‘Oh, no.’ Antonia did look up then, searching Marcus’s face for emotion and finding none. ‘I must… I must ask for time to consider my answer.’
‘I see. You would advise me not to give up all hope, then?’ he enquired drily.
He must be both surprised and, probably, insulted. He was a duke she kept reminding herself. Normally he could expect to get whatever he wanted.
‘How long would you require to make your decision?’
His lack of ardour helped her regain her own poise and Antonia’s reply was equally cool. ‘A few days. A week at most.’ He could at least seem disappointed, she thought resentfully.
‘Then we are agreed: I will raise the matter again a week from today, and until then, we will not refer to it. I trust you will still feel able to dine at Brightshill tomorrow. My sister is looking forward to meeting you.’
‘Your sister is here?’ Antonia was grateful for the change of subject. ‘Is she married? Is she accompanied by her family?’ It would not do to let him know she had been observing him at the King’s Arms.
‘Yes, Anne is the wife of Charles, Lord Meredith. He will join us later today, but my nephew and niece accompanied their mother.’
‘It must be pleasant to have children about the house.’ They must have been the charming children she saw arriving at the inn, greeting their uncle with so much affection.
‘Very. Young Henry has already dug holes in the lawn for his cricket stumps and his little sister Frances appears to regard me as an endless source of sugar plums.’
Antonia laughed, remembering the blonde girl clinging tightly to Marcus’s neck in the yard. ‘You pretend to be severe, Marcus, but I can tell you are a fond uncle.’ His affection for the children was a pleasing trait, another point in his favour. She wrenched her imagination back from that. She must be careful or she would find herself saying, yes, without properly considering this.
They both seemed relieved that the tension between them had passed. ‘And do you have many other guests?’
‘My sister was accompanied by an acquaintance of hers, Lady Reed. She comes alone. Her husband is at Brighton, commanding a regiment of foot.’
A friend of his sister’s, indeed. Antonia remembered the lovely face smiling up into his and felt a deep stirring of unease.
‘Two friends of mine are with us already, and my sister is chaperoning a Miss Fitch. Her mother and mine have some matrimonial enterprise in hand, but who the lucky man is to be, I have no idea as yet.’
‘You, perhaps?’ Antonia asked lightly.
Marcus laughed. ‘Good lord, no. I have it on good authority that she considers me to be almost in my dotage.’
Antonia looked at the tall rangy figure, the thick blond hair, the firm set of his jaw and wondered if Miss Fitch was in need of an oculist. No, Marcus Renshaw was in his prime. She buried those thoughts and protested, ‘Unkind, indeed. Why, you cannot be more than five and thirty.’
‘I am thirty, Miss Dane. However I am flattered you consider me so mature.’ His tone was severe, but his eyes were twinkling with amusement at her teasing.
‘Antonia dear, this hem… Oh, Your Grace, forgive me, I had not realised you were here.’ Donna had her arms full of dull gold silk which she was trying to conceal without crushing it fatally.
‘I was just leaving, Miss Donaldson, I would not dream of intruding further as you are so much engaged with domestic affairs. Good day, ladies.’ He paused in the doorway. ‘I look forward to your company tomorrow evening. I shall send the carriage at seven, if that is convenient.’
As soon as he was gone, Donna spread the fabric out over a chair back, tutting over the creases.
‘Donna, what are you doing with my new gown?’
‘I came down for your advice on the length of the hem. But I was so put about by finding the Duke here, I fear I have creased it. Do you think he will recognise the gown when he sees it tomorrow?’
‘What if he does?’
‘I would not have him know you are reduced to making your own clothes.’ Donna smoothed it down anxiously. ‘There, after all, it is not too badly crushed, it will steam out.’
‘I doubt whether the Duke of Allington, in common with most of his sex, would remember such a thing from one day to the next.’ Antonia was sorely tempted to tell Donna of Marcus’s declaration, then thought better of it. Her companion would see no obstacle to acceptance. Indeed, she would regard it as the height of her ambitions for Antonia, and would never enter into a rational discussion of Antonia’s misgivings on the matter.
‘Now, let me see what remains to be done with this gown, and while we work I will tell you what Marcus told me of his guests.’
‘It seems strange to be setting out in evening dress when it is so light,’ Antonia remarked as they settled themselves against the luxuriously upholstered squabs of the carriage Marcus had sent, just as he had promised.
‘Not so strange when you consider it is but a few weeks from the longest day,’ Donna observed prosaically. ‘But for me the strangeness lies in going out into company at all. It must be quite nine months since we last put on long gloves.’ She looked down complacently at her own, and adjusted a pearl button.
Antonia smiled back, thinking how like a neat little bird her companion was in her elegant dark garnet shot-silk with its modest infill of lace at the bosom. Miss Donaldson had never been a beautiful woman, even in the first flush of youth, but now, in her mid-forties, she had character and style and a surprising taste for fine fabrics and Brussels lace.
‘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.’