A Comfortable Wife

Chapter Seven

"There's a message arrived for you, m'lord. Up from the Manor."

Seated in a wing-chair in his library, Philip waved Car-ring, his major-domo, forward. After spending an afternoon about town, calling in at his club and spending an hour at Manton's, he had retreated to his library secure in the knowledge that few of his peers had yet quit their summer hunting grounds. The continuing fine weather gave little incentive for returning to town before the round of balls and parties that made up the Little Season. Which meant Antonia would have a relatively quiet few weeks in which to gain her balance.

The silver salver Carring presented held a note addressed in Banks's finicky script. Frowning, Philip picked it up and unfolded it. He read Banks's few lines, then swore. "The damned woman's finally made up her mind!"

"Is that good news or bad news, m'lord?" Carring held himself correctly by his master's side, his lugubrious tone absolving his query of any hint of impertinence.

Philip considered the point, eyeing Banks's missive with distaste. "Both," he eventually replied. "It means that at long last we'll be able to close the sale of Lower Farm. Unfortunately, Mrs Mortingdale wants to see me in person over the matter of certain unspecified assurances." Exasperated, he sighed. "I'll have to go back." He glanced at the clock. "Not tonight. Tell Hamwell to have the greys ready at first light-wake me before then."

If he took the Brighton road, he could reach the Manor by midday; if luck was with him, he might be free of the vacillating widow in time to make the trip back that evening.

"Very good, m'lord." Caning, ponderously round and suited all in black, unhurriedly headed for the door. There, he turned, his hand on the knob. “Am I to take it, my lord, that her ladyship and her visitors will still be arriving tomorrow?"

"They will." Philip's tones were clipped. "Make sure all is ready."

Carring's brows rose fractionally as he turned away. "Naturally, m'lord."

Contrary to his plans, it was early afternoon two days hence before Philip returned to Grosvenor Square.

Carring helped him out of his greatcoat. "I take it the business of Lower Farm was successfully completed, m'lord?"

"Finally." Resetthng his coat, Philip turned to the hall minor to check his cravat. “Her ladyship and the Mannerings arrived yesterday?''

"Indeed, m'lord. I comprehend their journey passed without incident."

"No highwaymen-not even a scheming landlord to chouse us over the reckoning."

Turning, Philip beheld Antonia, a vision in soft turquoise muslin floating down the stairs. A stray sunbeam lancing through the fanlight struck golden gleams from her hair. “I should hope not," he said, moving forward to meet her. Taking her hand, he raised it to his lips, brushing a kiss across her fingers. "I presume my coachman and grooms took good care of you?"

Antonia raised a brow. "Of all of us. But what of you? Did the widow eventually weaken?"

"She finally came to her senses." Tucking her hand in his arm, Philip turned her down the corridor. "However, nothing would do for it but that she had to see me in person so that I could give her an assurance-word of a gentleman-that I would keep her farm labourers on."

As he opened the door to the back parlour and handed her through, Antonia mused, "Actually, that seems rather wise-and kind of her, too."

Philip hesitated, then reluctantly nodded. "But I would have kept them on anyway. As it was, her summons meant I wasn't here to greet you. It appears I'm fated to return to my house to find you gracing my hall."

He shut the door behind them. Antonia slanted him a questioning glance as he came to stand beside her. "Do you find that so disturbing?"

Philip looked down into her green-gold eyes. "Disturbing?” For all his experience, he felt his senses slide. Taking firm hold of his wits, he clasped his hands behind his back. "On the contrary." His lips curved in a deliberately provocative smile. "That's precisely the result I'm aiming for. In this particular case, however, I had looked forward to welcoming you on your first evening in London."

Antonia smiled back. “We would hardly have been scintillating company." Calmly, she strolled to the chaise before the windows. “Henrietta retired immediately. Geoffrey and I had an early dinner and followed her upstairs." With a swish of her skirts, she settled on the flowered chintz.

"And this morning?" Gracefully, Philip sat beside her, neither overly close nor yet greatly distant. "I have difficulty believing you slept until noon."

"No, indeed." Antonia's smile grew gently teasing. “Geoffrey and I did discuss riding in the Park-he was sure you wouldn't mind if we raided your stable. But I convinced him to wait for your return."

