Antonia was still more despising of herself than angry with Marcus when, after an early supper, she sat waiting for him in the garden. Donna, in obvious expectation of a proposal, had tactfully made herself scarce.
The air was heavy, with a threatening chrome yellow tinge to the banked clouds. Lightning flickered over the Vale and tiny thunder flies swarmed above the flowerbeds. Antonia, despite the light summer gown, felt as if she were wearing furs, the heat was so oppressive.
She was fighting to keep calm, rehearsing the dignified, frigid speech with which she intended to withdraw her acceptance of his offer. She had no intention of bringing Claudia Reed’s name into it. No, she would say in measured tones that she had thought better of it, that they would not suit. After all, she could never admit she had seen them that afternoon.
The old longcase clock from the hallway struck seven, the sound echoing faintly across the garden from the open casements, set wide to catch what little breeze there was.
Where is he? The longer she waited, the harder it became to maintain her fragile composure. Then she heard the hoof beats and started to her feet, heart beating painfully.
Marcus, trotted up the driveway looked across and saw her and turned his horse’s head. He tossed the reins over a branch and strode across the lawn towards her, a smile warm on his lips.
Antonia knew her face was set but, try as she might, she could not arrange her features into any semblance of welcome. As he neared her and saw her expression his changed, too, into a look of questioning concern.
‘Antonia, what is wrong?’ He took her hand in his, raising it to his lips.
Antonia pulled her hand away, her legs suddenly weak with longing for him, for his touch. She could not allow herself to falter, weaken, or she would be lost.
‘Your Grace,’ she began formally, her lips stiff. He began to speak, but she held up her hand to forestall him. ‘Your Grace, I have to tell you that, flattering as your offer to me yesterday was, I feel my acceptance of it was mistaken. Upon reflection…’ Her voice wavered slightly as a frown gathered between his brows, but she pressed on. ‘Upon reflection, I must decline your proposal, sensible though I am of the honour you do me. Your Grace, we should not suit,’ she finished baldly.
This was as far as she had gone with her prepared speech. Her imagination had not allowed her to picture Marcus’s reaction.
‘Should not suit?’ His voice was incredulous. ‘Antonia, what the devil can you mean? I thought – ’
Antonia drew herself up and took a steadying breath. ‘I mean what I say, Your Grace. We should not suit. I am only grateful circumstances were such that we made no announcement last night.’
He let out a short bark of humourless laughter. ‘We may have made no announcement, but our friends know what to expect.’
‘I have done nothing to lead them to draw conclusions,’ she said stiffly. ‘What you have done, Your Grace, is your affair.’
‘Damn it, woman, will you stop calling me Your Grace every other sentence.’
‘Do not swear at me!’ The thunder cracked and rolled overhead, and she started in alarm, stumbled.
Marcus did not hesitate. He caught her in his arms, fastened his mouth on hers. His mouth gentled, cajoling her into returning the kiss. His hands moved, caressing over her, finally settling on her shoulders, hot on the bare skin exposed there.
She wanted him so much that when his tongue invaded her mouth she opened to him, welcoming the intimacy. Her hands tangled in his hair and, as they did so, a picture of Claudia flickered against her closed lids.
Antonia stiffened in his arms. It was as though she could taste the other woman on his lips and it repelled her. With a gasp, she wrenched herself free of him.
‘My God, Antonia.’ Marcus found it difficult to control his breathing. He ran his hand through his disordered hair in some attempt at control. ‘How can you claim we do not suit? I have never known a woman respond so, with such passion, to my touch.’
‘And you have known so many, Your Grace,’ she retorted.
So that was what it was all about. Damn Claudia. This was what he feared would happen when she had turned up uninvited and against his wishes. He had implored her to be discreet, not flaunt their past, brief, relationship. But he should have known that the slightest hint of competition would drive Claudia to a display of ownership as provocative as it was indiscreet.
‘lf this is about Claudia,’ he began, with fatal misjudgement.
‘About Claudia? You have the effrontery to invite your mistress to your home at the very time you make me a proposal and you wonder that I reject you? I had a better opinion of your understanding than that. Did you really expect me to ignore your relationship with that… that strumpet?’
Heavy rain drops began to fall, plopping weightily on the dusty earth. Antonia brushed them away from her face, clearly too angry to seek shelter.
‘Strumpet? That is fine language for a lady to use. And Claudia Reed is not my mistress, if we must speak plainly of such things.’ His eyes were narrowed in the failing light, but he could still see the angry glitter in hers through the rain that now lashed down on them.
‘Do not lie to me.’
‘How dare you doubt my word?’ His voice echoed the thunder above. Of course she can doubt it, you idiot, the voice of common-sense told him, shouting to be heard above his anger at his own behaviour, Claudia’s actions, his irrational hurt at Antonia’s mistrust. Anger was still winning, he realised, groping for the words to make this right.
‘I dare because I speak the truth. I cannot deny the evidence of my own eyes.’ As soon as she uttered the words he saw her wince. She had not meant to say that.
