The Trouble With Virtue: A Comfortable Wife\A Lady by Day (26 page)

The ripple of awareness that shivered through Antonia and the soft blush that tinged her cheeks stayed with him long after she retreated up the stairs.

* * *

A
T
EIGHT
THE
following morning, Antonia slipped from the lowering bulk of Ticehurst Place and headed for the stables. The sun again ruled the sky; as she entered the low-ceilinged stables, she paused, blinking rapidly. As her vision adjusted, she saw a cap bobbing in a nearby loose box. She hurried forward.

“I’d like a horse, please. As quick as you can.” Rounding the end of the open box, Antonia cast a swift glance over the bay the stableman was bridling. “This one will do nicely.”

The aged retainer blinked owlishly at her. “Beggin’ your pardon, miss.” He broke off to tug at his cap. “But this one’s for the gentleman.”

“Gentleman?” On the instant, Antonia felt her senses shiver. She swung around—to find herself breast to chest with her nemesis. She took a step back and hauled in a quick breath. “I didn’t see you there, my lord.”

“Obviously.” Philip studied the tinge of colour highlighting her cheekbones, then let his gaze meet hers. “And where are you headed?”

Inwardly, Antonia cursed. She hesitated, then, recognizing the hint of steel beneath the soft grey of his eyes, capitulated. “I was going for a ride.”

Philip’s brows rose. “Indeed? Then I’ll ride with you.” Reaching forward, he took hold of her arm and drew her closer, clear of the bay the stableman was turning. “So much more suitable,” he murmured, “than a young lady riding alone.”

Suppressing a snort, Antonia swallowed the rebuke with what grace she could muster.

“Here you be, sir.” The groom came up, leading the bay. He handed the reins to Philip, then turned to Antonia. “Now, miss. I’ve a nice steady mare that would suit you. Not one as gets overly frisky, so you won’t have to panic.”

He turned away on the words, heading for the row of boxes across the stables, leaving Philip as the only witness to Antonia’s stunned reaction. Horror and outrage mixed freely in her expression, dazed disbelief filled her eyes. Then her jaw firmed.

Philip swallowed his laughter and called to the stableman. “I fear you mistake Miss Mannering’s abilities. She’s perfectly capable of managing one of your master’s hunters. By the look of them, they could do with the exercise.”

Frowning, the stableman shuffled back. “I don’t rightly know as how I should, sir. Wondrous powerful, the master’s hunters.”

“Miss Mannering can handle them.” Philip felt his face harden. “She’s a dab hand at reining in all manner of untamed beasts.” Conscious of Antonia’s swift glance, he lifted his head and scanned the hunters shifting restlessly in their boxes. “That one.” He pointed to a glossy black, every bit as powerful as the bay he had chosen. “Put a sidesaddle on—I’ll take all responsibility.”

With a resigned shrug, the stableman headed for the tackroom.

“Come—let’s wait in the yard.” Taking Antonia’s arm, Philip steered her out of the stable, the bay following eagerly.

Antonia glanced about. “I’d thought Geoffrey or Ambrose would be about.”

“According to the stableman, they’ve already gone out. Or should that be ‘escaped’?”

Antonia grimaced. “You’ll have to admit Ambrose has just cause.”

Walking the restive bay, Philip spoke over his shoulder. “You may console yourself with the thought that your brother is doing an excellent job of putting their ladyships’ collective noses out of joint.”

“Geoffrey?” Antonia frowned. “How?”

“By sticking with Ambrose.” When she continued to look bemused, Philip smiled wryly. “I fear Geoffrey is very much the fly in their ladyships’ ointment. In case you haven’t yet realized, this so-called ‘house party’ was very carefully designed. We each have specific roles: Henrietta, you and me to lend countenance— imagining, of course, that Henrietta is a like-minded soul who shares their ladyships’ proclivities and that you and I will be too involved with each other to notice anything else. Geoffrey’s presence, however, has thrown a definite spanner into the works. Although she extended the invitation, the Countess had imagined he’d go up to Oxford after the last of the parties.”

Antonia narrowed her eyes. “The Countess is a very manipulative woman.”

“Indeed.” Philip’s tone hardened. “And I do not appreciate being manipulated.”

