A Comfortable Wife

Chapter Ten

Three nights later, the atmosphere was still sub-zero.

Following Henrietta and Geoffrey up Lady Caldecott's stairs, Antonia on his arm, Philip cast a jaundiced glance over the crowd about them. Their first two evenings of the Little Season had been spent at mere parties, relatively quiet affairs at which the guests had concentrated on catching up with the summer's developments rather than actively embarking on any new intrigues. Lady Caldecott's Grand Ball marked the end of such simple entertainments.

They had yet to gain the ballroom door, but at least three of his peers had already taken due note of Antonia, serenely beautiful if somewhat tense by his side. Even at a distance, he could detect the gleam in their eyes. He didn't need to look to know she presented a stunning spectacle, garbed in another of Lafarge's creations, a shimmering sheath of pale gold silk trimmed at neckline and hem with delicate lace edged with tiny pearls. Despite his intentions, his eyes were drawn to where her mother's pearls lay about her throat, their priceless sheen matched by her ivory skin.

She glanced up, cool distance in her gaze. "It's dreadfully crowded. I hope Henrietta will manage."

Philip's gaze flicked forward to where Henrietta doggedly stumped upwards, leaning heavily on Geoffrey's arm. "I think you'll discover she's made of stern stuff. She won't wilt in this climate."

Antonia hoped he was right. The crowd was dense, the press of bodies up the stairs disconcerting. It was her first experience of this degree of enthusiasm. "Is this what they term a 'crush'?" Glancing up, she surprised an arrogant, almost aggressive look on Philip's face. It disappeared as he looked down at her.

"Indeed." Philip shackled the urge to draw her closer. "The epitome of every hostess's ambitions. That said, I suspect Lady Caldecott has overstepped her mark. Her ballroom, I hesitate to inform you, is not this," he gestured at the crowd surging about them, "large."

The accuracy of his prediction was confirmed when, fifteen cramped minutes later, they passed down the receiving line and gained the ballroom.

Henrietta, too short to see beyond the shoulders surrounding them, jabbed Geoffrey in the arm. "There should be a group of three or four chaises somewhere about. Where?"

Geoffrey lifted his head.

"To the left," Philip said.

"Good! That's where my set will gather. You," Henrietta poked Geoffrey again, “can escort me there and then you may take yourself off. As for you two-" she cast a glance at Philip and Antonia "-you'll have to take care cf yourselves." Henrietta smiled, decidedly smug. "In this crush, we'll never find each other-you can fetch me when it's time to leave."

Philip's brows rose but he made no demur. He bowed gracefully. "As you wish, ma'am."

Antonia bobbed a curtsy. Henrietta shuffled into the crowd and was immediately lost to sight. As Philip resettled her hand on his sleeve, Antonia looked about, taking stock of her first Grand Ball. Silks and satins, ribbons and lace, paraded before her. A hundred voices were raised in avid chatter; perfumes drifted and mingled into a heady haze, wafting as bejeweled ladies nodded and curtsied. Elegant gentlemen in superbly cut evening coats inclined their heads; comforted by the hardness of Philip's arm beneath her hand, Antonia smiled coolly back.

"Before we go any further," Philip said, interrupting her reconnaissance, "I would be greatly obliged if you would write my name in your card against the first waltz." A number of gentlemen were headed their way.

Antonia looked up at him. "The first waltz?"

Philip nodded. "Your first waltz." There had been only cotillions, quadrilles and country dances over the past two nights; he was determined her first waltz in the capital would be his.

Reading as much in his eyes, Antonia resigned herself to the inevitable. Lips compressed, she opened the small card Lady Caldecott had handed her. The first waltz was the third dance; under Philip's watchful eye, she duly inscribed his name in the space beside it-then showed him the card.

He actually read it before nodding. Antonia set her teeth. She would have caught his eye and glared-she was distracted by Hugo Satterly who appeared through the ranks before them.

"A great pleasure to welcome you to town, Miss Mannering." Hugo bowed with ready grace, his pleasant smile creasing his face.

He was but the first to express that sentiment. To Antonia's surprise, they were rapidly surrounded by a select group of elegant gentlemen, none of whom bore any relation to her relatively innocuous, easy-to-manage cavaliers of the past weeks. These gentlemen were all contemporaries of Philip's, many his friends, smoothly claiming his offices in making the introductions. At first, she wondered if it was he rather than she with whom they had stopped to chat. They were, however, assiduous in claiming the blank spaces in her dance card; long before the first cotillion, her card was gratifyingly full.

Surrounded by broad shoulders, she waited for the musicians to start up, not entirely sure if she was relieved or otherwise when her circle of gentlemen plainly set themselves to entertain her. Philip, however, large and relatively silent by her side, gave her no hint he saw anything remarkable in their attentions; lifting her chin, Antonia smiled graciously on her would-be cavaliers.