Philip's expression blanked as he imagined what might have been.

Antonia shifted to face him. "What is it?"

Philip grimaced. "There's something I should explain- to you both." He focused on Antonia's face. "About riding in town."

Antonia frowned. “I had thought it was acceptable to ride in the Park."

"It is. It's the definition of the term 'riding' wherein the ton and the Mannerings differ."

“Oh?'' Antonia looked her question.

Philip pulled a face. "For ladies, the prescribed activity known as 'riding in the Park' involves a slow walk for much of the time, with at the most a short canter. Galloping, at least as you know it, is not just frowned upon-for you, it's utterly out of the question."

Antonia sat back, her expression a study of disgust and dismay. "Good heavens!"

One of her curls fell in a golden coil over one ear; Philip put out a hand and wound the curl about one finger, then, letting it slowly slip free, he gently brushed his finger against her cheek.

Her eyes flicked to his; Philip felt the familiar tension tighten. He let it hold for one discreet moment, then smoothly retrieved his hand.

"Ah…I don't think I'd actually want to ride if I had to restrain myself to a walk or a canter." Forcing in a breath, Antonia shook her head. "I don't think I could."

"An unquestionably wise decision." Philip shifted slightly. "But we'll only be in town for four weeks or so- you'll be able to ride to your heart's content once we return to the Manor."

"Well, then." Antonia gestured resignedly. "I'll just have to consider it a sacrifice made in pursuit of a greater goal."

Lips lifting, Philip inclined his head. When he looked up, his smile had faded. "Unfortunately, that's not all."

Antonia transfixed him with one of her direct looks. "What?"

"Driving in the Park." His eyes on hers, Philip grimaced. “I know I mentioned I might consent to let you drive yourself but I had, at that time, imagined myself on the box beside you."

Antonia frowned. "So?"

"So, my dear, given we are not about to announce our betrothal, the sight of you driving me behind my greys in the Park would lead to instant and quite rabid speculation-something I take it you are keen to avoid."

"Oh." The single syllable accurately conveyed Antonia's feelings.

"Despite such restrictions," Philip continued, his tone deliberately light, “London is generally considered a haven of entertainment." Catching Antonia's eye, he lifted a brow. “What have you planned for this afternoon?''

Shaking aside her disappointment, a childish response, she told herself, Antonia straightened. “Henrietta thought a visit to the modistes in Bruton Street to decide which to choose." Colouring slightly, she met Philip's gaze. "I'm afraid my wardrobe is hardly up to town standards."

“Having only just escaped from Yorkshire?'' Reaching out, Philip took her hand. "I fear I'm not surprised."

Reassured by his touch rather than his cynical tone, Antonia continued, “Then we thought to stroll Bond Street to look in on the milliners, followed perhaps by a quick turn through the Park."

Idly playing with her fingers, noting the contrast between her slim digits and his much larger hands, Philip considered, then nodded. He glanced up at the clock on the mantelshelf. "Henrietta should be stirring from her nap. Why don't you go and tell her I've arrived?" Turning his head, he met Antonia's slightly surprised gaze. And smiled. "Give me ten minutes to change and I'll accompany you." Rising, he drew her to her feet, then lifted her hand to his lips. "On your first outing in town."

Twenty minutes later, as she settled into a corner of the Ruthven town carriage, Henrietta and her shawls beside her, Philip directly opposite, Antonia was still in the grip of what she told herself was quite uncalled-for gratification. Despite her trenchant lecturing, her happiness swelled. She had never imagined Philip would join them.

The carriage rattled over the cobbles and rounded a corner. Swaying with the movement, Antonia met Philip's eye; she smiled, then let her gaze drift to the window. She had started allowing herself to think of him as her husband; she was, after all, going to be his wife.

That thought, unfortunately, focused her mind on the anxiety nagging quietly in the back of her mind. Philip's proposal had made success in London even more imperative; the ton was her last hurdle-she could not, must not, falter here.

Luckily, the drive to Bruton Street was too short for her to dwell too deeply on her prospects; the carriage pulled up outside a plain wooden door. Philip jumped down, then turned to assist her to the pavement.

As she straightened the skirts of her simple gown, Antonia's gaze fell on the creation displayed in the window beside the door, a breathtakingly simple robe of blue silk crepe. It was, to her eyes, the epitome of stylish elegance, combining simplicity of line with the richness of expensive fabric. An all-but-overwhelming desire to have a such gown rose within her.

