savoured it, then, frowning again, resumed her brushing. A serious problem had surfaced with his ardour-namely, hers. Or, more specifically, how, given a gentleman's expectations of his wife, she was supposed to keep her feelings hidden or, at the very least, acceptably disguised.
The door opened; Nell walked in, stopping in amazement at the sight of her.
'Great heavens! And here I'd thought to wake you.'
Antonia brushed more vigorously. 'There's still a lot to do-I don't wish to be rushed at the last.'
Nell snorted and came to take the brush. 'Seemingly you're not the only one. I just saw his lordship downstairs. Thought he must be going riding, but then I noticed he wasn't in top boots. Very natty, he looked, I must say.'
'Indeed.' Clasping her hands in her lap, Antonia infused the word with the utmost disinterest. Philip had tried to speak with her last night, first in the drawing-room before dinner, when Geoffrey's enthusiasm had saved her, then later, when she was pouring the tea. She had affected deafness to his low-voiced “Antonia?'' and handed him a brimming cup.
She was not about to forgive him, to let him close again, not until the panicky feelings inside subsided, not until she was again confident of carrying off their interaction with the assurance expected of a prospective wife.
'Dare say you'll have your hands full today, acting as hostess in her ladyship's stead.' Nell deftly wound the golden mass of Antonia's hair into a tight bun, teasing tendrils free to wreathe about her ears and nape. 'She told Trant she intends going no further than the terrace.'
Antonia shifted on the stool. 'She's getting too old to stand up to the crowds-I'm only glad I can help her in this way.'
'Aye-and his lordship, too. Can't think that he'd appreciate having to face it all by himself.'
Antonia glanced searchingly at Nell but there was no evidence of intent in her maid's homely features. 'Naturally I'll be on hand to aid his lordship in any way I can.'
A role she could hardly escape, having worked so diligently to earn it. Being at odds with Philip on today of all days was going to be simply impossible. They would have to make their peace before the guests arrived.
As soon as Nell pronounced her fit to face the day, Antonia headed downstairs. As she descended the last flight, her nemesis strolled into the hall. Looking up, he stopped at the foot of the stairs-and waited. Antonia paused, meeting his gaze. In the hall above, a door opened then slowly closed. Drawing in a steadying breath, Antonia continued her descent, her expression determinedly aloof.
Philip turned to face her, effectively blocking her way. As Nell had intimated, he was precise to a pin in a grey morning coat, his cravat tied in a simple but elegant knot. A subdued waistcoat, form-fitting breeches and glossy Hessians completed the outfit-perfect for a wealthy gentleman about to greet his neighbours. His movements, Antonia noted, were once again lazy; his habitual air of languid indolence hung like a cloak about him. She stopped on the last step, her eyes level with his. 'Good morning, my lord.' She kept her tone coolly polite.
Only his eyes, his grey gaze sharply intent as it met hers, gave evidence of yesterday's turmoil.
'Good morning, Antonia.' Holding her gaze, Philip raised a brow. 'Pax?'
Antonia narrowed her eyes. 'You accused me of seducing you.'
'A momentary aberration.' Philip kept his eyes on hers. 'I know you didn't.' He had managed that all by himself.
She was, after all, an innocent; regardless of any scheme she and Henrietta had concocted, what had flared between them was more his doing than hers.
Antonia hesitated, studying his bland countenance.
Despite his determination to remain distant, Philip felt his lips twist. He reached for her hand. 'Antonia-'
The sound of a heavy footstep had them both looking up.
'Henrietta.' Lips tightening, Philip caught Antonia's gaze. 'I need you as my hostess, Antonia.' His fingers tightened about hers. 'I want you by my side.'
It took a moment for Antonia to subdue her response to his touch, his plea. Stiffly, she inclined her head; behind her, she could hear Henrietta on the landing. 'You may count on me, my lord.' She kept her voice low. 'I won't let you down.'
