She opened her mouth—and realized how he would answer her question. She clamped her lips shut, debating the wisdom of a glare.
Philip’s lips twitched. “I saw no reason why you wouldn’t.” With that, he lifted her to her saddle.
Antonia made a production of arranging her skirts. By the time she was ready, Geoffrey had joined them; with a nod, Philip led the way out.
A three-mile gallop was precisely what she needed to shake her wits into place. Riding never failed to soothe her; atop a fine horse, she could fly over the fields, beyond the touch of time, beyond the present. It was an escape she had sorely missed over the past eight years; she knew very well no man alive bar Philip would permit her to ride in such a way.
She glanced at him, to her left a half-length in advance, his body flowing easily with the big gelding’s stride. Man and horse were both strong; combined they presented a picture of harnessed power.
Quelling a shiver, Antonia looked ahead.
They pulled up on a knoll overlooking green meadows; they had not previously ridden this way. A stone cottage sat in the midst of a small garden, a narrow lane leading to its gate.
“Who lives there?” Antonia leaned forward to pat Raker’s sleek neck. “This is still your land, isn’t it?”
Philip nodded. “But that patch—” with his crop, he transcribed the boundaries of what Antonia estimated was a twenty-acre block “—belongs to a recently bereaved widow, a Mrs Mortingdale.”
Wheeling slowly, Antonia checked her bearings. “Wouldn’t it be sensible for you to purchase it— incorporate it with your holdings? She couldn’t be getting much return on such a small piece.”
“Yes and no in that order. I’ve made her an offer but she’s yet to come to terms with selling up. I’ve told Banks to increase the offer slightly and let it stand. She has family elsewhere; she’ll come around in time.”
Geoffrey was eager to investigate a nearby ridge; Philip nodded and he left with a whoop.
Antonia clicked her reins and set Raker to ford the narrow stream by which they’d paused. “You seem very busy of late.” He had spent most of the past two days with Banks. “Surely the estate doesn’t normally take so much of your time?”
“No.” Slanting her a glance, Philip brought Pegasus alongside. “But it seemed a propitious time to get the books to order.”
Antonia frowned. “I would have thought after harvest would be more useful. That’s when I did the tallies at Mannering.”
Philip’s lips quirked; he forced them straight. “Indeed? I rather think, however, that the exigencies I presently face are somewhat different to those you encountered at Mannering.”
Puzzled, Antonia glanced at him. “I’m sure they are—I didn’t mean to criticise.”
Philip’s answering glance was distinctly wry. “For which forbearance, my dear, I am truly grateful.”
Antonia straightened. “You’re talking in riddles.”
“Not intentionally.” Meeting her sceptical gaze, Philip raised a languid brow. “What do you think of Henrietta’s plans for London?”
Antonia hesitated, then shrugged and obediently turned her mind to her aunt’s projections. “Leaving in a week seems wise. I would certainly appreciate a little time to accustom myself to the pace before the balls begin—and there’s Geoffrey, too.” Her brow clouded. “Once the parties start, I doubt I’ll have much time to spend with him.”
Philip’s gaze was on Geoffrey, heading back at a gallop. “Once he finds his way about, I doubt you’ll need worry your head over him. I can’t see him as a slow-top.” Glancing at Antonia, he saw the concern in her eyes. “Of course, given he’ll be under my roof, I will, naturally, be keeping an eye on him.”
Antonia shot him a surprised look as Geoffrey thundered up. “Oh?”
“Indeed.” Wheeling to head home, Philip met her gaze. “The least I can do. In the circumstances.”
Antonia blinked. With a brisk nod for Geoffrey, Philip tapped his heels to Pegasus’s sides; the chestnut surged. Raker followed. By the time they regained the stables, Antonia had thought better of enquiring as to precisely what circumstances he referred—she wasn’t, she decided, ready to deal with his likely answer.
London and the ton—her proving ground—was, after all, still before her.
