfully fingering the soft fabric to admire the sheen.
‘Quality will out, madam, if I may make so bold an observation.’
‘Quite right,’ Donna declared. ‘We will take a dress length of this, and the lining we had already agreed upon. Now, trimmings…’
Another delightful half-hour was passed deciding between the rival merits of mother-of-pearl buttons or covered silk ones, floss edgings or corded ribbon and whether to add a sprig of artificial flowers at the neckline or an edging of fine lace.
‘And will you be bringing in your slippers for dyeing, ma’am?’ Mrs Mumford enquired as the girl made up the parcels. ‘I can recommend Thomas Hurst in the High Street for kid slippers, but his dyeing isn’t all it ought to be.’
After negotiating with the shoemaker to send the new slippers to Mrs Mumford, they retired to a private parlour overlooking the inn yard at the King’s Arms and sent for coffee and biscuits. Antonia made herself comfortable in the window seat and surveyed the bustle below. ‘Oh, Donna, do look at Jem. He is sitting up in the gig with his arms folded, aping the groom in that curricle over there.’
‘He is a good lad,’ Donna said with a smile. ‘l am glad we are able to give him employment. The yard is very busy, is it not? Here comes another post chaise – and I do declare, is that not the Duke coming out of the inn?’
It was, indeed. Antonia, from her vantage point at the window, could look down on Marcus as he strolled out into the sunlight and stood waiting for the post boys to let down the steps of the chaise. Although he was wearing riding dress, Antonia noticed he was more carefully attired than normal. As he lifted his tall hat, she saw he had submitted his tawny locks to the attentions of his valet and the nape of his neck, newly shorn, showed pale.
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 wrist 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.