A lull in the conversation brought Hugo Satterley's voice to her ears; he was standing beyond Philip-a quick glance confirmed it was to Philip he spoke.

“Meant to thank you for coming out that night-dashed awkward, but it saved my hide."

Philip's eyes narrowed. "If I'd known it was simply a matter of making a fourth at whist I wouldn't have set foot beyond my door. From your note, I'd imagined some life-threatening situation."

Hugo opened his eyes wide. "If you think engaging oneself to entertain the Bishop of Worcester and then finding oneself one short for the table isn't life-threatening, you know nothing of the Bishop. Can't tell you how grateful I was to be saved from excommunication."

Philip's snort was drowned by the summoning of the violins.

"Ah!" Eyes brightening, Hugo turned to Antonia. "My dance, I believe, Miss Mannering?"

Antonia smiled and gave him her hand. Hugo deftly cleared a path onto the dance floor; while they waited for the rest of the company to find places in the sets, Antonia turned to him. "I overheard your comment on the Bishop of Worcester. Was it recently you entertained His Grace?''

"Just the other night." Hugo grimaced. "Deuced awkward, but I had to do it-he's m'godfather, you know. He'd received a summons from his sister, Lady Griswald, to some musical affair. Old man's tone deaf-virtually ordered me to rescue him."

Antonia's eyes widened. "I see." She managed a weak smile. She'd returned from Lady Griswald's to find Philip absent; that night had been the first on which she'd declined her nightcap.

"At last!" Hugo held out his hand as the music for the cotillion began.

Antonia had danced countless cotillions in recent weeks; habit, she was certain, was all that kept her twirling in the right direction. A horrible suspicion had taken root in her mind; as it grew, a sinking sensation swelled inside her. She was relieved when, at the cotillion's end, Hugo returned her to Philip's side. Unfortunately, a gavotte with Lord Dewhurst followed virtually immediately. Raising her from her final curtsy, his lordship guided her around the room. After passing some time in idle, on her part disjointed, conversation, they finally came up with Philip; her heart sank when she saw the steely look in his eyes.

Reclaiming Antonia's hand, Philip settled it on his sleeve then caught Lord Dewhurst's eye. "I believe, Dewhurst, that our hostess is searching for you."

"Heh?" Jerked from contemplation of Antonia's smile, Lord Dewhurst focused on Philip's face. His expression turned to one of dismay. "Don't say that. Dash it all-this is what comes of letting on I'm on the look-out for a wife." Openly chagrined, he confided to Antonia, "If her ladyship's after me, it'll mean she's got some protégée that she wants me to look over. I'll have to take refuge in the card-room."

His features impassive, Philip scanned the crowds. "If her ladyship's on the prowl, I wouldn't waste any time."

Lord Dewhurst sighed and bowed over Antonia's hand. "Dashed shame. But no doubt we'll meet at the next ball, Miss Mannering." With a hopeful smile, he straightened. "I'll look forward to furthering our acquaintance."

Antonia smiled with what grace she could muster; his lordship turned away, his eyes on her to the last. Lord Marbury stepped in, keen to engage her attention.

Philip gritted his teeth.

Tonight, strolling the rooms, his favoured method for disposing of unwanted encumbrances, was out of the question; Lady Caldecott had outdone herself with a vengeance. There was barely room to stand; the dance floor would be impossibly crowded.

Not that the idea of waltzing with Antonia at excusably close quarters was bothering him. Quite the opposite. But the crowding left him with few options to thin out her court.

He was contemplating a few novel possibilities when the musicians returned and set bow to string. Sternly suppressing a surge of anticipation, he turned to Antonia. “The first waltz. My dance, I believe, my dear."

"Indeed, my lord." Straightening her spine, Antonia inwardly cursed the fluster that threatened. Her smile over-bright, she gave Philip her hand. "I rely on you to lead me through this maze."

With the merest inclination of his head, he led her to where couples were jostling for space on the floor. Tense as she was, the overcrowding claimed all of Antonia's attention; it was only when they were processing freely, albeit in distinctly circumscribed circles, that she relaxed enough to think. Only to have her senses rush in; a most peculiar panic gripped her.

Philip was holding her very close, a fact necessitated by the proximity of the surrounding couples. As realization sank in, Antonia felt her breath catch, felt the familiar vice close about her chest. Held against him, the shift and sway of their bodies as they revolved through the dance was a dizzying distraction, a potent inducement to set her wits free and let her senses slide into a world of sensation. Her gaze wide, unseeing, she stiffened, struggling to shackle her wits, to keep her face, her posture, free of any hint of the drugging effect of the dance, of her awareness of Philip.

She felt him glance down at her. She looked up, only to discover his lips mere inches away; her gaze, beyond her control, focused on them. They twisted wryly. "Relax. You're stiff as a poker."