* * *
PHILIP DECIDED TO precede his stepmother and her guests to town, ostensibly to ensure Ruthven House was ready to receive them, in reality to take a quick look-in at his clubs and test the waters of the ton before permitting Antonia or Geoffrey to take a dip in society’s sea. Departing one day before them would be enough; leaving early and driving his curricle, he would reach Grosvenor Square by midday, giving him two full days in which to gauge the tide before they arrived on the scene.
He did not, however, intend to leave the Manor before settling one significant point with his stepmother’s niece. Time and place were crucial to his cause; he waited until the night before he was to leave, until tea had been taken and the cups stacked on the tray.
Antonia set the tray on the trolley then, turning, headed for the bellpull. Standing before the fireplace, Philip reached out as she passed him, capturing her hand before she reached her objective. Ignoring her surprised look, he spoke to Geoffrey, yawning by the chaise. “I left that book you wanted on the desk in the library.”
Geoffrey’s eyes brightened. “Oh, good! I’ll take it up to bed.”
He was already turning to the door. Philip raised a resigned brow—and raised his voice. “Perhaps, when you cross the hall, you could send Fenton in?”
Without turning, Geoffrey waved. “I will.” He paused in the doorway to beam a belated smile at them all. “Good night.”
As the door clicked shut, Philip glanced briefly at Antonia, then shifted his gaze to Henrietta, comfortably ensconced on the chaise. “I had thought to show your niece the beauties of the sunset. I believe I’ve heard you extoll its splendours when viewed from the terrace at this time of year?”
Transfixed by a gaze far too sharp for her comfort, Henrietta shifted. “Ah—yes.” When Philip’s gaze remained pointedly upon her, she shook her wits into order. “Yes, indeed! The effect can be quite...” she gestured airily “...breathtaking.”
Philip smiled. Approvingly. Any doubt in Henrietta’s mind that he had divined her secret purpose was firmly laid to rest.
“I believe you intend retiring early?”
Caution and curiosity warred in Henrietta’s breast. Caution won. “Indeed,” she said. Affecting a die-away air, she reclined against the cushions and waved listlessly. “If you’ll ring for Trant, I think I’ll go up immediately.”
“An excellent notion.” Philip crossed to the bellpull and tugged it twice. “You wouldn’t want to overdo things.”
Henrietta did not risk a reply. With a mildly affectionate smile, she waved dismissal to them both.
Intrigued, Antonia bobbed a respectful curtsy. Philip bowed with his customary grace, then, taking Antonia’s arm, turned her towards the long windows which stood open to the terrace. “Come—give me your opinion.”
Guided irresistibly through the gently billowing curtains, Antonia dutifully lifted her eyes to the western sky. “On the sunset?”
“Among other things.”
Philip’s tone, clipped and dry, had her shifting her gaze to his face.
Looking down into her wide eyes, he saw speculation leap into being, only to be replaced by a certain wariness. He halted by the balustrade, his gaze locked on hers. “I believe, my dear, that it’s time for a little plain speaking.”
Antonia felt giddy. Searching his eyes, she asked, “On what subject?”
“On the subject of the future. Specifically, ours.” In an endeavour to disguise the tension that had, somewhat unexpectedly, gripped him, Philip sat on the stone b
alustrade. Meeting Antonia’s gaze levelly, he raised an impatient brow. “It can hardly come as a surprise to you that I hope you will consent to be my wife?”
“No.” The word was out before she had considered it; Antonia blushed furiously and tried to erase the admission with a wave. “That is...”
The look on Philip’s face halted her.
“Plain speaking I believe I said?”
Antonia lifted her chin. “I had hoped—”
“You and Henrietta planned.”
“Henrietta?” Utterly bemused, Antonia stared at him. “What has Henrietta to do with it?” She blinked. “What plans?”
Faced with her patent bewilderment, Philip had to accept his error. “Never mind.”