Philip held her gaze. 'And
As the day progressed, Antonia found herself grateful for the reassurance. Henrietta had elected to greet her visitors at the bottom of the terrace steps; Fenton was stationed at the front of the house, directing all arrivals around the corner to the south lawn.
After settling Henrietta by the balustrade, Antonia, her eye on Mrs Mimms, approaching like a galleon under full sail, two anaemic daughters in tow, murmured, 'I'll just go the rounds and check-'
'Nonsense, my dear.' Closing her crabbed fingers about Antonia's wrist, Henrietta smiled up at her. 'Your place is beside me.'
Antonia frowned. 'There's no need-'
“What say you, Ruthven?'' Henrietta glanced at Philip, standing behind her, his gaze fixed on Mrs Mimms. 'Don't you think Antonia should stand by us?'
'Indubitably,' Philip stated. He shifted his gaze to Antonia, subtle challenge in his eyes. 'How else, my dear, will we cope with Mrs Mimms-let alone the rest of them?'
She had, of course, to acquiesce; the result was predictable. Introduced by a beaming Henrietta as 'My very dear niece-dare say you remember her-spent many summers here with us all. Don't know how we could have managed this without her', she found herself transfixed by Mrs Mimms' basilisk stare.
'Indeed? Helping out?' Mrs Mimms cast a knowledgeable eye over the tables and booths scattered over the lawns and terrace. Her lips thinned as her gaze fell on Philip, already greeting the next guests. 'I see.'
Those two bare words effectively summarized Mrs Mimms' reading of the situation. Determined not to let it, or anything else, rattle her, Antonia smiled serenely. 'I do hope you enjoy yourself.' With a gentle nod, she allowed her gaze to shift to Horatia and Honoria Mimms, both of whom had yet to drag their attention from Philip. Their protuberant eyes were fixed on his face in cloying adoration. 'And your daughters, too, of course.'
Mrs Mimms glanced sharply at her offspring. 'Come along, girls!' She frowned intimidatingly. 'Stop dillydallying!' With a swirl of her skirts, she led the way up the terrace steps.
Mrs Mimms was not alone among the local ladies in having seen in the Manor's invitation a chance to press their daughters' claims. That much was made clear as the guests flooded in. Antonia found herself the object of quite a few disconcerted stares. Many recalled her from her earlier visits; while most greeted her warmly, the matrons with unmarried daughters in tow were distinctly more reserved.
Lady Archibald was characteristically forthright in her surprise. 'Damnation! Thought you'd disappeared. Or at least were safely wed!'
Antonia struggled to hide her grin. It was impossible to take offence; her ladyship, while hardly the soul of tact, possessed an indefatigably kind heart. She watched as her ladyship, frowning, looked down on the mousy young lady hugging her shadow, her gaze, like all the other young ladies' gazes seemed to be, fixed on Philip. Lady Archibald humphed. 'Come along, Emily. No point in making sheep's eyes in
Antonia made a point of shaking hands with Emily, to soften that trenchant remark. But the girl appeared not to have heeded it, continuing to cast shy but glowing glances at Philip.
After directing her ladyship and Emily to the terrace, Antonia turned to greet the next guest, in doing so, she met Philip's eye.
She had never before seen such an expression of aggravated exasperation on his face. It was a fight to keep her lips in the prescribed gentle smile; her jaw ached for a full five minutes. Thereafter, she studiously avoided his gaze whenever smitten young ladies stood before them.
The novelty of the event had ensured a large turnout. All their neighbours had accepted, rolling up the drive in chaises and carriages, many open so the occupants could bask in the bright sunshine. Philip's tenants came in carts or on foot, lifting their caps or dropping shy curtsies as they passed the reception line on their way to join the congregation on the lawn.
Amongst the last to arrive was the party from the Grange, some miles beyond the village. Sir Miles and Lady Castle-ton were new to the district since Antonia's last visit; she studied them as they approached, her ladyship strolling in the lead, an aloof expression on her lovely face, a slim, dark-haired young lady in her wake.
'My dear Ruthven!' With a dramatic gesture, Lady Castleton presented her hand. A statuesque brunette,
