her family, one branch at least, as well as the youth of the
The dance ended and she sank into the prescribed curtsy. Mr Hemming, beaming, raised her. “An excellent measure, Miss Mannering.' Gallantly, he offered her his arm. 'I take it you'll be attending the coming balls and parties?'
'I expect we'll attend our fair share.' Antonia accepted his arm; he very correctly escorted her back towards the fireplace.
'Have you seen Lord Elgin's marbles? Quite worth a visit, in my humble estimation.'
Antonia was about to reply when they were joined by an acquaintance of Mr Hemming's, a Mr Carruthers. Introduced, Mr Carruthers bowed extravagantly. Within minutes, two others had joined them, Sir Frederick Smallwood and a Mr Riley. Before Antonia could blink, she found herself at the centre of a small circle of gentlemen. They chatted amiably, pleasantly; she danced the quadrille with Sir Frederick and the last cotillion with Mr Carruthers. Mr Riley begged to be remembered when next they met.
Then the party started to break up. Geoffrey appeared by her elbow with the information that Henrietta was ready to depart; Antonia excused herself to her cavaliers and politely withdrew.
Once she had settled Henrietta in the carriage, draping extra shawls about her shoulders, Antonia sat back and pondered all she had seen. 'Aunt,' she eventually asked, as the carriage rocked into motion, 'is it common for married gentlemen to accompany their wives to such entertainments?'
Henrietta snorted. “Noticed the Moggs, did you? Hardly surprising-they attracted quite a bit of interest, that pair of lovebirds.' Her tone suggested the matrons had not been impressed. 'But to answer your question-no, it's not general practice, but not only is Gerard Moggs quite openly besotted with his wife, she's also in an interesting condition, so I expect we'll have to excuse him.'
Antonia nodded; she now had the Moggs in their proper perspective.
'Quite a fine line, actually-just how much husbandly attention is allowable.' Henrietta spoke into the darkness, her voice only just audible over the rattle of the carriage wheels. 'Not, of course, that the question arises in many cases-gentlemen being what they are. Only too glad to keep to their clubs and their dinners. Most put in an appearance at the best balls and parties, enough to nod to their wives in passing, but the consensus has always been that, in town at least, husbands and wives follow essentially separate social calendars.' She fluffed her shawls. 'That, of course, limits the opportunities for the sort of exhibition you witnessed tonight.'
Any doubts as to her aunt's opinion of the Moggs' behaviour was laid to rest. Antonia shifted in her seat. 'I had thought gentlemen often escorted ladies to the various entertainments?'
'Indeed.' Henrietta yawned. 'But, in the main, such escort duties fall to the unmarried males, the confirmed bachelors or the yet-to-be-snared. Only occasionally would a married lady expect her husband to act as her escort, and then only if he was wishful of attending the same function.'
The shadows hid Antonia's frown. Her enjoyment of the outings Philip had organised, the laughter they had shared, the undeniable pleasure she found in his company-would all that change once they were wed? Be relegated to history, never to be experienced again? What, she wondered, was the point of being married-of having a firm friendship with one's husband-if being married prohibited him from spending time in your company?
The carriage swayed around a corner then rumbled on into Grosvenor Square; Geoffrey shifted in his corner. As they drew up outside Ruthven House, he jumped down, smothering a yawn. Between them, Antonia and he helped Henrietta up the steps; Carring stood at the top, holding the door wide.
Behind him, in the glow of the hall chandelier, Antonia spied Philip. He strolled forward as Carring shut the door. 'A pleasant evening?'
The question was addressed to her but Geoffrey answered it.
'Dull work,' he said, around another yawn. 'Nothing of any substance except for the heiress's dragon of an aunt. She really did look like a gorgon.'
“Indeed?'' Philip raised an amused brow.
“Absolutely,'' Geoffrey assured him. “But I'm for bed.'
'In that case,' Henrietta said, poking him in the ribs, 'you can give me your arm up the stairs.' She glanced over her shoulder. 'Send Trant up at once, please, Car-ring.'
Carring bowed deeply. 'Immediately, m'lady.'
Antonia stood by Philip's side, watching until her brother and her aunt gained the upper landing.
'Come into the library.' Philip's words and his hand at her elbow had her turning in that direction. 'Was there much dancing?'
He had gone out after they had left, stifling a ludicrous wish that he could join them, instead meeting Hugo and a small coterie of friends at Brooks. Together, they'd gone on to Boodles, then to a select establishment in Pall Mall, but he'd been too restless to settle to the play. In the end, he'd cried off and returned home to idly pace the library floor.
'Two cotillions and a quadrille.' Antonia yielded to his persuasion. They entered the library; Philip shut the door behind them.
“And you danced them all?''
'Indeed.'
Philip stopped by one of the wing chairs flanking the fireplace, filled with a cheery blaze. Antonia sat, her skirts sighing about her. Philip paused, studying her. “Would you like a nightcap?'
Antonia looked up, her expression arrested, then smiled and shook her head.
Philip was not deceived. 'What?'
Her smile reminded him forcefully of the irrepressible girl she had been. 'Actually,' she said, her eyes dancing, 'I would dearly love a glass of warm milk but I cannot imagine how Carring would react to such a request.'
'Can you not?' Philip's brows slowly rose. Turning, he crossed to the bellpull.
'Philip!' Antonia sat up.
Philip waved her back. 'No-I have a score to settle-hush!' He returned to take the chair opposite hers.
Carring entered, ponderously solemn. 'You rang, m'lord?'
'Indeed.' Philip's expression was utterly bland. 'Miss Mannering would like a nightcap, Carring. A glass of warm milk.'
Carring's eyes flickered, then he bowed. 'Will that be for two, m'lord?'
It took Philip a moment to master his tone. 'No-you may pour me a brandy when you return.'
'Very good, m'lord.' Bowing, Caning withdrew.
As soon as the door closed, Antonia succumbed. 'The thought of you drinking warm milk,' she eventually got out, hugging her aching ribs.
Despite himself, Philip's lips curved upward. 'One day, I keep telling myself, I'll have the last word.'
He was not destined to succeed that night. Carring reappeared bearing a glass of perfectly warmed milk on a silver tray. He deposited it on the table by Antonia's side with the same care he would have taken had it been aged port, then crossed to the cabinet and poured Philip's brandy, leaving the large glass by his master's elbow.
'Thank you, Carring. You may lock up.'
'M'lord.' With his usual deep obeisance, the major-domo withdrew.
Reaching for the brandy glass, Philip discovered it was half-full. A subtle hint, he supposed, of Carring's estimation of his state. Taking a sip, he smiled at Antonia. 'With whom did you dance?'
Cradling her glass in her hand, she settled back in the chair. 'Most of those present were more Geoffrey's age than mine but there were a few older gentlemen present-Mr Riley, Mr Hemming, Sir Frederick Smallwood and a Mr Carruthers.'
'Indeed?' Philip did not recognize the names, which gave him some idea of their station. He fixed her with a mildly enquiring gaze. 'And did you, like Geoffrey, find it dull work?'
Antonia smiled. 'While it certainly did not rival Ast-ley's, it was not totally without interest.'
'Oh?'
It was more to the light in his eyes and his tone that she responded, relating her observations on all she had seen as she slowly sipped her milk.
Philip watched the firelight strike gleams from her hair; the play of the fire-glow over her pale face, over her lips, sheened by the milk, held him in thrall. The cadence of her voice rose and fell; he sipped his brandy and
