The Trouble With Virtue: A Comfortable Wife\A Lady by Day (9 page)

“Be that as it may,” Philip said, deftly coming between Antonia and Henrietta, “I believe it’s time we adjourned to the terrace.” Capturing Antonia’s hand, he tucked it into one elbow, then held his other arm rigid as Henrietta leaned heavily upon it. “Sir Miles?”

“Indeed, m’lord.” Before Lady Castleton could reclaim the initiative, Sir Miles drew her arm through his, then offered his other arm to his daughter. “Couldn’t agree more. Let’s go, what?”

Without a backward glance, Sir Miles ushered his ladies up the steps.

Philip waited until they were out of earshot, then glanced pointedly down at the ladies on his arms. “Might I suggest, my dears, that we get this exhausting, exceedingly well-organised event underway?”

They saw Henrietta settled in her seat at one end of the long table, then Philip escorted Antonia to her chosen position halfway down the board. “I never thought to say it, but thank heaven for Ladies Archibald and Hammond.”

As she sat, Antonia glanced at the head of the table where the two ladies in question, imposing matrons both, flanked Philip’s empty chair. Settling her skirts, she cast a questioning glance up at him.

Philip bent close. “They take precedence over Lady Castleton.” With a glint of a smile and a lifted brow, he straightened and moved away.

Antonia disguised her grin as a cheery smile; she hunted for Lady Castleton and found her seated on the opposite side, some places away, her exquisite features marred by an expression of disaffected boredom. Her ladyship’s disdain, however, was not evinced by others; as the food, laboured over by Mrs Hobbs, Cook and a small battalion of helpers, appeared on the crisp damask cloth, genial conversation rose on all sides. As Fenton and his minions filled goblets and glasses, the festive atmosphere grew.

Philip proposed a toast to the company, then bade them enjoy the day. When he sat, the feast began.

From the corner of her eye, Antonia kept watch over the steady stream of maids carrying platters to the lower tables. To her mind, Philip’s tenants were, in this instance, as important if not more so than his neighbours. Neighbours would be invited on other occasions; this was one of the few when tenants partook of their landlord’s largesse. Trestles groaned as trays loaded with mouth-watering pastries, succulent savouries and roasted meats, together with breads, cheeses and pitchers of ale, were placed upon them. The company seemed in fine fettle; she could detect nothing but unfettered gaiety around the tables on the lawn.

She had wondered whether the noise from the lower tables would prove overwhelming. As she returned her attention to the conversations about her, she dismissed the thought; those on the terrace were more than capable of holding their own.

The long meal passed without incident, bar an altercation which arose at the table set aside for the tenants’ children, which their fathers promptly quashed. When the fruit platters were all but empty, the boards were drawn; the dowagers and others ill-inclined to the games, contests and feats of skill slated to fill the afternoon, settled in their chairs on the terrace to enjoy a comfortable cose and possibly a nap in the warm sunshine.

The more robust of the guests adjourned to the lawns.

Straightening from having a last word with Henrietta, Antonia found Philip by her side.

When she looked her surprise, he raised a brow. “You didn’t seriously imagine I’d brave the dangers of the lawns without you to protect me?”

“Protect...?” Antonia temporarily lost her track when he drew her close, trapping her hand in the crook of his elbow. He was very large—and very hard. She was not yet accustomed to his nearness. “What am I supposed to protect you against?” She managed what she felt was a creditably sceptical look.

Her nemesis merely smiled. “Piranhas.”

“Piranhas?” Antonia cudgelled her brains as, with an elegant nod for the dowagers, Philip led her down the steps. “I thought they were fish,” she said once they gained the lawns.

“Precisely. Social but carnivorous and definitely cold-blooded.”

“On your lawns?”

“Indeed. Here comes a young one, now.”

Antonia looked up to see Miss Castleton bearing down upon them, arm linked with Honoria Mimms.

“Ah—Miss Mannering, is it not?” Miss Castleton came to a halt directly before them. “Poor Honoria seems to have ripped her flounce.”

Looking thoroughly puzzled, Honoria was twisting about, trying to see her trailing flounce. “I don’t know how it happened,” she said. “I felt it rip but when I turned around there was nothing for it to catch on. Luckily, Calliope was standing close by and told me how bad it was.”