Antonia shot him a glance, then elevated her chin. “Nor do I.”

It was Philip’s turn to glance suspiciously, but Antonia had turned away to greet the sleek black hunter the stableman led forth. Under her direction, the stableman held the horse by the mounting block. Philip inwardly snorted and swung up to the bay’s saddle. The instant Antonia had settled her skirts, he turned the bay’s head for the fields.

He held back only long enough to ensure Antonia was secure and in command, then loosened his reins, letting the bay’s stride eat the distance to the trees on the first hill. They drew into the shade of the outliers of the wood and Philip drew rein. He waited until Antonia brought the restive black up alongside, then fixed her with a distinctly strait look. “Now—where are you going?”

Inwardly, Antonia grimaced; outwardly, she lifted her chin. “To meet Mr Fortescue—should he be there to meet.”

“Fortescue?”

“Catriona arranged to meet him at the end of the ride through the woods. He said he’d come to tell her how he’d got on with the Earl. She was to keep watch every day but at present, she’s convinced herself no one can save her from the Countess’s machinations.”

Annoyance crept into Antonia’s voice as she recalled the hours she had spent trying valiantly to raise Catriona’s spirits. “From my previous experience of her, I would not have believed she would give up so easily. I’ve been telling her she must make a push to secure what she wants from life—that if one really wants something, one has to be prepared to fight for it.”

The bay jibbed; Philip tightened his reins. His eyes, fixed on Antonia, narrowed. “Indeed.” He might have said more had another, more immediate realisation not intruded. “You were on your way to meet a gentleman alone.”

Antonia shot him a frowning glance. “Only Mr Fortescue.”

“Who happens to be a perfectly personable gentleman some years your senior.”

“Who happens to be all but betrothed to a young lady I regard as a good friend.” Chin high, Antonia gathered her reins.

Philip held her with his eyes. “I have to inform you, my dear, that meeting personable gentlemen alone is not the behaviour I expect of Lady Ruthven.”

Antonia held his gaze, her own eyes slowly narrowing, golden glints appearing in the green. Then she hauled on the reins, pulling the black about. “I am not,” she replied, decidedly tart, “Lady Ruthven
yet.
”

With that, she touched her heels to the black’s sides and took off through the woods.

Philip watched her go, his eyes slitted, his gaze as sharp as honed steel. Suddenly, he recalled he rode much heavier than she—he couldn’t let her get too far ahead. With a curse, he set out in pursuit.

Despite his best efforts, Antonia was still in the lead when the end of the ride hove in sight. It led up to a small knoll at the back of the woods; cresting the rise, Antonia saw a single horseman waiting patiently. Recognizing his square frame, she waved; moments later, she drew up alongside Henry Fortescue.

He returned her greeting punctiliously, nodding as Philip joined them, then, somewhat glumly, turned to Antonia. “From your presence, I take it all is lost?”

Antonia blinked at him. “Heavens, no! Catriona is too well watched for it to be safe for her to ride out to meet you—Ruthven and I came in her stead.”

Ignoring Philip’s glance, she smiled brightly and was rewarded with a smile in return.

“Well, that’s a relief.” Henry’s smile faded. “Not that my news holds out any hope.”

Philip brought his bay up beside Antonia. “What did the Earl say?”

Henry grimaced. “Unfortunately, things weren’t as we thought. There was no legal guardianship established, so the Earl has no real rights in the matter. The Countess assumed Catriona’s guardianship by custom, so there’s no gainsaying her. Not, at least, until Catriona comes of age—but that’s years from now.”

“Oh.” Despite her earlier optimism, Antonia felt her spirits sink.

“Not that we wouldn’t be prepared to wait,” Henry went on. “If that was the only way. But the problem is, the Countess has her own row to hoe. And she’s not one to let up.”

Antonia grimaced. “Indeed not.”

Henry drew a deep breath. “I don’t know what Catriona will say—or do—when she hears the truth.”

Antonia didn’t bother to answer; Henry’s gloom was contagious.

“Then before we tell her, I suggest we establish the facts ourselves.”

Antonia stared at Philip. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I suspect we have not yet reached the truth.” Hands folded over his pommel, Philip raised a brow at her. “I took refuge in the library last night—a little habit of mine, you might recall.”