The comment, spoken in a tone that was clearly private, only made her stiffen further. Forcing her gaze upwards, she met his gaze. She watched a frown gather in his eyes.

She had no idea how to explain, how to describe the panic mushrooming within her. This was the first waltz of the Little Season, her first public waltz with him-and any second she was going to stumble.

Instinctively, Philip gathered her closer, his hand at her waist reassuringly caressing her spine as he guided her into a turn.

Like a brand, the heat of his hand seared Antonia, exciting skin not accustomed to his touch. At the same moment, his thigh parted hers in the turn, hard muscle impressing itself against her softer flesh.

Her breath caught on a stifled gasp; her feet missed a step.

Philip caught her to him, preventing her stumble. Frowning, very aware of her distress, he deftly stepped clear of the circle of dancers rounding the end of the room. Smoothly releasing Antonia, he took her hand and ushered her before him towards the doors standing open to the terrace, his shoulders effectively screening her from any interested stares. Pale, she cast a wide-eyed glance up at him; he met it with a superficial smile. "This crowd is impossible-a little fresh air will clear your head."

Antonia hoped it would. She felt dreadful; her head had started to throb. She felt immeasurably grateful when Philip propelled her irresistibly out of the door.

The cool night air hit her like a slap; she stopped dead. "Wait! We can't-"

"There's nothing the least improper in our being out here." Philip's accents, warningly clipped, came from directly behind her. "We are, after all, hardly private."

Glancing about, Antonia discovered he was right. The terrace was a wide, stone-flagged extension of the ballroom floor; other couples, like them, had sought refuge on its uncluttered expanse. There were sufficient others present, strolling and chatting in groups, to nullify any question of impropriety. None, however, were close enough to overhear their conversation.

"Now." Capturing Antonia's attention by the simple expedient of putting one finger under her chin and turning her face to him, Philip raised a commanding brow. "What's wrong?''

Antonia met his gaze, then lifted her chin free of his finger. Her stomach had knotted tight. "I… simply had trouble with the waltz."

Philip couldn't help himself. "Strange. I was under the impression you considered yourself something of an expert-certainly in no need of further lessons." The morning after Lady Griswald's musical soiree, she had failed to appear in the ballroom. Geoffrey, too, had not shown; when questioned in suitably nonchalant vein, Geoffrey had let fall that his sister had somewhat waspishly informed him that she had learned quite enough.

Antonia risked a glance from beneath her lashes, then, tilting her chin, fixed her gaze on the gardens. "I did not feel it right to take so much of your time. You've been very generous-I did not wish you to feel duty-bound."

Philip managed not to growl. “I never saw teaching you to waltz as a duty." A pleasant distraction, yes-one he had missed. "And it's quite obvious you need further lessons." The startled glance she threw him was some small consolation. "We'll start again tomorrow. But aside from all that, I'm a great deal more than seven, you know."

Startled by the change in his tone, Antonia glanced up; Philip trapped her gaze. "I've taught you well enough and you learn like a sponge-it wasn't the steps of the waltz that brought you undone." His gaze sharpened. "What was it? Has anyone done anything to upset you?"

His second question and the tension behind it convinced Antonia prevarication would not be wise. She hesitated, then drew in a strengthening breath and, her gaze unfocused, admitted, "I find I have great difficulty keeping a proper distance."

Philip frowned. “The distance between us was perfectly proper. I'm far too old a hand to step over the line during the first waltz of the season."

Antonia threw him an exasperated look. “That's not what I meant."

Philip looked down at her. “Then what did you mean?''

Antonia glared. "You know perfectly well what I mean. And it's not at all helpful to tease me about it." Her voice caught; swinging around, she quickly crossed to the balustrade.

Eyes narrowing, Philip watched her, then followed at a more leisurely pace. When he stopped beside her, she was staring into the darkness, her hands clasped tightly before her. "I vaguely recall having this conversation before. While I'm naturally flattered that you persist in thinking me omniscient, I must confess that what you apparently find obvious is very frequently far from obvious to me."

She hesitated, then slowly turned to face him.

Antonia met his gaze with one of her very direct looks. What she saw in his eyes reassured her. "I-" She broke off, frowning, then, lifting her head, swung to face the gardens. "I find the…sensations of waltzing with you so distracting that I… In short, I cannot be sure I will not commit some indiscretion."

Tilting his head, Philip studied her face. "While waltzing?"

Her gaze on the shadows, Antonia nodded.

A slow smile broke across Philip's face. Then he recalled that he did not always read her aright. "I take it," he said, carefully composing his features, "that you would not feel…compelled to indiscretion while waltzing with anyone else?"

Antonia frowned at him. "Of course not." She studied his face. "I had thought I could cope but…" She gestured vaguely.