“Perhaps, if you would be so good, Miss Mannering,” Calliope Castleton glibly broke in, “you might take poor Honoria up to the house and help her to pin up her lace?”

Honoria blushed beet-red. “Oh, I
couldn’t—
! I mean, you have all your other guests...”

“Exactly,” Philip calmly interjected. “As you’ve been such a good friend to Miss Mimms, Miss Castleton, I know you won’t mind helping her to the terrace and asking one of the maids for assistance.” He bestowed a smile of calculated charm on Honoria Mimms. “I’m afraid, my dear, that I have great need of Miss Mannering’s talents at present.”

Miss Mimms was dazzled. “
Naturally,
my lord.” Her eyes were wide and shining. “I wouldn’t
dream
of...of
discommoding
you.”

“Thank you, my dear.” Philip took her hand and bowed over it, his grateful smile enough to turn any young girl’s head. “I am in your debt.”

Honoria Mimms looked as if she would burst. Her round face alight, she grabbed Miss Castleton’s arm. “Come on, Calliope—I’m sure we can take care of this ourselves.”

Beaming, Miss Mimms towed Miss Castleton towards the terrace. The sound of Miss Castleton’s protests died behind them.

Antonia opened her eyes wide. “Miss Castleton didn’t seem all that taken with your suggestion, my lord.”

“I dare say. Miss Castleton, as you will have noticed, is somewhat enamoured of her own path.”

Antonia’s eyes lit; her lips quirked.

Philip noticed. “Now what is there in that to make you laugh?” Mentally replaying the conversation, he could see nothing to account for the laughter he sensed welling within her. He lifted one brow interrogatively. “Well?”

Antonia’s smile broke. “I was considering, my lord,” she said, shifting her gaze to the crowds before them, “whether your last comment might not be an example of the pot calling the kettle black?”

She glanced up at him; he trapped her gaze, both brows rising. For a long moment, he held her mesmerised; Antonia felt a shiver start deep inside, spreading through her until it quivered just beneath her skin.

Only when awareness blossomed in her eyes did Philip glance away. “You, my dear, are hardly one to talk.” After a moment, he added, his tone less dark, “I suspect that we should mingle. When are the archery contests scheduled to start?”

The hours passed swiftly, filled with conversations. They strolled the lawns, stopping every few feet to chat with their guests. Antonia was of the firm opinion that Philip should spend at least five minutes with each of his tenants; it transpired he was of similar mind; she was not called on to steer him their way. A fact for which she gave due thanks.

Her control of the
fête
and its associated events might be absolute; it did not extend to him.

To her surprise, he held by her side, even waiting patiently while she exchanged recipes with one of his farmers’ wives. Despite the years, the majority of his tenants were still known to her; they were keen to renew their acquaintance as well as catch up with their landlord. After every encounter, Philip drew her close before moving on.

Exactly as if she did indeed provide the protection he claimed.

While most of the mamas had read the signs aright and consequently made no effort to put their darlings in his way, their darlings proved less perceptive. Miss Abercrombie and Miss Harris, greatly daring, accosted them as they strolled.

“Such a frightfully warm day, don’t you think, my lord?” Miss Abercrombie’s gaze was certainly sultry. She fanned herself with her hand, the action drawing attention to the ample charms revealed by her deeply scooped neckline.

“Quite positively
enervating,
I think.” Miss Harris, not to be outdone, fluttered her lashes and cast Philip a languishing look.

Antonia felt him stiffen; his expression was shuttered, remote.

“Before you find yourselves prostrated, ladies, might I suggest you repair to the drawing-room?” Philip’s tone alone lowered the temperature ten degrees. “I believe there are cold drinks laid out there.” With a distant nod, he changed tack, steering Antonia away from the budding courtesans.

After one glance at the rigid set of his lips, Antonia amused herself looking over the stalls. She could have told all the young misses that gushing declarations and fluttering lashes were definitely the wrong way to approach their host. He disliked all show of emotion, preferring the correct, properly restrained modes of interaction. He was a conventional man—she strongly suspected most gentlemen were.

They paused to allow Philip to discuss crop rotation with one of his tenant farmers. Covertly studying him, Antonia smiled wryly. His languid indolence was very much to the fore, at least in his projected image.

