Page 18 of A Comfortable Wife

  Antonia's eyes flashed. "And which of us, my lord, has any previous experience of our current relation-ship?"

  Philip held her gaze steadily. "Rest assured, my dear, that should you commit any indiscretion, however minor, I will be the first to bring it to your notice."

  Antonia raised a haughty brow. "Unfortunately, it's your definition of 'indiscretion' that I question."

  "Indeed? Then you'll undoubtedly be relieved to know that to be a fully-fledged member of the fraternity to which I belong, an exquisitely detailed understanding of indiscre­tions, in all their varied forms, is mandatory." Philip placed her hand on his sleeve, then calmly raised his brows at her.

  Stumped, Antonia cast him a distinctly mulish glance.

  With a pointed smile, Philip turned her towards the ball­room. "You may trust me to guide you through the shoals of the ton, Antonia."

  She glanced at his face, her gaze familiar and open. As they neared the ballroom, she regally inclined her head. "Very well. I will place my reliance on you, my lord."

  His satisfaction hidden behind his usual impassive mask, Philip steered her into the throng.

  At eleven o'clock the next morning, Philip descended the stairs, very definitely in charity with the world. It was an effort to keep from whistling; he had to keep his mind from dwelling on their interlude in the library the night before in order to keep a smug smile from his face.

  Carring appeared from the nether regions; Philip had of­ten wondered if his major-domo possessed some peculiar facility which alerted him to his impending appearance in the hall.

  "I'm lunching at Limmer's, then I expect we'll go on to Brooks."

  "And then to the Park?"

  Philip shot Carring a severe glance. "Possibly." He paused to check his cravat in the hall mirror; a fragment of the past night's activities, when Antonia's fingers had be­come entangled in the starched folds about his throat, drifted through his mind. "Incidentally, where did the chaise that matches the chairs in the library go?"

  “If you recall, my lord, we removed it to the back parlour after you declared that it cluttered up the library to no good purpose."

  "Ah, yes." Satisfied with the drape of the linen folds about his neck, Philip resettled his collar. “You may move it back to the library."

  "You require more comfortable seating, my lord?"

  Philip glanced up and located Carring's face in the mir­ror. Unless he was grossly mistaken, his major-domo was struggling to hide a grin. Philip narrowed his eyes. "Just move the damned chaise, Carring."

  "Immediately, my lord."

  Philip did not glance back as he went out of his door, positive that if he did, he would see Carring grinning know­ingly.

  Just to prove Carring wrong, he returned to Ruthven House later in the afternoon—but only to pick up his pha­eton.

  Antonia was strolling in the Park with Geoffrey, Catriona and Ambrose, when they heard Geoffrey hailed from the carriageway. Turning, she saw Philip waving from the box-seat of the most elegant high-perch phaeton she had yet set eyes upon. Both Geoffrey and Ambrose needed no urging to cross the lawns to the carriageway.

  "I say! What a bang-up set of blood and bone!" Am­brose eyed Philip's greys with fervid admiration.

  Geoffrey turned big eyes on his mentor. "I don't suppose there's any chance you'll let me take this rig out, even with­out the greys?"

  Philip, who had been gazing at Antonia, a picture in soft sprigged muslin, her face shaded by the brim of the bonnet he had bought her, shifted his gaze briefly to Geoffrey's face. "None."

  Geoffrey grimaced. "That's what I thought."

  “Did you want Geoffrey for some reason?'' Antonia had spared only a passing glance for Philip's carriage; his horses she knew well.

  "Actually," Philip said, his gaze once more on her face, "It was you I came to see. I wondered if you'd care for a turn about the Park?"

  Antonia's heart leapt; the subtle challenge in his eyes gave her pause. High-perches were notoriously unstable, safe only in the hands of experienced drivers. She had no concern on that score but gaining the seat, a full six feet above the carriageway, was a different matter.

  "What a positively thrilling invitation." Standing beside Antonia, Catriona looked glowingly up at Philip, her gaze innocent yet knowing. "You'll be the envy of every lady present."

  Antonia looked up at Philip. "I would gladly go with you, my lord. Yet I greatly fear. . ." She gestured at the high step.

  "A problem very easily solved." Philip tied off the reins. "Geoffrey—hold their heads."