Antonia stiffened; her eyes flared. “But I do mind! You thought—”
“I didn’t think!” Philip made the admission through clenched teeth, belatedly realizing the truth. Antonia, wilful, stubborn Antonia, was no more likely to be a party to Henrietta’s machinations than he. “I assumed— incorrectly, I admit. However, that subject is now entirely beside the point—I no longer particularly care how we reached our present pass.” Much to his amazement, that statement, too, held the undeniable ring of truth. “What concerns me now—what we need to discuss—is what comes next.”
Forcing himself to remain seated, Philip caught Antonia’s glittering gaze and held it. “We both know what we want—don’t we?”
Antonia studied his expression, grey eyes clear, filled with undisguised, unmistakable purpose. Holding his gaze, she drew in a slow breath, then nodded.
“Good—at least we agree on that much.” Philip linked his fingers, laying them on one thigh, the better to resist a distracting urge to catch hold of her. “My affairs are currently in order. The matter of settlements can be decided at any time.”
Antonia’s eyes widened. “Your discussions with Banks...”
“Indeed.” Philip couldn’t resist a superior glance.
Antonia sniffed. “If we’re speaking of planning—”
“Which thankfully we aren’t.” Ignoring her haughty glance, Philip continued, “Henrietta is your nearest adult relative. I don’t see much point in asking her permission to pay my addresses—she’s going to be unbearably smug as it is. As for Geoffrey, I doubt he’ll object.”
“Given he’s halfway to idolising you,” Antonia retorted. “I sincerely doubt it, too.”
Philip’s brows rose. “Do you mind?”
Antonia met his gaze; inherently truthful, she shook her head. A species of dizzying panic was gathering momentum inside her. Consternation threatened. This was all happening much too soon.
“Which leaves only your inclination in question.” His tone deepening, Philip held out his hand. “So—will you, dear Antonia, agree to be my wife?”
The world was definitely spinning. Her heart raced—Antonia could feel it beating wildly in her throat. Disregarding the fact, her gaze trapped in the grey of his, she laid her hand in Philip’s palm. “Yes, of course. Eventually.”
Philip’s fingers closed about hers, then convulsively tightened. His features, about to relax into lines of arrogant satisfaction, froze; his expression wavered between shock and incredulity. “Eventually?”
Antonia gestured vaguely. “Afterwards.”
“Afterwards when?”
She frowned. “After we return from London was what I had imagined.”
“Well, imagine again.” Abruptly, Philip stood. “If you imagined I’d consent to letting you swan through London’s ballrooms without the protection of a betrothal, free as a bird, attracting God-knows-what attention, you are, my dear, fair and far out. We’ll announce our betrothal tomorrow—I’ll place a notice in the Gazette when I reach town.”
“Tomorrow?” Antonia stared at him. “But that’s impossible!”
“Impossible?” Philip towered over her, his expression growing more intimidating by the second.
Lifting her chin, Antonia met his gaze squarely. “Impossible,” she reiterated—and watched his eyes darken, felt his fingers tighten about hers. “I thought you understood,” she said, as the familiar vice tightened about her chest. Frowning, she dropped her gaze to his cravat. “You do understand—of course you do.” Raising her head, she looked directly into his eyes. “So why can’t you see it?”
For one long instant, Philip closed his eyes. Then, opening them, he drew in a deep, steadying breath and forced himself to release her hand. “I fear, my dear, that despite your conviction, I must claim temporary mental obfuscation. I have no idea what it is that I’m supposed to be able to see, much less why or how it, whatever it might be, comes to render my proposal ineligible.”
Antonia blinked at him. “I didn’t say your proposal was ineligible—just that it’s impossible to announce our betrothal before we return from London.”
Philip frowned at her; the tension locking his muscles slowly dissipated. “Let’s see if I’ve got this straight. You agree to marry me as long as we don’t announce our betrothal until after we return from London.” He held Antonia’s gaze. “Is that right?”
Antonia coloured. “If...I mean...” hands clasped before her, she lifted her chin “...presuming you still want me as your wife.”