"Not in blue," came Philip's voice in her ear.

Antonia jumped, then shot him a frown, which he met with a raised brow and an all-too-knowing smile. Offering her his arm, he gestured to the door through which the footman was assisting Henrietta. “Come and meet Madame Lafarge."

Guided up a narrow stair and into a salon draped in silk, Antonia felt her eyes widen. Small knots of ladies, young and old, were scattered about the apartment, grouped on chairs, each with an attendant hovering, offering samples of cloths. Murmured discussions, intent and purposeful, hummed in the air.

Philip was not the only gentleman present; others were freely giving their opinions on colours and styles. Quite a few turned to look at her; one groped for his quizzing glass, half-raising it to his eye before apparently thinking better of it. An assistant hurried up; Philip spoke quietly and she scurried away, disappearing through a curtained doorway.

Five seconds later, the curtain was thrown back; a small, black-clad figure glided into the room, pausing for a dramatic instant before heading towards them.

"My lord. My lady." The woman, black-eyed and black-haired, spoke with a pronounced accent. She bowed, then, straightening, lifted her hands palms up as she said, "My poor talents are entirely at your disposal."

"Madame." Philip inclined his head. He introduced Henrietta, then stood back and let her take charge. Turning his head, he caught Antonia's eye.

Confused, she lifted a brow at him but was distracted by Henrietta's introduction.

Nodding in acknowledgement of Antonia's greeting, Madame Lafarge walked slowly around her, then gestured down the room. “Walk for me, mademoiselle-to the windows and back, if you please."

Antonia glanced at Philip; he smiled reassuringly. She strolled down the long room, drawing covert glances from the modiste's other patrons with miffed looks from some of the younger ladies. By the time she returned to Philip's side, Henrietta and Madame had their heads together, whispering avidly.

"Excellent." Nodding, Henrietta straightened. "We'll return for a private session tomorrow at ten."

"Bien. I will have all ready. Until tomorrow, my lady. My lord. Mademoiselle." Madame Lafarge bowed deeply, then gestured to an underling to see them to the door.

Gaining the pavement in advance of Henrietta, slowly descending the steep flight on the arm of her footman, Antonia let her gaze travel the short street, taking in the numerous signs indicating the establishments of modistes and the odd tailor. Turning to Philip, standing patiently by her side, she raised a determined brow. "Why here?"

Philip raised a brow back. "Because she's the best-at least for style and, in my humble opinion, for that indefinable something that gives rise to true elegance."

Glancing again at the blue gown in the window, Antonia nodded. "But it was you who had the entree-not Henrietta."

When, turning, she fixed an openly enquiring gaze upon him, Philip wished her understanding was not quite so acute. He considered a white lie, but she had already noted his hesitation.

Again her brow rose, her expression half playful, half distant. “Or is that one of those matters into which young ladies should not enquire too closely?''

It was; for the first time in his lengthy career, the fact made Philip uncomfortable. Inwardly frowning, he kept his expression impassive. "Suffice to say that I have had call to make use of Madame's expertise in the past."

"For which," Henrietta said, puffing slightly as she came up with them, "we are both duly grateful." She fixed Philip with an approving stare. "Wondered why you had John Coachman stop here." Turning to Antonia, she explained, "Horrendously difficult to interest personally, Madame. But if you can catch her eye, then your wardrobe, you may be assured, will be enough to set the tabbies on their tails." Straightening, Henrietta waved to her coachman, "You may wait for us at the end of Bond Street, John." Then she gestured her footman forward. “Come, Jem, give me your arm. We can stroll from here."

Philip offered Antonia his arm. She hesitated only fractionally before placing her hand on his sleeve. Head high, a distant smile on her lips, she strolled by his side as they followed Henrietta into Bond Street.

Her joy in his company, in his introducing her to Madame Lafarge, had been quite effectively depressed.

Their foray up and down the fashionable thoroughfare was punctuated by frequent halts before the windows of milliners and glovers, haberdasherers and bootmakers.

"No sense in deciding on anything until we've consulted with Lafarge tomorrow," Henrietta opined. "Elsewise, we'll end with the wrong colour or style."