‘What evidence? What are you speaking of?’ The water was running down their faces now, her mass of hair was sodden.
‘Don’t stand there glaring at me like some furious river god,’ she threw at him wildly. ‘I saw you this afternoon. I saw you behind the summerhouse with your… That woman. You sent me a message that was nothing but lies.’
‘Those who creep about spying should expect to see unpalatable sights, Antonia.’ He was damned if he was going to stumble though an explanation of how badly he had handled things.
‘You do not deny it, then?’ she demanded.
‘I am not going to justify myself to you, Antonia. If you are not prepared to take my word, then you are quite correct: we would not suit.’ He bowed stiffly, clapped his hat back on his sodden head and strode to where his horse sheltered miserably under the tree. He did not look back, she did not speak.
The heavy rainstorm of the night before had ruined all but the most sheltered roses in the Dower House gardens. Antonia lifted up the water-weighted branches to try and find some buds fit for cutting and grimaced in distaste as the pulpy petals clung to her hands.
The storm had cleared the air. The morning had dawned bright and fresh and a slight breeze was fast drying the gravel paths. Antonia had resolved to keep herself occupied, but her mind felt numb. Her thoughts flickered to the events of the day before, then flinched away as though she had touched a burn. She could not bear to think of Marcus and of what she had lost by spurning him. But if I had pretended I had seen nothing, accepted him despite it, I would have lost my self-respect.
At the sound of a horse in the lane beyond the high quick-thorn hedge she dropped the basket. ‘Marcus?’ she said out loud as the hoof beats slowed and the rider turned into the carriageway of the Dower House.
It was… Not Marcus. Antonia squinted against the bright sunlight, then the silhouetted rider became clearer. The man was shorter than Marcus, his hair a neatly-barbered brown and the horse he was riding obviously a hired hack. Jeremy Blake.
Antonia bent to right the basket and retrieve the scissors and the tumbled roses. By the time she was ready to face a visitor, she had composed herself and he had dismounted and was waiting politely for her to notice him, the reins looped over his arm.
‘Mr Blake, what a pleasure to see you again. I must thank you for your letter. We are looking forward greatly to meeting Sir Josiah and Lady Finch. May I offer you refreshment?’
The maid had heard them, she realised, as the front door opened. ‘Jane, please show Mr Blake where he can leave his horse and then bring some refreshment to the drawing-room.’
Antonia went in, put the basket of roses on the hall table and studied her reflection in the glass. How was it possible to feel so unhappy and yet for it not to show on her face? True, there were dark smudges under her lashes and she was paler than usual, but she looked quite composed in her fresh sprigged muslin, her hair tied back in a simple ribbon. Pride, she supposed.
She went in search of Donna and found her, as she had expected, sewing in the small parlour. ‘Mr Blake is here. I have told Jane to take refreshments to the drawing-room.’
Donna laid aside her work and patted her already immaculate hair into place. She approved of Mr Blake, Antonia knew. She often remarked on what a most well-mannered and well-bred young man he was. The unspoken sub-text to that was, Although not, of course, such a catch as the Duke would be…
They both did their best to make him welcome, Antonia because she was glad of the distraction and Donna, she suspected, because she thought he might make Marcus jealous.
He sat, flicking up the tails of what looked like a new riding coat, crossed his legs, took a sip of Canary from the glass at his side and smiled at them both. ‘I am charged with messages. Sir Josiah wishes me to say how obliged he is at the expedition with which you have instructed your man of business to proceed and Lady Finch asked me to present her compliments and to hope that you both will call upon her at Rye End Hall at your earliest convenience.’
They murmured their thanks and promises that they would, certainly, call very soon.
‘And in the carriage house, right at the back, I found a gig,’ he added. ‘Just a one-horse carriage, of course, but in very good condition and eminently suitable for a lady to drive in the country. The terms of the lease do not include any vehicles other than the farm carts, so, of course, I will send it round to you. I thought perhaps you had overlooked it.’
‘I had no idea it was there,’ Antonia said. ‘As you say, it will be just the thing.’ Then she recalled their circumstances. ‘But it would not be practical. We have no horses, and to purchase one simply for this purpose would be far too extravagant.’ Beside her Donna sighed, no doubt as disappointed as she was.
Then Mr Blake’s expression brightened. ‘l believe I may have a solution, ma’am, if you would not object to performing a favour for me. I shall be bringing up my riding and carriage horses from London, and Sir Josiah is most willing to stable them for me as I shall be here so much in future. However, I have one carriage horse for which I no longer have a use as I only drive a team these days. I am reluctant to sell him, for I have had him for many years and I confess a sentimental attachment. I would not want to risk selling him to some less caring home, yet I do not feel I can pension him out on Sir Josiah’s land. He is a gelding and most suitable for a ladies’ carriage. If you could give him pasturage, I would be delighted for you to have the full use of him.’
Mr Blake leaned back in his chair, clearly pleased with his tactful solution. Antonia had a momentary fantasy of long summer afternoons driving along the lanes, perhaps finding picnic spots, places to sketch from. ‘How very generous and thoughtful,’ She began, then reality asserted itself. ‘But we have no groom.’