Antonia narrowed her eyes. “So?”

“So, while idly pacing, not having any other distraction to hand, I noticed a family bible on a lectern in one corner. It’s a handsome volume. Out of sheer curiosity, I looked at the flyleaf. It doesn’t, as I had imagined, belong to the Earl’s family but to the Dallings. Indeed, I imagine it might belong to Catriona as it was certainly her father’s before.”

Henry frowned. “But what has that to say to oversetting the Countess’s schemes?”

“Nothing in itself,” Philip acknowledged. “But the information the bible contains bears consideration. Inscribed on the flyleaf are the recent generations of the Dalling family. The history clearly shows the Countess is one of twins—her only sister is her twin. As is often the case with twin females, there’s no distinction made between them—no record of who was born first—that fact is stated explicitly in the bible. So, by my reckoning, Catriona’s other aunt would have equal right to act as her guardian by custom.”

“Lady Copely!” Henry sat his horse as one stunned. “She’s always been Catriona’s favourite but she couldn’t come to Catriona’s father’s funeral because one of her children came down with whooping cough. Instead, the Countess arrived and swept Catriona up as if she had the right to do so. Naturally, we all assumed she had.”

Philip raised a hand in warning. “We do not, at this stage, know if the Countess acted with Lady Copely’s assent. Do you know if Lady Copely would be willing to aid Miss Dalling in marrying as she wishes?”

Henry frowned. “I don’t know.”

“I do.” Eyes bright, Antonia looked at Philip. “I saw Lady Copely’s daughter and her husband in town. Catriona told me they had married for love.” Blushing lightly, she transferred her gaze to Henry. “Indeed, she told me Lady Copely herself had married for affection, rather than status. From all she said, her ladyship sounds the perfect sponsor for yours and Catriona’s future.”

“If that’s so,” Henry mused, “then perhaps Catriona could claim her ladyship’s protection?”

Philip nodded. “It seems a likely possibility.”

“Well, then!” Fired with newfound zeal, Henry straightened in his saddle. “All that remains is to discover her ladyship’s direction and I’ll apply to her directly.” He looked hopefully at Antonia.

Antonia shook her head. “Catriona never mentioned where Lady Copely lives.”

Henry grimaced.

“I suggest,” Philip said, “that as Catriona may have information on how best to approach Lady Copely, it would be wise for you to meet with Catriona prior to hunting up her ladyship.”

Henry nodded. “I confess I would like to do so. But if she’s truly kept close, how will we manage it?”

Dismissively, Philip waved one elegant hand. “A little forethought, a spot of strategic planning and the thing’s done. There’s a small field, part of an old orchard, at the back of the shrubbery. If you leave your horse in the woods on that side, you should be able to reach it easily. Be there at three this afternoon. The older ladies will be snoozing. I’ll arrange for Catriona to be there.”

Henry’s eagerness was tempered by caution. “But if the Countess keeps watch on her—Catriona said even the servants spy on her—then what hope has she of winning free?”

“You may leave all to me.” Philip smiled and gathered his reins. “I assure you the Countess herself will speed her on her way.”

Henry managed to look doubtful and grateful simultaneously.

Philip laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Three—don’t be late.”

“I won’t be.” Henry met Philip’s gaze. “And thank you, sir. I can’t think why you should put yourself out for us like this, but I’m extremely grateful for your help.”

“Not at all.” Philip wheeled his mount, collecting Antonia with his gaze. “It’s the obvious solution.”

With a nod, he clicked his reins; with a wave to Henry, Antonia fell in beside him. Together, they cantered back towards the woods. As they neared the entrance to the ride, Philip slowed and glanced at Antonia’s face. She was frowning. “What now?”

From beneath her lashes, she shot him a suspicious glance.

Philip met it and pointedly raised his brows.

Antonia pulled a face at him. “If you must know,” she declared, her accents repressive, “I was recalling telling Catriona that you were a past master at arranging clandestine meetings.” With that, she tossed her head, setting her curls dancing, then flicked her reins and entered the ride.