Philip caught her hand; he waited until she met his eyes before raising it to his lips. He paused, studying her wide eyes, aware of the slim fingers resting in his, aware of the demon too close to his surface. “Geoffrey said you had told him he could trust my advice unreservedly." He raised a brow. "Will you, too, place your trust in me?"

Uncertainty darkened her eyes; Philip allowed his impatience to show. “I have, as I believe you know, been waltzing through the ton's ballrooms for rather many years."

"I know." Antonia felt breathless. They were, she was perfectly certain, no longer talking about mere waltzing. "But…"

Philip held her gaze; again he lifted her hand, gently brushing his lips across her fingertips, well aware of the reaction she struggled to hide. "Believe me." His voice deepened. "I won't let you falter." He waited, watching her, willing her, then lifted one brow. "Trust me?"

The moment that followed stretched, fragile as spun glass, timeless as eternity. Antonia felt each beat of her heart, felt the shallowness of each breath. "You know I do."

"Then close your eyes. It's time for your next lesson." Antonia hesitated, then complied. "Imagine we're in the ballroom at Ruthven House."

She felt Philip's arm slide about her, felt his hold on her fingers shift.

"Geoffrey is supplying the music."

She frowned. "I can hear violins."

"He's brought some friends to help him."

The clipped accents made her lips twitch. Philip raised her hand; his arm tightened about her. Antonia baulked. "Philip-!"

"Trust me."

A second later she was waltzing.

"Keep your eyes closed. Remember, we're in Ruthven House-there's no one else about."

Antonia knew very well where they were; the cool night air shifted over her bare shoulders, a light breeze played with her skirts. But Philip's arm held her steady; with her eyes closed, she had no alternative but to relax and follow his strong lead. She heard muted chatter and laughter, the musicians were still scraping away. He held her close; as they whirled and twirled, the sensations that had earlier assailed her rose up, heightened by her earlier sensitivity. Detached, distanced from worry, she could not find it in her to fight them; instead, her senses stretched, luxuriating in the moment.

Watching her face, Philip saw her lips lift; his own curved knowingly. He drank in the sight of her face, then said, "Open your eyes."

Antonia did, blinking as her eyes adjusted. She took in Philip's arrogantly satisfied expression, then glanced past his shoulder-and gasped.

They were no longer the only ones waltzing on the terrace. As they revolved, she turned her head this way and that, amazed at the collection of fashionable couples now whirling in the starlight.

"It appears we've started a new trend."

"Indeed."

Seconds later, the music slowed. Philip whirled them to a flourishing halt, touching Antonia's hand to his lips. "Believe me-there's nothing in your behaviour to give you cause to blush."

Antonia met his gaze; a frown slowly gathered in her eyes. "While I concede that your experience might be extensive, I'm not at all certain you're an appropriate judge of such matters."

Philip narrowed his eyes. "Antonia, which of us has been buried in the wilds to the north for the last eight years?''

Antonia's eyes flashed. "And which of us, my lord, has any previous experience of our current relation-ship?"

Philip held her gaze steadily. "Rest assured, my dear, that should you commit any indiscretion, however minor, I will be the first to bring it to your notice."

Antonia raised a haughty brow. "Unfortunately, it's your definition of 'indiscretion' that I question."

"Indeed? Then you'll undoubtedly be relieved to know that to be a fully-fledged member of the fraternity to which I belong, an exquisitely detailed understanding of indiscretions, in all their varied forms, is mandatory." Philip placed her hand on his sleeve, then calmly raised his brows at her.

Stumped, Antonia cast him a distinctly mulish glance.

With a pointed smile, Philip turned her towards the ballroom. "You may trust me to guide you through the shoals of the ton, Antonia."

She glanced at his face, her gaze familiar and open. As they neared the ballroom, she regally inclined her head. "Very well. I will place my reliance on you, my lord."

His satisfaction hidden behind his usual impassive mask, Philip steered her into the throng.

At eleven o'clock the next morning, Philip descended the stairs, very definitely in charity with the world. It was an effort to keep from whistling; he had to keep his mind from dwelling on their interlude in the library the night before in order to keep a smug smile from his face.

Carring appeared from the nether regions; Philip had often wondered if his major-domo possessed some peculiar facility which alerted him to his impending appearance in the hall.

"I'm lunching at Limmer's, then I expect we'll go on to Brooks."

"And then to the Park?"

Philip shot Carring a severe glance. "Possibly." He paused to check his cravat in the hall mirror; a fragment of the past night's activities, when Antonia's fingers had become entangled in the starched folds about his throat, drifted through his mind. "Incidentally, where did the chaise that matches the chairs in the library go?"

“If you recall, my lord, we removed it to the back parlour after you declared that it cluttered up the library to no good purpose."

"Ah, yes." Satisfied with the drape of the linen folds about his neck, Philip resettled his collar. “You may move it back to the library."

"You require more comfortable seating, my lord?"