Dragging her gaze from a quite hideous chip bonnet sprouting a border of fake daisies, Antonia nodded absent-mindedly. One of their last halts was before the windows of Aspreys, the jewellers. Necklaces and rings, baubles of every conceivable hue, glittered and winked behind the glass.

Her gaze locked on the display, Henrietta pursed her lips. "If memory serves, your mama was never one for jewellery."

Antonia, still wrestling with unwelcome realization, shook her head. "She always said she didn't need much. But I have her pearls."

"Hmm." Henrietta squinted at a necklace and drop-earrings set on a velvet bed towards the back of the display. "Those topazes would suit you."

“Where?'' Blinking, Antonia summoned enough interest to follow her aunt's gaze.

"Not topazes."

Philip spoke from behind them; it was the first utterance he had made since they'd gained Bond Street. Both Antonia and Henrietta turned in surprise.

Endeavouring to retain his habitually impassive mien, Philip reached past them to point to the items arrayed on a bed of black silk in pride of place in the centre of the window. "Those."

"Those" were emeralds. Eyeing the exquisite green gems, set, not in the usual heavily ornate settings, but with an almost Grecian restraint in simple gold, Antonia felt her eyes grow round. Just like the gown in Lafarge's window, the delicate necklace with pendant attached, matching earrings and matching bracelets exerted a charm all their own. She would love to have them-but that was impossible. Even she could tell they were worth the proverbial king's ransom. They were, she suspected, the sorts of gifts a gentleman might give to his mistress, especially were she one of those beings referred to in hushed whispers as "highflyers”-the sort who might qualify for peignoirs from Madame Lafarge. She stifled a sigh. “They're certainly beautiful." Determinedly, she turned away. "There's John."

The carriage was waiting just up from the corner. His face expressionless, Philip stepped back. Without comment, he gave Antonia his arm across the street then handed his stepmother, then her niece into the carriage.

Henrietta leaned forward. "I'd thought to go for a quick turn about the Park-just to let Antonia get a feel for the place. Will you join us?''

Philip hesitated. He shot a glance at Antonia; the shadows of the carriage hid her eyes. She made no move to encourage him. Gracefully, he stepped back. "I think not." Feeling his jaw tighten, he forced his face to impassivity. "I believe I'll look in on my clubs." He executed a neat bow, then shut the door and gave John Coachman the office.

Philip rose late the next day, having spent the evening idly gaming with Hugo Satterly, whom he had opportunely sighted late in the afternoon napping behind a newsheet in White's. After a leisurely dinner, they had moved on to

Brooks and settled in for the evening, a sequence of events so common they had not even bothered to discuss their intent.

Determined to cling to such comfortable routines, he descended his stairs at noon, carefully pulling on his gloves. As he set foot in his hall, the library door opened and Geoffrey looked out.

"Ah-there you are." Grinning engagingly, Geoffrey came forward.

Instantly suspicious, Philip raised one brow. "Yes?"

Geoffrey's grin turned ingenuous. "I wondered if you recalled your promise that you'd help me in town if I kept all of the children out of the lake during the fete?"

"Ah, yes," Philip mused. "As I recall, no one got wet."

"Exactly." All but bouncing on his toes, Geoffrey nodded. "I wondered if you'd consider sponsoring me at Manton's-in return for my sterling efforts?"

His smile was infectious; briefly, Philip returned it. Manton's was, in fact, one of the safer venues for one of Geoffrey's years. "I'll have to speak with Manton himself-he doesn't normally encourage youngsters."

Geoffrey's face fell. "Oh."

"Don't get your hopes too high," Philip advised, turning to accept his cane from Carring who had silently approached. "But he may make an exception." Turning to Geoffrey, he raised his brows. "Provided, that is, that you can handle a pistol?"

"Of course I can! What sort of countryman can't?"

"As to that, I can't say." Extracting a card from his case, Philip handed it to Geoffrey. "If you get caught anywhere, use that. If not, meet me outside Manton's at two."

"Capital!" Eyes glowing, Geoffrey scanned the card, then put it in his pocket. "I'll be there." With a nod, he turned to go, then turned back. "Oh, I say-Antonia mentioned about the riding."

"Ah, yes." Philip waved away the hat Carring offered.