  Geoffrey hurried to the greys' heads; Ambrose followed. Before Antonia fully grasped his intent, Philip jumped down, drew her forward, then lifted her high.

  Antonia bit back a squeal—and frantically clung to the side of the high seat. His expression mild, his eyes laughing, Philip followed her up; Antonia quickly but carefully shuf­fled along the precariously tilting seat. To her relief, Philip's weight once he sat seemed to stabilise the flimsy contrap­tion.

  "Relax." He flicked her a glance as he took up the reins. "I seem to be advising you to do that rather often these days." He sent her another teasing glance. "I wonder why?"

  "Because," Antonia tersely replied, "you are forever giving me cause to panic."

  Philip laughed as he set the greys in motion. "Never fear—I give you my word I won't upend you in the middle of the Park. Aside from any other consideration, just think of the damage it would do to my reputation."

  "I'm fast coming to think," Antonia returned, holding fast to the railings edging the seat, “that this reputation of yours is all a hum, invented by you as a convenient ex­cuse."

  That riposte earned her a distinctly unnerving look.

  Before he could think of a comment to go with it, she asked, "Are you sure I'm not breaking any rules in being driven in such a dangerous equipage?"

  "Quite sure," Philip replied, his tones distinctly dry. "If anyone is breaking any rules here, 'tis I."

  Antonia widened her eyes at him. “You?''

  "Indeed. And seeing I have bent my heretofore inviola­ble rules and taken you up in the Park, I think it's only fair that you should entertain me, thus leaving me free to devote all my skills to keeping us upright."

  Hiding a smile, Antonia put her nose in the air. "I'm not at all sure it's proper for me to run on, like some ill-bred gabblemonger."

  "Heaven forbid!" Philip dispensed with his town drawl entirely. "Just put my mind at rest and tell me what you four were planning."

  Giving up the fight to contain her delight, Antonia smiled dazzlingly, startling a youthful gentleman driving in the op­posite direction.

  "Cow-handed clunch!" Philip deftly avoided the ensuing melee. "Now cut line. Remember, I've made myself re­sponsible for your brother."

  "Very well." Settling more comfortably beside him, shielded from the light wind by his shoulder, Antonia re­lated the latest developments. "Mr Fortescue has not yet shown his face, but as I gather he must come up from Som­erset, I don't believe we can hold that against him."

  Philip shook his head. “He may be a true knight but he obviously lacks a ghostly steed. Or should that be an errant charger?''

  "Mr Fortescue, I gather, is a model of decorum."

  "Good lord!" Philip shot her a disbelieving glance. "And Miss Dalling wishes to marry him?"

  "Most definitely." Antonia paused, then diffidently added, “Actually, while I originally thought some of Miss Dalling's tales might owe more to her imagination than to fact, the latest involve Ambrose as well and he is undeni­ably not given to flights of fancy."

  "By which you mean he's a slow-top." Philip glanced down at her. "But what are these latest exploits?"

  "Not so much exploits as experiences. It seems the Countess of Ticehurst and the Marchioness have taken to engineering interludes when Catriona and Ambrose are left alone."

  Philip raised his brows. "I see."

  "Catriona and Ambrose are both trying quite desperately to ens
ure there's nothing improper that can be used to force their consent, but the situation is daily becoming more dif­ficult."

  Philip was silent for some minutes, then said, "It's hard to see what they can do, short of Mr Fortescue coming to the rescue. Even then, given Miss Dalling is under age, the situation's likely to be messy."

  "Indeed. I raised that very point, but Catriona's con­vinced all will be well once Mr Fortescue arrives."

  Philip raised his brows. "Which event, I suppose, we should all devoutly pray for." He cast a glance at Antonia's pensive face. “Having dispensed with that subject, perhaps we can move to some more interesting topic?"

  Antonia opened her eyes wide. "That depends on what you consider interesting, my lord."

  For one pregnant instant, Philip held her gaze; when she coloured, he smiled and looked ahead. "How about your observations on town life and the Little Season? I dare say I would find those quite fascinating."

  "Indeed?" Antonia stifled the urge to fan her face. "Very well." On her mettle, she cast about for inspiration. She found it in a pair of strutting Macaronis, so gaily garbed they resembled walking pansies. "The strongest impression I have of the ton is of things being other than they seem. There is, to my mind, a great deal of obfuscation and round­aboutation—a great deal of hiding the truth."