Philip glanced up and located Carring's face in the mirror. Unless he was grossly mistaken, his major-domo was struggling to hide a grin. Philip narrowed his eyes. "Just move the damned chaise, Carring."

"Immediately, my lord."

Philip did not glance back as he went out of his door, positive that if he did, he would see Carring grinning knowingly.

Just to prove Carring wrong, he returned to Ruthven House later in the afternoon-but only to pick up his phaeton.

Antonia was strolling in the Park with Geoffrey, Catriona and Ambrose, when they heard Geoffrey hailed from the carriageway. Turning, she saw Philip waving from the box-seat of the most elegant high-perch phaeton she had yet set eyes upon. Both Geoffrey and Ambrose needed no urging to cross the lawns to the carriageway.

"I say! What a bang-up set of blood and bone!" Ambrose eyed Philip's greys with fervid admiration.

Geoffrey turned big eyes on his mentor. "I don't suppose there's any chance you'll let me take this rig out, even without the greys?"

Philip, who had been gazing at Antonia, a picture in soft sprigged muslin, her face shaded by the brim of the bonnet he had bought her, shifted his gaze briefly to Geoffrey's face. "None."

Geoffrey grimaced. "That's what I thought."

“Did you want Geoffrey for some reason?'' Antonia had spared only a passing glance for Philip's carriage; his horses she knew well.

"Actually," Philip said, his gaze once more on her face, "It was you I came to see. I wondered if you'd care for a turn about the Park?"

Antonia's heart leapt; the subtle challenge in his eyes gave her pause. High-perches were notoriously unstable, safe only in the hands of experienced drivers. She had no concern on that score but gaining the seat, a full six feet above the carriageway, was a different matter.

"What a positively thrilling invitation." Standing beside Antonia, Catriona looked glowingly up at Philip, her gaze innocent yet knowing. "You'll be the envy of every lady present."

Antonia looked up at Philip. "I would gladly go with you, my lord. Yet I greatly fear…" She gestured at the high step.

"A problem very easily solved." Philip tied off the reins. "Geoffrey-hold their heads."

Geoffrey hurried to the greys' heads; Ambrose followed. Before Antonia fully grasped his intent, Philip jumped down, drew her forward, then lifted her high.

Antonia bit back a squeal-and frantically clung to the side of the high seat. His expression mild, his eyes laughing, Philip followed her up; Antonia quickly but carefully shuffled along the precariously tilting seat. To her relief, Philip's weight once he sat seemed to stabilise the flimsy contraption.

"Relax." He flicked her a glance as he took up the reins. "I seem to be advising you to do that rather often these days." He sent her another teasing glance. "I wonder why?"

"Because," Antonia tersely replied, "you are forever giving me cause to panic."

Philip laughed as he set the greys in motion. "Never fear-I give you my word I won't upend you in the middle of the Park. Aside from any other consideration, just think of the damage it would do to my reputation."

"I'm fast coming to think," Antonia returned, holding fast to the railings edging the seat, “that this reputation of yours is all a hum, invented by you as a convenient excuse."

That riposte earned her a distinctly unnerving look.

Before he could think of a comment to go with it, she asked, "Are you sure I'm not breaking any rules in being driven in such a dangerous equipage?"

"Quite sure," Philip replied, his tones distinctly dry. "If anyone is breaking any rules here, 'tis I."

Antonia widened her eyes at him. “You?''

"Indeed. And seeing I have bent my heretofore inviolable rules and taken you up in the Park, I think it's only fair that you should entertain me, thus leaving me free to devote all my skills to keeping us upright."

Hiding a smile, Antonia put her nose in the air. "I'm not at all sure it's proper for me to run on, like some ill-bred gabblemonger."

"Heaven forbid!" Philip dispensed with his town drawl entirely. "Just put my mind at rest and tell me what you four were planning."

Giving up the fight to contain her delight, Antonia smiled dazzlingly, startling a youthful gentleman driving in the opposite direction.

"Cow-handed clunch!" Philip deftly avoided the ensuing melee. "Now cut line. Remember, I've made myself responsible for your brother."

"Very well." Settling more comfortably beside him, shielded from the light wind by his shoulder, Antonia related the latest developments. "Mr Fortescue has not yet shown his face, but as I gather he must come up from Somerset, I don't believe we can hold that against him."

Philip shook his head. “He may be a true knight but he obviously lacks a ghostly steed. Or should that be an errant charger?''

"Mr Fortescue, I gather, is a model of decorum."

"Good lord!" Philip shot her a disbelieving glance. "And Miss Dalling wishes to marry him?"

"Most definitely." Antonia paused, then diffidently added, “Actually, while I originally thought some of Miss Dalling's tales might owe more to her imagination than to fact, the latest involve Ambrose as well and he is undeniably not given to flights of fancy."