“That, thank heavens, is not in question.” Eyeing her uptilted face, Philip had to fight the urge to take advantage of it. He fell to pacing, two steps away, then two steps back. “Kindly get it fixed in your head that I wish to marry you—if I had my way, immediately. Society and the laws, however, require a certain interval between proposal and execution. I had therefore planned...” he paused to throw Antonia a narrow-eyed glance “...in light of our apparent similarity of purpose, to announce our betrothal immediately so that we may be married on our return from town. Now you inform me that that’s not possible!”
Antonia stood her ground. “It may be theoretically possible, but it’s a great deal too soon.”
“Too soon?”
Shutting her ears to his disbelief, Antonia nodded. “Too soon for me. You must see that, Philip. You know what...that is...” She frowned, searching for words to delicately allude to the effect he had on her. “You know how I react—I don’t yet know how to go on in tonnish society. I need to learn the knack—and I can’t do that if we’re betrothed.”
“Why not?” Philip frowned back. He kept pacing. “What difference does it make if we’re betrothed, married or merely acquaintances?”
Antonia lifted her chin. “As you very well know, if we were married or betrothed, people—certainly all the ladies—would expect me to know how things were done, how to behave in all circumstances. They would expect the lady you had chosen as your bride to be accomplished in such matters.”
Seeking his face, she fixed her eyes on his. “As you also know, I don’t have any experience of society at large—nothing more than a limited exposure to selected entertainments in Yorkshire. That’s hardly sufficient basis on which to, as you phrased it, swan through the ton. I’d fall at the first hurdle.” Her lips twisted wryly. “You know I would. In that particular arena, I’ve no experience in the saddle, and even less confidence in my ability to clear the hedges.”
Philip slowed, then stopped. His frown had deepened.
Calmly, Antonia held his gaze. “You told me I needed to practice my skills before I tried handling the whip. The same is true here—I need to learn how to go on, how to behave as your wife, before we marry.”
Philip grimaced then glanced away. To his mind, she needed no instruction in how to behave socially; her innate breeding, her natural directness, her honest openness, would stand her in good stead. Her performance on the day of the fête had been exemplary, but she clearly did not see that success as equivalent to facing the ton, a point he could hardly argue.
An uncertain, less-than-confident Antonia was
a being he had little experience of, yet he felt a pressing need to reassure her, to accede to her plans. He scowled at his lawns. “Everyone will know that having hailed from Yorkshire, you might be feeling your way.”
“Exactly.” Antonia nodded. “And should our betrothal have been announced, they’ll be watching like hawks, taking note of any and all mistakes I make. If I am merely your stepmother’s niece being introduced to the ton, beyond natural curiosity no great attention will focus on me. I’ll be able to study how ladies go on without giving rise to any adverse comment.”
Philip remained silent; sensing victory, Antonia pressed her point. “You know that’s true. In the eyes of the ton, a deficient upbringing is no excuse for gauche behaviour.”
“You couldn’t be gauche if you tried.”
Antonia smiled. “Unintentionally, perhaps.” She sobered, studying his profile, the rigid line of his shoulders. Straightening her own, metaphorically girding her loins, she drew in a deep breath. “I comprehend...that is, I imagine your expectations of your wife are that she will manage your households, act as your hostess both here and in town, and... and...” Dragging in another breath, she rattled on, “In short, that she will fulfill all the usual functions and roles ascribed by society.”
“I would want your friendship, Antonia.” That and a great deal more. Philip kept his gaze on the gardens, unwilling to let her glimpse the emotions visible in his eyes.
Heartened by his statement, Antonia replied, “I, too, would hope our friendship would continue.” She waited; when he said no more, she prompted, “I do want to marry you, Philip, but you do see, don’t you, why we can’t be betrothed until after our return?”
Philip turned, his jaw set, his gaze sharp and penetrating. For a long moment, he studied her eyes, and the conviction therein. She was asking for four, possibly five weeks of grace. Curtly, he nodded. “Very well—no—announcement of our betrothal. There is, however, no reason whatever why we cannot be betrothed, but keep the fact a secret.”
Antonia met his gaze with one of her very direct looks. “Henrietta.”