‘But,’ Donna interjected, ‘Did we not agree yesterday that we needed a man to help with the heavier work about the place? Jem is too young and Old Johnson too infirm for many tasks. There must be someone suitable and honest in the village looking for employment and many of the men will have some experience with horses.’
‘In that case, if you will permit me, ladies, I will speak to the estate manager and ask him to recommend a reliable man and send him over for your approval.’
When Jeremy Blake left Antonia waited for him at the front steps while he rode round from the yard. He reined in, doffed his hat and leant down when he realised she wished to speak to him.
‘Mr Blake.’ She held out her hand and he took it, keeping hold of it as he looked down at her. ‘l must thank you again for your kindness. We would be happy if you would call again. Please do not stand on ceremony.’
She smiled up at him, her hand feeling safe in his. He seemed so uncomplicated and honest and his admiration warmed her chilled heart. Not all men were schemers and nor did she have to look on every male acquaintance as anything but a friend, she told herself.
At that moment, another rider passed the gate, slowing almost to a standstill. Jeremy’s mount tossed its head at the presence of another horse and they turned to see who it was. Marcus, sitting tall and erect on his rakish hunter, regarded them coldly for a moment, every inch the Duke. Then he touched his heels to his horse’s flanks and cantered off.
‘His Grace appears out of humour again,’ Mr Blake remarked.
‘Indeed, yes,’ Antonia agreed with a small sigh then made herself smile and look unconcerned as Jeremy’s gaze sharpened.
‘Forgive me asking, but is he making you feel uncomfortable, Miss Dane? I am not suggesting any impropriety on his part, of course, but he might not realise how two ladies alone might feel. I could have a quiet word with my aunt, Lady Finch. Without daughters of her own, she would be charmed to take you under her wing, I know.’
‘Goodness, no. It is a very kind thought, but the Duke is perfectly the gentleman and I would not have Lady Finch believe otherwise for the world.’
He nodded and rode off leaving Antonia thoroughly unsettled. The sight of Marcus was enough to disturb her equilibrium without the fear that the neighbours might think that something was going on.
She drifted back into the house, wondering what Marcus had intended. Was he just passing or had he been intending to call and been deterred by the presence of the other man? Jeremy Blake’s concern unsettled her. She might be Miss Dane of Rye End Hall, Hertfordshire, but she was still dowerless and unprotected – and doubtless she had been very naïve.
Marcus had proposed for her lands, expecting her to be a complaisant Society bride, willing to overlook his mistress, and no doubt his gambling and sporting entertainments, in return for a title, status and an establishment. Like any foolish village girl, she had expected love and fidelity.
Well, foolish she might be, but she was not willing to settle for less. Better to have discovered this now than to have married Marcus and faced humiliation and disillusion when she had no escape. She was an independent single woman now, she told herself and there was no shame in planning for a lifetime like that.
Resolve stiffened, Antonia went to find Donna and found her arranging the battered roses in a pewter jug in the small parlour, a frown on her face.
‘Was that the Duke I saw just now riding past?’ she asked bluntly.
‘It was.’ Antonia fiddled with a discarded stem, rolling it between her fingers, unwilling to discuss him.
‘Antonia, what is going on? I thought the man was coming to propose to you.’ Donna regarded her beadily. ‘Is he playing fast and loose with you? Because if he is…’
Antonia knew she had to stop Donna’s speculation. Her companion was more than capable of confronting Marcus and demanding to know what his intentions were.
‘He proposed to me and I have refused him,’ she announced flatly.
There was a moment’s shocked silence, then Donna repeated slowly, ‘You have refused him?’ She subsided into a chair, apparently too amazed to stay on her feet. The scissors dropped unheeded to the floor. ‘But why, Antonia? He is the most eligible man imaginable, and I was certain you were in love with him. When you came in from the terrace the other night, your happiness was almost palpable.’
Antonia swallowed down the lump in her throat at the thought of that happiness, of how, so painfully, she still loved Marcus. ‘I have discovered that his moral character is not such as I could tolerate in a husband. I must be able to respect the man I marry.’
As she had expected, this completely persuaded Donna. Moral instability was one thing she would never tolerate and one subject on which she would never question Antonia further.
Donna got to her feet and began to pace the room, her small frame a-quiver with indignation. ‘Well, my dear, it is indeed fortunate that you discovered how deceived we were in him. We will cut him, of course. He will not be welcome in this house again, that is for sure. It is a lesson, is it not, in how one may be taken in by a handsome face and an air of breeding?’
Despite her indignation Donna was employing her happy knack of finding a silver lining in even the blackest cloud. ‘And the arrival of Sir Josiah and Lady Finch could not be more providential, for we will not lack congenial company. And if Mr Blake is to be residing here then no doubt parties of younger people will frequently be present.’
‘Well, yes, I suppose – What is it Jem? You should always knock.’
‘Sorry, Miss, but come quick, Old Johnson’s having a seizure in the rhubarb patch!’