Following on her horse’s heels, Philip smiled. Wolfishly.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

O
PERATING
UNDER
STRICT
instructions, Antonia said nothing to Catriona regarding her impending salvation. “Her dramatic talents hardly lend themselves to concealment,” Philip had drily observed. “The Countess will take one look at her and our goose will be cooked.”

Hence, when she took her seat at the luncheon table, Catriona was still in the grip of morose despair. Slipping into the chair beside Philip’s, Antonia shot him a reproving glance.

He met it with bland imperturbability, then, turning, addressed the Countess.

The meal passed much as its predecessor, with one notable exception. The previous evening, the conversation had been dominated by the Countess and the Marchioness. Today, Philip set himself to engage, then artfully divert their attention. Applying herself to her meal, Antonia wondered if their ladyships would see the danger therein.

“Indeed.” Philip leaned back in his chair, gesturing languidly in response to a comment by the Marchioness on the immaturity of young gentlemen. “It’s my contention that until the age of thirty-four, gentlemen understand very little of the real forces extant in the
ton—
the forces, indeed, that will shape their lives.”

Antonia choked; glancing up, she caught Henrietta’s eye—they both quickly looked elsewhere.

“Quite so.” The Countess nodded grimly, her gaze on Ambrose. “Until they have reached the age of wisdom, it behoves them to take all heed of the advice of their elders.”

“Indubitably.” Across the table, Philip met Henrietta’s gaze. He smiled urbanely, a smile his stepmother was unlikely to misconstrue. “So helpful, when others point out the reality of things.”

“I can only say I wish more gentlemen had your insight, Ruthven.” With that, the Marchioness embarked on a succession of anecdotes illustrating the varied horrors that had befallen young gentlemen lacking such discernment.

By the time the platters were empty, Ambrose was sulking while Catriona had sunk even deeper into gloom. Only Geoffrey, Antonia noticed, appeared oblivious of Philip’s defection. She concluded her brother was either too fly to the time of day to believe any such thing, or was already appraised of Philip’s plan.

The latter seemed most likely when the Countess leaned forward to demand, “Now—what are your plans for the afternoon?”

“Mr Mannering,” Philip replied, “is for his books, I believe?” His gaze rested on Geoffrey, who nodded equably. Philip turned to the Countess. “We discussed the point you made regarding his presence here, rather than at Oxford, and concluded a few hours’ study each day would be a sound investment against the time when he goes up.”

The Countess glowed. “I’m very glad you saw fit to take my advice.”

Philip inclined his head. “As for the rest, Miss Mannering and I are for the gardens. They appear quite extensive—a pity to waste this weather indoors. I wondered if the Marquess and Miss Dalling would like to accompany us?”

“I’m sure they would.” The Marchioness nodded approvingly, her compelling gaze fixed on her hapless son.

Ambrose hid a grimace, then glanced at Catriona, mute, beside him. “Perhaps...”

“Of course!
Just
the thing!” The Countess weighed in to stamp her seal on the plan. “Catriona will be thrilled to accompany you.”

When everyone looked her way, Catriona nodded dully.

Ten minutes later, they left the house by the morning-room windows and headed into the rose gardens. Strolling on Philip’s arm, Antonia studied Catriona and Ambrose, drifting aimlessly ahead, feet trailing, shoulders slumped.

“So—what did you think of my superlative strategy?”

Glancing up, she met Philip’s eye. “It was, quite definitely, the most sickeningly cloying exhibition of humbug I have ever witnessed.”

Philip looked ahead. “There were a few grains of truth concealed amidst the dross.”

Antonia snorted. “Flummery, pure flummery, from start to finish. I’m surprised it didn’t stick in your throat.”

“I have to admit the whole was rather too sweet for my liking, but their ladyships lapped it up, which was, after all, my purpose.”

“Ah, yes—your purpose.” Antonia longed to ask, point-blank, what that was. It was not, after all, Catriona and Ambrose’s problem which had brought him here.

The thought focused her mind on what lay, ignored yet unresolved, between them. As they strolled in the sunlight, largely without words, she had ample time to consider the possibilities and the actualities—and whether she could convert the former to the latter.