  The brief look Philip cast her held a gratifying degree of surprise. Then a curve forced him to give his attention to his greys. Antonia saw his lips firm, then twist in a wry, self-deprecatory smile.

  "Remind me, my dear, not to ask such a question of you again."

  "Why not?" Tilting her head, she studied his face. "I didn't find it impertinent."

  "No—but I'd forgotten your intelligence. Your answers go too deep." Philip shot her a quick glance. "The trick with flirtatious repartee is to keep the tone light."

  Antonia blinked. “Flirtatious repartee?''

  “Indeed. What else? Now concentrate. Are you intending to grace Lady Gisborne's ballroom tonight?"

  "What-ho, Miss Mannering! Dare I claim this cotillion?"

  Antonia turned and, laughing, gave her hand to Hugo Satterly. "Indeed, sir. I had begun to wonder if you had forgotten me."

  "Never." Straightening from his bow, Hugo placed a hand over his heart. "After all the trouble I went to to get my name in your card? Fie, my dear—I'm not such a slow-top."

  "You are, however, a rattlepate," Philip put in from be­side Antonia. "If you don't make a move soon, you'll miss out on the sets."

  "Don't mind him." Hugo tucked Antonia's hand into his arm and turned her towards the floor. "He's just jealous."

  Antonia responded with an ingenuous look and a confi­dent smile. She felt entirely at ease with Hugo; he was the perfect companion, always charming, never one to take of­fence or become difficult over some imagined slight. Like all Philip's set, he was an excellent dancer and could be counted on to fill her ears with the latest on dits.

  As they took then places in the nearest set forming on the floor of Lady Gisborne's ballroom, Hugo winked at her. “Hope you don't mind me trying for a rise out of Ruthven? All innocent fun, y'know."

  Antonia smiled and sank into the first curtsy. "I don't mind at all." Rising, she gave Hugo her hand. "I dare say being twitted is good for him."

  Hugo grinned back as the dance parted them.

  As she dipped and swayed through the measure, Antonia considered his words. He was one of Philip's closest friends; thus far, he was the only one she had encountered who accurately understood Philip's interest in her. Certainly no one would guess it from Philip's behaviour; while he was always by her side, he made no effort to monopolise her company, either in the ballrooms or the supper rooms where, admittedly under his watchful eye, her entire court would adjourn to refresh themselves.

  His behaviour, overtly aloof with but the subtlest under­current of possessiveness, was, she decided, intended to be instructive. Presumably, this was how she was to comport herself after they were wed. He would be about, but she was not to rely on him for her entertainment nor her male company. Her court, comprised of gentlemen of whom he approved, would provide that.

  Discovering her gaze scanning the surrounding crowd, searching for Philip's chestnut locks, Antonia sternly refocused on Hugo, currently on the opposite side of the set. If overtly aloof was the correct image to project, then it was past time she started practising.

  "What the devil's the matter? Is my cravat askew or what?"

  Philip's words, delivered in a growled mutter, succeeded in hauling Antonia's gaze to his face.

  Wide-eyed, she blinked up at him, oblivious of the other dancers about them. "What on earth do you mean? Your cravat's perfect—as it always is. The Oriental, isn't it?"

  "The Mathematical—and don't try to change the sub­ject."

  Astounded, she stared at him. "I wasn't!" She blinked, then added, "I don't even know what the subject is."

  Exceedingly irritated, even more so because his rational mind could find no reasonable cause, Philip whirled her into a complex series of turns, supposedly to negotiate the end of Lady Gisborne's ballroom, in reality purely as an excuse to hold her tighter. "The subject is," he said through clenched teeth, "why it is you suddenly seem to find me invisible. You've hardly glanced my way all night. I'm be­ginning to feel like a ghost."

  Antonia felt dizzy and wondered if it was the waltz. He was certainly whirling her around with rather more con­certed force than was his custom. "I thought that was what you wanted me to do—that I shouldn't . . ." To her annoy­ance, she felt a blush steal into her cheeks.

  Philip studied the evidence of her confusion and felt his own grow. "That you shouldn't look at me?"

  Antonia flicked him an exasperated glance, then fixed her gaze over his right shoulder. “That I should not display any overt awareness of your presence. As I understand it, such behaviour is construed as wearing one's heart on one's sleeve. I would not wish to embarrass you." She paused, then added, “Your own behaviour is very correct—I natu­rally took my lead from you."