"By which you mean he's a slow-top." Philip glanced down at her. "But what are these latest exploits?"

"Not so much exploits as experiences. It seems the Countess of Ticehurst and the Marchioness have taken to engineering interludes when Catriona and Ambrose are left alone."

Philip raised his brows. "I see."

"Catriona and Ambrose are both trying quite desperately to ensure there's nothing improper that can be used to force their consent, but the situation is daily becoming more difficult."

Philip was silent for some minutes, then said, "It's hard to see what they can do, short of Mr Fortescue coming to the rescue. Even then, given Miss Dalling is under age, the situation's likely to be messy."

"Indeed. I raised that very point, but Catriona's convinced all will be well once Mr Fortescue arrives."

Philip raised his brows. "Which event, I suppose, we should all devoutly pray for." He cast a glance at Antonia's pensive face. “Having dispensed with that subject, perhaps we can move to some more interesting topic?"

Antonia opened her eyes wide. "That depends on what you consider interesting, my lord."

For one pregnant instant, Philip held her gaze; when she coloured, he smiled and looked ahead. "How about your observations on town life and the Little Season? I dare say I would find those quite fascinating."

"Indeed?" Antonia stifled the urge to fan her face. "Very well." On her mettle, she cast about for inspiration. She found it in a pair of strutting Macaronis, so gaily garbed they resembled walking pansies. "The strongest impression I have of the ton is of things being other than they seem. There is, to my mind, a great deal of obfuscation and roundaboutation-a great deal of hiding the truth."

The brief look Philip cast her held a gratifying degree of surprise. Then a curve forced him to give his attention to his greys. Antonia saw his lips firm, then twist in a wry, self-deprecatory smile.

"Remind me, my dear, not to ask such a question of you again."

"Why not?" Tilting her head, she studied his face. "I didn't find it impertinent."

"No-but I'd forgotten your intelligence. Your answers go too deep." Philip shot her a quick glance. "The trick with flirtatious repartee is to keep the tone light."

Antonia blinked. “Flirtatious repartee?''

“Indeed. What else? Now concentrate. Are you intending to grace Lady Gisborne's ballroom tonight?"

"What-ho, Miss Mannering! Dare I claim this cotillion?"

Antonia turned and, laughing, gave her hand to Hugo Satterly. "Indeed, sir. I had begun to wonder if you had forgotten me."

"Never." Straightening from his bow, Hugo placed a hand over his heart. "After all the trouble I went to to get my name in your card? Fie, my dear-I'm not such a slow-top."

"You are, however, a rattlepate," Philip put in from beside Antonia. "If you don't make a move soon, you'll miss out on the sets."

"Don't mind him." Hugo tucked Antonia's hand into his arm and turned her towards the floor. "He's just jealous."

Antonia responded with an ingenuous look and a confident smile. She felt entirely at ease with Hugo; he was the perfect companion, always charming, never one to take offence or become difficult over some imagined slight. Like all Philip's set, he was an excellent dancer and could be counted on to fill her ears with the latest on dits.

As they took then places in the nearest set forming on the floor of Lady Gisborne's ballroom, Hugo winked at her. “Hope you don't mind me trying for a rise out of Ruthven? All innocent fun, y'know."

Antonia smiled and sank into the first curtsy. "I don't mind at all." Rising, she gave Hugo her hand. "I dare say being twitted is good for him."

Hugo grinned back as the dance parted them.

As she dipped and swayed through the measure, Antonia considered his words. He was one of Philip's closest friends; thus far, he was the only one she had encountered who accurately understood Philip's interest in her. Certainly no one would guess it from Philip's behaviour; while he was always by her side, he made no effort to monopolise her company, either in the ballrooms or the supper rooms where, admittedly under his watchful eye, her entire court would adjourn to refresh themselves.

His behaviour, overtly aloof with but the subtlest undercurrent of possessiveness, was, she decided, intended to be instructive. Presumably, this was how she was to comport herself after they were wed. He would be about, but she was not to rely on him for her entertainment nor her male company. Her court, comprised of gentlemen of whom he approved, would provide that.

Discovering her gaze scanning the surrounding crowd, searching for Philip's chestnut locks, Antonia sternly refocused on Hugo, currently on the opposite side of the set. If overtly aloof was the correct image to project, then it was past time she started practising.

"What the devil's the matter? Is my cravat askew or what?"

Philip's words, delivered in a growled mutter, succeeded in hauling Antonia's gaze to his face.

Wide-eyed, she blinked up at him, oblivious of the other dancers about them. "What on earth do you mean? Your cravat's perfect-as it always is. The Oriental, isn't it?"

"The Mathematical-and don't try to change the subject."

Astounded, she stared at him. "I wasn't!" She blinked, then added, "I don't even know what the subject is."