Beneath her fingers, she could feel the strength in Philip’s arm; as their shoulders brushed, awareness of him enveloped her. Like a well-remembered scent laid down in her memories, he was part of her at some deep, uncomprehended level. And just like such a scent, she longed to capture and hold him, his attention, his affection, precisely as laid down in her mind.

“There you are!”

They halted; turning, they saw Geoffrey striding towards them. “You’ve been with your books barely an hour,” Antonia exclaimed.

“Time enough.” Grinning, Geoffrey joined them in the middle of the formal garden. “The three
grandes dames
are snoring fit to shake the rafters.”

“Good.” Philip shifted his gaze to Catriona as she and Ambrose, alerted by Geoffrey’s appearance, joined them. “It’s time, I believe, that we headed for the shrubbery.”

“The shrubbery?” Ambrose frowned. “Why there?”

“So that Miss Dalling can meet with Mr Fortescue and help him with his plan to apply to Lady Copely for aid.”

“Henry?” Catriona’s eyes blazed. “He’s here?” Her die-away dismals dropped from her like a cloak; eyes sparkling, colour flowing into her cheeks, she positively vibrated with suppressed energy. “Where?”

Gesturing towards the shrubbery, Philip raised a cynical brow. “We’ll meet him shortly. However, remembering your aunt’s servitors—namely the gardener over there—” with a nonchalant wave he indicated a man on a ladder clipping a weeping cherry “—I suggest you restrain your transports until we’re in more shielded surrounds.”

Catriona, all but dancing with impatience, led the way.

Following more sedately on Philip’s arm, Antonia humphed. “You would be hard-pressed to believe that only this morning she was on the brink of a decline.”

Entering the shrubbery, screened from prying eyes by the high clipped hedges, Catriona stopped and waited. Philip shooed her on, consenting to halt and explain only when they were well within the protection of the walks.

“The field at the back of the shrubbery,” he eventually deigned to inform her. “He’ll be there at three.” Pulling his watch from his pocket, he consulted it. “Which is now.”

With a squeal of delight, Catriona whirled.

“But—” Philip waited until she looked back at him. “Ambrose and Geoffrey will naturally go with you.”

That, of course, presented no problem to Catriona. “Come on!” Lifting her skirts, she ran off.

With a laugh, Geoffrey loped in pursuit; dazed, Ambrose hurried after them.

“Just a minute!” Antonia looked at Philip. “Catriona needs a chaperon. She and Ambrose should not be alone at any time—especially now.”

Philip took her elbow. “Geoffrey is gooseberry enough. Our appointment lies elsewhere.”

“Appointment?” Antonia looked up to see his mask fall away, revealing features hard and uncompromising. His fingers were a steel vice about her elbow. As he guided her inexorably into the maze, she narrowed her eyes. “
This
was what you were planning all along! Not Catriona’s meeting, but ours.”

Philip shot her a glance. “I’m surprised it took you so long to work that out. While I’m sympathetic enough to Catriona and even Ambrose, though for my money he’d do well to develop a bit more gumption, I have and always have had only
one
purpose in crossing the Countess’s benighted threshold.”

That declaration and the promise it held—the idea of their impending, very private interview—crystallised Antonia’s thoughts and gave strength to her decision—the decision she had only that instant made. They reached the centre of the maze in a suspiciously short space of time. Impelled by a sense of certainty, she barely glanced at the neat lawns of the central square, at the small dolphin gracing the marble fountain at its heart. Determined to have her say—to retain control of the situation long enough to do so—she abruptly halted. Pulling back against Philip’s hold, she waited until he turned to face her, brows rising impatiently. Lifting her chin, she declared, “As it happens, I’m very glad of this chance to speak with you alone, for I have to inform you that I’ve suffered a change of heart.”

She looked up—and saw his face drain of all expression. His fingers fell from her elbow. He stilled; she sensed in his immobility the energy of some turbulent force severely restrained.

One of his brows slowly rose. “Indeed?”

Decisively, Antonia nodded. “I would remind you of the agreement we made—”

“I’m relieved you haven’t forgotten it.”

His flinty accents made her frown. “Of course I haven’t. At that time, if you recall, we discussed the role you wished me to fulfil—in essence, the role of a conventional wife.”

“A role you agreed to take on.”