"Would it be a problem if I took one of your horses out in the mornings? I was speaking with your grooms-they seemed to think it was all right-that is, permissible-for me to ride early, say about nine."

"Indeed." Philip nodded. "And yes, before you ask, you can gallop down the tan-as long as you remain on the track. The keepers don't appreciate having their lawns cut to pieces."

"Oh, good!" Geoffrey's face glowed. "Antonia explained how she can't gallop but I thought that might just be one of those feminine things."

"Precisely," Philip replied. With a wave, he headed for the door.

One of those feminine things.

The words returned to haunt Philip as he idly strolled the clipped lawns bordering the carriageway in the Park, his gaze scanning the landaus and barouches wending their way along the fashionable avenue. He had dined well with friends at a select eatery in Jermyn Street, then met Geoffrey at Manton's.

After prevailing on the proprietor to overlook Geoffrey's age, an argument greatly assisted by his protégé’s undeniable skill with a pistol, he had left Geoffrey happily culping wafers and repaired to Gentleman Jackson's Boxing Salon. Declining an invitation to don a pair of gloves and spar with the great man himself, an acquaintance of many years, he had strolled the rooms, catching up with cronies and identifying the notables already in town. What gossip there was he had gleaned, then, with no pressing engagement, he had let his feet wander where they would.

They had brought him here. He wasn't sure whether he approved or not.

On the thought, he spied the Ruthven barouche, rolling slowly around the circuit. He raised his arm; his coachman saw him and drew the carriage into the verge. He strolled up as John was explaining his actions.

"Oh, it's you." Turning, Henrietta fixed him with one of her more intimidatory stares "Perfect. You can take Antonia for a stroll on the lawns."

Philip's answering glance held a definite hint of steel. "Precisely my intention, ma'am."

Henrietta fluffed her shawls and sank back against the cushions. "I'll wait here."

His lips compressed, Philip opened the door and held out his hand commandingly-before pulling himself up. His gaze flew to Antonia's face; the blank look in her eyes struck him like a blow. He drew in a quick breath. "That is, if you would like to take the air, my dear?" Where on earth had his years of experience gone? He had never acted so insensitively in his life.

Bundling an uncharacteristic spurt of temper, and a less well-defined hurt, aside, Antonia forced herself to nod. Outwardly serene, she placed her fingers in his. She did not meet his gaze as he assisted her out of the carriage, even though she could feel it on her face.

Settling her hand on his sleeve, Philip drew in a deep breath. And set himself to regain the ground he'd lost.

About them, the lawns were merely dotted with other couples, not crowded as they would be in a few weeks' time. "The company, I'm afraid, is somewhat thin at the moment." Glancing down at Antonia's face, he smiled. "As soon as the weather turns, the ton will flood back and then the entertainments will start with a vengeance."

Determined to hold her own, Antonia lifted her chin. "I've heard that there's no place on earth to rival London for all manner of diversions."

"Quite true." Philip succeeded in catching her eye. "Are you looking forward to being diverted?"

Shifting her gaze forward, Antonia raised her brows. "I suppose I am. Henrietta seems quite caught up with it all. She was certainly in her element at Lafarge's this morning."

"Ah, yes. How did your session with Madame go?"

Antonia shrugged lightly. "I have to admit I'm very impressed by her designs. She's sending the first of the gowns tomorrow." Glancing down at her cambric skirts, she pulled a face. "Not a moment too soon, I suspect." Her gaze rose to take in the stylish toilettes of two ladies strolling by.

"After tomorrow, my dear, you'll take the shine out of all the London belles."

Despite her determination to remain aloof, Antonia's lips twitched. She shot Philip a glance-which he was waiting to catch.

He laid a hand on his heart. "Nothing more than the truth, I swear."

She had to laugh; to her surprise, it cleared the air, allowing her to respond more easily.

"The smaller, less formal parties will be starting soon, I imagine."

"Indeed," she replied evenly. "Henrietta already has a small stack of invitations."

"And then will come the crushes as the major hostesses return to the fray."

"Hmm." She hid a frown.

Philip glanced down at her. "I thought you were looking forward to experiencing the ton in all its glory?"

Fleetingly, Antonia met his gaze. “I certainly expect my time here to be an experience-an undertaking necessary to extend my understanding of society and its ways. As for enjoyment-" She shrugged. "I don't know enough to anticipate it."