Exceedingly irritated, even more so because his rational mind could find no reasonable cause, Philip whirled her into a complex series of turns, supposedly to negotiate the end of Lady Gisborne's ballroom, in reality purely as an excuse to hold her tighter. "The subject is," he said through clenched teeth, "why it is you suddenly seem to find me invisible. You've hardly glanced my way all night. I'm beginning to feel like a ghost."

Antonia felt dizzy and wondered if it was the waltz. He was certainly whirling her around with rather more concerted force than was his custom. "I thought that was what you wanted me to do-that I shouldn't…" To her annoyance, she felt a blush steal into her cheeks.

Philip studied the evidence of her confusion and felt his own grow. "That you shouldn't look at me?"

Antonia flicked him an exasperated glance, then fixed her gaze over his right shoulder. “That I should not display any overt awareness of your presence. As I understand it, such behaviour is construed as wearing one's heart on one's sleeve. I would not wish to embarrass you." She paused, then added, “Your own behaviour is very correct-I naturally took my lead from you."

Philip frowned down at her. "Yes-well." He hesitated, not quite certain which way to step. Then his lips firmed. "Might I suggest that there's a viable path between, on the one hand, clinging to my arm and making sheep's eyes at me, and, on the other, behaving as if I was literally not there?"

Antonia's gaze slid sideways, meeting his. "You know perfectly well I always know you're there."

Looking down into her eyes, Philip felt the dark cloud that had enshrouded him all evening melt away. He held her gaze, then his lips twisted wryly. "A few of your smiles and a few lingering glances wouldn't go astray."

For an instant longer, Antonia studied his eyes-then she smiled up at him. "If you wish it, my lord."

Philip tightened his hold as they went into the turn. "I do."

Two days later, Philip, strolling the broad verges in the Park, happened upon the Ruthven barouche. Languidly coming abreast of it, he discovered Henrietta deep in discussion with two other ladies, grande dames both.

"Ah, Ruthven! Just the one we need." Catching sight of him, Henrietta beamed him a smile. “I was just saying to the Countess here, that what we need is a reliable gentleman, one who knows the ropes, to keep an eye on our little party."

“Indeed?'' Raising his brows, Philip let his tone convey his utter antipathy to the idea that he might be such a specimen.

"But I don't believe you've met the Countess of Ticehurst?" Blithely oblivious, Henrietta indicated the lady beside her. "And, of course, the Dowager Marchioness of Hammersley."

His expression fashionably distant, Philip bowed gracefully, inwardly conceding that both the Countess, with her sharply angular features and frizzed red curls, and the Dowager Marchioness, heavy and portly with three chins to her credit, bade fair to living up to the varied descriptions he had had of them.

"Indeed, Ruthven, nothing could be more fortunate than your appearance here. The Countess and I haven't seen each other for years-we're keen to have a comfortable coze but her ladyship is uneasy over her niece." Raising her head, Henrietta looked out over the lawns. "She's over there somewhere," she said, waving one plump hand in the general direction of the flower walks. "She's walking with Antonia and Geoffrey. And the Marquess, of course." Apparently realizing that this last needed further clarification, Henrietta exchanged quick glances with the other two ladies, then leaned to the side of the carriage. Lowering her voice, she fixed Philip with a sapient eye. "There's an understanding between the Marquess and Miss Dalling, the Countess's niece, but there seems to be some slight hitch in the works. Nothing serious but you know how these things go." Assured that all was now crystal clear, Henrietta sat back and waved a dismissal. "Sure you'll want to join them."

Philip hesitated, then bowed. "Indeed, ma'am. Ladies." They let him go with thin smiles and magisterial nods. As he strode across the lawns, Philip found himself sympathizing with Miss Dalling and the Marquess.

He discovered Antonia strolling arm in arm with Catriona. The heiress's eyes were alight, her cheeks glowing; it was almost as if Antonia was physically restraining her but from what action Philip could not tell.

Antonia looked up as he approached; she smiled warmly and held out her hand. "Good afternoon, my lord."

Philip took her hand; unable to deny the compulsion, he raised it to his lips, his eyes quizzing her as he said, his voice too deep for even Catriona to hear, "My lady." Antonia blushed delightfully; Philip switched his gaze to Catriona, who bobbed a curtsy then flashed him one of her dazzling smiles. Philip smiled back. "I fear I should warn you that I've been dispatched as an envoy to keep an eye on you all."

Catriona's eyes widened. "How…? Who…?"

"As I understand it," Philip said, smoothly claiming Antonia's arm, thus separating her from Catriona, "my stepmother and your aunt are long-standing bosom-bows. At the moment, they're in Henrietta's barouche, exchanging their recent histories, with Ambrose's fond mama looking on."

"Indeed?" Catriona was hanging on his words. "And they sent you to watch over us?''

"Precisely."

"Behold-the hand of fate!" Hands clasped to her bosom, Catriona pirouetted dramatically. Halting, she fixed glowing eyes on Philip. "Nothing could be more fortunate!"