His voice had deepened; his expression was starkly aggressive. Her lips firming, Antonia stiffly inclined her head. “Precisely. I have also to acknowledge your chivalrous behaviour in allowing me to come to London without formalising or making known our agreement.” Gliding towards the fountain, she clasped her hands and turned. Raising her head, she met Philip’s gaze, now opaque and impenetrable, squarely. “As it happens, that was likely very wise.”

Mute, Philip looked into her wide eyes—and knew what he thought of that earlier decision. He should have kept her at the Manor—acted the tyrant and married her regardless—anything to have avoided this. He could hardly think—he certainly didn’t trust himself to speak. He couldn’t, in fact, believe what she was saying; his mind refused to take it in. His emotions, however, were already on the rampage.

“Very wise,” Antonia affirmed. “For I have to tell you, my lord—”

“Philip.”

She hesitated, then stiffly inclined her head. “Philip—that on greater acquaintance with the mores of the
ton,
I have come to the conclusion that I am fundamentally ill-suited to be your wife—at least along the lines we agreed.”

That last, thoroughly confusing phrase was, Philip was convinced, the only thing that allowed him to retain any semblance of reason. “What the devil do you mean?” Hands rising to his hips, he glowered at her. “What other lines are there?”

Lifting her chin, Antonia gave him back stare for hard stare. “As I was
about
to explain, I have discovered there are certain...criteria—essential prerequisites, if you will—for carrying off the position of a
ton
nishly comfortable wife. In short, I do not possess them, nor, I have decided, am I willing to develop them. No.” Eyes glinting, she defiantly concluded, “Indeed, on the subject of marriage I find I have my
own
criteria—criteria I would require to be fulfilled
absolutely.
”

Philip’s eyes had not left hers. “Which are?”

Antonia didn’t blink. “First,” she declared, raising one hand to tick off her points on her fingers. “The gentleman I marry
must
love me—
without reservation.
”

Philip blinked. He hesitated, his eyes searching her face, chest swelling as he drew in a slow breath. Then he frowned. “Second?”

Antonia tapped her next finger. “He will
not
have any mistresses.”

“Ever?”

She hesitated. “After we are wed,” she eventually conceded.

The tension in Philip’s shoulders eased. “Third?”

“He cannot waltz with
any other lady.
”

Philip’s lips twitched; he fought to straighten them. “Not at all?”

“Never.”
There was no doubt in Antonia’s mind on that point. “And last but not least, he should
never
seek to be private with any other lady.
Ever.
” Eyes narrowed, she looked up and met Philip’s gaze challengingly, indeed belligerently. “Those are my criteria—if you do not feel you can meet them, then I will, of course, understand.” Abruptly, the reality of that alternative struck home. Antonia caught her breath; pain unexpectedly speared through her.

She looked away, disguising her faltering as a gracious nod. Swinging about to gaze at the fountain, she concluded, her voice suddenly tight, “Just as long as you understand that if such is the case, then I cannot marry you.”

Philip had never felt so giddy in his life. Relief so strong it left him weak clashed with a possessiveness he had never thought to feel. Emotions rose and fell like surging waves within him, all dwarfed, subsumed, by one steadfast, rocklike reality. The reality that, despite his understanding, still shook him to the core. Recollection of his customary imperturbability, of the unshakeable impassivity that had, until now—until Antonia—been his hallmark, drifted mockingly through his mind.

Drawing in a steadying breath, he studied her half-averted face. “You were going to marry me regardless. What changed your mind?”

She hesitated so long he thought she would not answer. Then she turned her head and met his gaze openly—directly. “You.”

Philip felt his lips twist, and recalled his earlier resolution never to ask such questions of her again; she would always floor him with her honesty. He drew in another deep breath—and recalled his purpose—his one and only purpose in engineering this meeting, in coming to Ticehurst Place. “Before I deal with your criteria—your demands of a prospective husband—there’s one pertinent point I wish to make crystal clear.”

His features hardening, he caught Antonia’s gaze. “Lady Ardale’s performance was no fault of mine. I did not encourage her in any way, by any look, word or gesture.”

A frown slowly formed in her eyes. “She was in your arms.”

“No.” Philip held her gaze steadily. “She pressed herself against me—I had to take hold of her to set her away.”