Philip studied her face, open and honest as always; his expression softened. "Strange to tell, there's more to London than ton parties."

Antonia looked up, brows lifting.

"There's the theatre and opera, of course-but you know of them. Then there's Astley's and Vauxhall across the river, both worth a visit if it's simple pleasures you seek." Looking down, Philip met her gaze. "And I own to surprise that neither you nor Geoffrey has yet developed a yearning to see the museum."

Without waiting for her comment, he continued, blithely extolling the virtues of the capital, detailing sights and possible excursions, gently twitting her on her ignorance until, with a laugh, she conceded, "Very well-I will own that I might, indeed, enjoy my stay in London. I hadn't realized there was so much we-" Abruptly, Antonia caught herself up. She drew in a steadying breath. "So much to see," she amended.

Trying but failing to trap her gaze, Philip inwardly frowned. "Having been interred in the wilds of Yorkshire as you have, that's hardly surprising. We must make an effort to take in some of the sights at least, before the season gets into full swing."

Antonia glanced up and met his gaze. “That would be very… pleasant."

Philip smiled. "We'll have to see what we can squeeze in."

They had reached the barouche; opening the door, he handed her in. "Until later," he said, his eyes on hers.

Antonia nodded, regally assured. Henrietta humphed and tapped John Coachman on the shoulder. Philip watched the carriage draw away; a frown slowly formed in his eyes. An odd constraint seemed to have sprung up between them- he couldn't for the life of him see why.

At six o'clock that evening, Antonia started up the stairs. The dinner gong had just sounded; it was time to change her gown. Nearing the landing, she heard footsteps above. Looking up, she met Philip's gaze. She stopped on the landing, watching as he descended.

He was wearing a stylish coat of Bath superfine over ivory inexpressibles; an intricately tied cravat, tasselled Hessians and a waistcoat of amber silk completed the outfit. His hair looked freshly brushed, waving gently about his head. In one hand, he carried a pair of gloves, flicking them gently against one thigh.

His lips curving, he stopped directly before her.

"I had wondered, my dear, if you are free tomorrow afternoon, whether you might care to drive to Richmond? We could take tea at the Star and Garter and return in good time for dinner."

The poor light on the stairs hid the flash of happiness that lit Antonia's eyes. It also hid the faint blush that succeeded it. "I…" Lifting her chin, she clasped her hands before her. "I wouldn't wish to disrupt your normal routine, my lord-I'm sure there are other claims on your time."

"None that can't wait." Philip hid his frown. "Are you free?"

She met his gaze but he could read nothing in her eyes. "I can't recall any other engagement."

Philip tightened his grip on his gloves. "In that case, I'll meet you in the hall at…shall we say half past one?"

Gracious but determinedly distant, Antonia inclined her head. "I'll look forward to the outing, my lord."

What, Philip wondered, had happened to his name? "Antonia-?"

"Will you be dining with us this evening?" It took all Antonia's courage to ask the question; she waited, breath bated, for the answer, dismally aware she was only making a rod for her own back.

Philip hesitated, then forced himself to shake his head. "I'm dining with friends." He was, at Limmer's. As if from a distance, he heard himself say, "I often do." The shadows hid her eyes, too well for him to be sure of her expression. Few men of his age, married or not, dined frequently at their own board; it was a fact of fashionable life, not a situation of his own choosing.

"Indeed?" Determinedly bright, Antonia flashed him a brittle smile. "I'd better go up or I'll be late. I wish you a good night, my lord." With another fleeting smile and a nod, she went past him and on up the stairs. She was, she sternly lectured herself, being foolish beyond permission. To feel rejection when none was intended, to feel downhearted just because he was behaving as he usually did. This was, after all, what she had come to London to learn-how she would fit into his life.

She reached the upper gallery and all but ran to her room.

Philip listened to her footsteps fade. Slowly, he resumed his descent. By the time he reached the hall, the planes of his face had hardened. She had said not a word out of place, said nothing to make him suspect she was wishful of his company. Not once had she made the mistake of trying to make him feel guilty; she had made no demands of him whatever.

Why, then, did he feel so dissatisfied? So certain something was, if not precisely wrong, then very definitely not right?