The declaration set Philip's teeth on edge. "I do hope," he said, "that you'll allow me to be the judge of that. Why the transports?"

Noting the absence of his drawl, Antonia quickly explained, "Mr Fortescue has arrived. He's arranged to join us here, but we were worried the Countess would interfere."

Glancing back over the lawns to the distant carriage, Philip humphed. "Not much chance of that at this point." He looked back at Catriona. "But where's this beau of yours?"

He was not about to assist in any havey-cavey affair. But Henry Fortescue proved to be a great relief. Philip's hackles settled the instant he laid eyes on him, striding along between Geoffrey and Ambrose. Antonia had hurriedly explained their plan-they had sent Ambrose and Geoffrey to fetch Mr Fortescue so as to make it appear he was one of Ambrose's or Geoffrey's acquaintances. Quite what Mr Fortescue had thought of the arrangement Philip found himself dying to know.

Introduced, he shook hands.

In his early twenties, of middle height and powerful build, Henry Fortescue was readily identifiable as a scion of the noble family of that name; he bashfully acknowledged Philip's supposition. "Distant cousin of m'father's."

Catriona, clinging to his arm, declared, "We must be very careful, Henry, or Aunt Ticehurst will descend like the dragon she is and tear us apart."

Henry glanced down at her and frowned. "Nonsense." He took the sting from the comment by patting her hand. "You always were one to overdramatise, Catriona. What on earth do you imagine your aunt will do? It's not as if I'm some caper-merchant with no fortune and less prospects. Given I had your father's permission to address you, it's not as if there was any reason for her to shove in her oar."

"But she will!" Catriona looked horrified. "Ask Ambrose."

Ambrose dutifully nodded. "Terribly set on us marrying, y'know. That's why we sent for you."

"You can't talk to Aunt Ticehurst." Catriona clung to Henry's arm. "She'll banish you. I know she will."

Henry's jaw firmed. "I've no intention of speaking to your aunt-I'll speak to the Earl, as is proper."

Philip held Antonia back, letting the youthful foursome go ahead. Once they were out of earshot, he murmured, "I can't tell you how relieved I am to make Mr Fortescue's acquaintance."

"He does seem very steady." Antonia studied Catriona and her intended. "And he seems to know how to handle Catriona's flights."

"He's just what she needs-an anchor." Ambling in the youthful foursome's wake, Philip idly scanned the lawns. Abruptly, he halted. "Great heavens!"

Antonia followed his riveted gaze to a couple strolling towards them on an intersecting path. The gentleman she recognized immediately; Frederick Amberly was one of Philip's friends. He had not, however, spent much time in her circle, usually drifting into the crowd after the customary exchange of greetings. The young lady presently on his arm, a pretty miss in pink spotted muslin, was unknown to Antonia. From the warm appreciation readily apparent in Mr Amberly's expression, she surmised the lady might well be the cause of Mr Amberly's frequent preoccupation.

"Good afternoon, Amberly."

At the sound of Philip's voice, Frederick Amberly started. "What? Oh-it's you, Ruthven." Consternation showed fleetingly in his eyes. "Didn't expect to meet you here."

"So I perceive." Philip smiled charmingly at the young lady, now clinging wide-eyed to Mr Amberly's arm.

"Beg to make you known to my friends, m'dear." Mr Amberly patted her hand reassuringly. "Miss Mannering and Lord Ruthven-Miss Hitchin."

Miss Hitchin smiled sweetly and gave Antonia her hand; Antonia returned her smile encouragingly and pressed her fingers. Philip bowed, then looked at Frederick Amberly. "Just strolling?"

"I thought the flowers looked so very pretty," Miss Hitchin volunteered somewhat breathlessly. “Mr Amberly very kindly offered to escort me to see them at closer range."

"They really are very lovely," Antonia agreed.

“I had heard there was a rhododendron walk further on." Miss Hitchin looked appealingly at Mr Amberly.

"Ah, yes." Mr Amberly smiled down at her. "We'd best get on if we're to see the bushes then get back to your mama's carriage in good time." He nodded to Antonia. "Your servant, Miss Mannering. Ruthven."

Philip watched them hurry away. "Who would have thought it-a miss just out of the schoolroom, barely old enough to put up her hair?" He shook his head. "Poor Amberly."

"Why 'poor'?" Antonia asked as they started to stroll again.

"Because," Philip explained, "being caught strolling in the Park with a young lady on your arm ostensibly viewing the flowers is tantamount to declaring oneself irretrievably smitten."

They strolled on a few steps before Antonia said, her tone carefully neutral, "You're strolling by the flower-beds with me.

"True-but there's nothing surprising in a man's being smitten with you. But a chit just out of the schoolroom?'' Again, Philip shook his head. "Poor Amberly."