The girls watching could not hear his brisk words on ploughing and the optimum depth of furrows. As handsome as any, with that subtle aura of restrained power which derived, she suspected, from that affected indolence, while strolling the lawns with smoothly elegant stride, every movement polished and assured, he was a natural target for the sighing, die-away looks of the massed host of young girls.

Quelling an unhelpful shiver, Antonia looked around. Horatia Mimms and two of the girls from the vicarage stood in a knot nearby, giggling and whispering. Feeling immeasurably older, she let her gaze pass over them.

Concluding his discussion, Philip placed his hand over hers and turned towards the archery butts. “Looks like the contests are well underway.” He glanced down at her. “I’m not at all sure you shouldn’t be the one to present the ribbon to the winner.”

Antonia shook her head. “
You
are their master—to the youngsters you’re an idol. Of course they want you to award the prize.”

She shifted as she spoke, swinging slightly forward to glance into his eyes. Unfortunately, that placed her in Horatia Mimms’s path. In a balletic manoeuvre, Horatia flew forward, her trajectory calculated to land her, gracefully tripping, in Philip’s arms. Instead, she cannoned into Antonia’s back.

With a stifled cry, Antonia catapulted forward, coming up hard against Philip’s chest. His arms closed around her, steel bands crushing her to him as he lifted her free of the wild tangle that was Horatia, now sprawled on the grass.

“Are you all right?” Easing his hold, Philip looked down at her.

Antonia nodded, struggling to find her voice. “Just a bump—” She couldn’t help a wince as she tried to pull back.

Philip steadied her, his hands firming on her back, gently kneading. His gaze shifted to the scene before them, where a winded Horatia was being helped to her feet by her two supporters from the vicarage.

Philip’s eyes blazed. “That was the most
inconsiderate
piece of witless behaviour it has ever been my misfortune to witness!”

Helpless in his arms, unable to stop her senses luxuriating in the feel of his warm hands massaging her back, her forehead resting, for one weak moment, against his chest, Antonia stifled a hysterical giggle. From his tone, from the tension holding him, she knew his temper was on a very short leash. Luckily, they were halfway between the stalls and the crowds watching the archery; there were few witnesses to the scene.

“I cannot believe your parents—” Philip’s gaze coldly swept all three girls “—will find your antics at all acceptable.” His icy words cut like a lash. “I intend to make plain to them—”

Antonia pushed hard against his chest, forcing him to loosen his hold. As she struggled free of his arms, she wasn’t at all surprised to glimpse three white faces, stricken with alarm. “I’m perfectly all right.” One glance at Philip was enough to confirm he wasn’t mollified by her assurance. His face remained stony, his expression chilling. Antonia felt like grimacing at him; she contented herself with narrowing her eyes warningly before facing the girls. “Miss Mimms—I hope you sustained no injury?”

White as a sheet, Horatia Mimms blinked, then dazedly looked down. A long grass stain marred the pink of her muslin skirts. “My best dress!” she moaned. “It’s ruined!”

Philip snorted. “You may consider yourself—”

Antonia stepped back—onto his foot. Philip broke off and frowned down at her.

“Perhaps, Miss Carmichael, Miss Jayne, you could accompany Miss Mimms into the house and see if the stain will shift?”

The vicar’s daughters nodded, quickly taking Horatia’s arms. But Horatia unexpectedly stood her ground, her cheeks slowly turning an unfortunate shade of red. She looked helplessly at Antonia. “I’m most extremely sorry, Miss Mannering. I didn’t mean to—” She broke off and bit her lip, her gaze dropping to the ground.

Antonia took pity on her. “An unfortunate occurrence—we’ll say no more about it.”

The relief that flooded all three faces was almost comical. With quick bobs, the three took themselves off, moving out of Philip’s orbit as fast as they could.

“An unfortunate occurrence, my foot!” Philip glowered after them. “The little wretches—”

“Were only behaving as young girls often do.” Antonia slanted him a glance. “Particularly when presented with such provocation as is present here today.”

Philip’s eyes narrowed. “I do not appreciate being the butt of their silly fancies.”

Antonia smiled. “Never mind.” She patted his arm soothingly. “Come and present the archery prizes—from the whoops, I think the contests must be over.”

Philip sent her a darkling glance but allowed her to steer him to the area by the lake where the archery contest had been held.