  Philip frowned down at her. "Yes—well." He hesitated, not quite certain which way to step. Then his lips firmed. "Might I suggest that there's a viable path between, on the one hand, clinging to my arm and making sheep's eyes at me, and, on the other, behaving as if I was literally not there?"

  Antonia's gaze slid sideways, meeting his. "You know perfectly well I always know you're there."

  Looking down into her eyes, Philip felt the dark cloud that had enshrouded him all evening melt away. He held her gaze, then his lips twisted wryly. "A few of your smiles and a few lingering glances wouldn't go astray."

  For an instant longer, Antonia studied his eyes—then she smiled up at him. "If you wish it, my lord."

  Philip tightened his hold as they went into the turn. "I do."

  Two days later, Philip, strolling the broad verges in the Park, happened upon the Ruthven barouche. Languidly coming abreast of it, he discovered Henrietta deep in dis­cussion with two other ladies, grande dames both.

  "Ah, Ruthven! Just the one we need." Catching sight of him, Henrietta beamed him a smile. “I was just saying to the Countess here, that what we need is a reliable gentle­man, one who knows the ropes, to keep an eye on our little party."

  “Indeed?'' Raising his brows, Philip let his tone convey his utter antipathy to the idea that he might be such a spec­imen.

  "But I don't believe you've met the Countess of Tice­hurst?" Blithely oblivious, Henrietta indicated the lady be­side her. "And, of course, the Dowager Marchioness of Hammersley."

  His expression fashionably distant, Philip bowed grace­fully, inwardly conceding that both the Countess, with her sharply angular features and frizzed red curls, and the Dow­ager Marchioness, heavy and portly with three chins to her credit, bade fair to living up to the varied descriptions he had had of them.

  "Indeed, Ruthven, nothing could be more fortunate than your appearance here. The Countess and I haven't seen each other for year
s—we're keen to have a comfortable coze but her ladyship is uneasy over her niece." Raising her head, Henrietta looked out over the lawns. "She's over there somewhere," she said, waving one plump hand in the gen­eral direction of the flower walks. "She's walking with An­tonia and Geoffrey. And the Marquess, of course." Appar­ently realizing that this last needed further clarification, Henrietta exchanged quick glances with the other two ladies, then leaned to the side of the carriage. Lowering her voice, she fixed Philip with a sapient eye. "There's an un­derstanding between the Marquess and Miss Dalling, the Countess's niece, but there seems to be some slight hitch in the works. Nothing serious but you know how these things go." Assured that all was now crystal clear, Hen­rietta sat back and waved a dismissal. "Sure you'll want to join them."

  Philip hesitated, then bowed. "Indeed, ma'am. Ladies." They let him go with thin smiles and magisterial nods. As he strode across the lawns, Philip found himself sympathiz­ing with Miss Dalling and the Marquess.

  He discovered Antonia strolling arm in arm with Catriona. The heiress's eyes were alight, her cheeks glowing; it was almost as if Antonia was physically restraining her but from what action Philip could not tell.

  Antonia looked up as he approached; she smiled warmly and held out her hand. "Good afternoon, my lord."

  Philip took her hand; unable to deny the compulsion, he raised it to his lips, his eyes quizzing her as he said, his voice too deep for even Catriona to hear, "My lady." An­tonia blushed delightfully; Philip switched his gaze to Ca­triona, who bobbed a curtsy then flashed him one of her dazzling smiles. Philip smiled back. "I fear I should warn you that I've been dispatched as an envoy to keep an eye on you all."

  Catriona's eyes widened. "How. . .? Who. . .?"

  "As I understand it," Philip said, smoothly claiming An­tonia's arm, thus separating her from Catriona, "my step­mother and your aunt are long-standing bosom-bows. At the moment, they're in Henrietta's barouche, exchanging their recent histories, with Ambrose's fond mama looking on."

  "Indeed?" Catriona was hanging on his words. "And they sent you to watch over us?''

  "Precisely."

  "Behold—the hand of fate!" Hands clasped to her bosom, Catriona pirouetted dramatically. Halting, she fixed glowing eyes on Philip. "Nothing could be more fortu­nate!"