‘Quite right,’ Donna declared. ‘We will take a dress length of this, and the lining we had already agreed upon. Now, trimmings…’
Another delightful half-hour was passed deciding between the rival merits of mother-of-pearl buttons or covered silk ones, floss edgings or corded ribbon and whether to add a sprig of artificial flowers at the neckline or an edging of fine lace.
‘And will you be bringing in your slippers for dyeing, ma’am?’ Mrs Mumford enquired as the girl made up the parcels. ‘I can recommend Thomas Hurst in the High Street for kid slippers, but his dyeing isn’t all it ought to be.’
After negotiating with the shoemaker to send the new slippers to Mrs Mumford, they retired to a private parlour overlooking the inn yard at the King’s Arms and sent for coffee and biscuits. Antonia made herself comfortable in the window seat and surveyed the bustle below. ‘Oh, Donna, do look at Jem. He is sitting up in the gig with his arms folded, aping the groom in that curricle over there.’
‘He is a good lad,’ Donna said with a smile. ‘l am glad we are able to give him employment. The yard is very busy, is it not? Here comes another post chaise – and I do declare, is that not the Duke coming out of the inn?’
It was, indeed. Antonia, from her vantage point at the window, could look down on Marcus as he strolled out into the sunlight and stood waiting for the post boys to let down the steps of the chaise. Although he was wearing riding dress, Antonia noticed he was more carefully attired than normal. As he lifted his tall hat, she saw he had submitted his tawny locks to the attentions of his valet and the nape of his neck, newly shorn, showed pale.
The door of the chaise swung open as soon as the vehicle came to a halt and, without waiting for the steps to be let down, a boy of about nine years tumbled out. For a moment Antonia thought he was about to throw his arms around Marcus, then he checked himself, pulled himself to his full height and with great dignity thrust out a small hand. Marcus solemnly shook it, then bent and scooped the boy into his arms.
The lad’s face broke into a huge grin which persisted as Marcus set him on his feet again just as a small blonde whirlwind threw herself at his knees. Marcus rocked slightly, then stooped again to pick up the child who snuggled her face into his neck and clung firmly.
Antonia drew back slightly against the drapes, feeling excluded from the affectionate reunion.
Still holding the child, Marcus stepped up to the carriage door and held out his hand to assist the young matron who had one foot on the steps. She was laughing up into his face as he bent and allowed his cheek to be kissed and Antonia realised, seeing the two dark blond heads together, that they must be brother and sister.
‘What an elegant ensemble,’ Donna remarked approvingly, her eye on the lady. ‘That moss-green pelisse and bonnet set against the paler green of her skirts is so tasteful and understated.’
‘And so flattering to her colouring,’ Antonia commented. ‘I had no idea the Duke had a sister. She must be, don’t you think? They are so alike. He is certainly a favourite with those children.’
His sister was saying something to Marcus that caused him to set his little niece down and step once more to the post chaise. Another lady was hesitating prettily on the top step, almost as if the unaided descent was too much for her fragile frame.
‘Well! That is most certainly not a sister, and possibly not even a lady,’ Donna remarked tartly.
‘She is very pretty,’ Antonia said, trying to be fair.
‘Artifice, pure artifice. She owes a great deal to the arts of her modiste and coiffeuse, and no doubt to the rouge pot.’
‘Donna. We are too far away for you to know that. How uncharitable you are this morning.’
They both fell silent as the lady allowed Marcus to hand her down, swaying towards him with one hand to her brow and a brave smile trembling on her lips.
‘Huh! Showing him what a dreadful headache she is suffering, but how brave she is being despite all,’ snorted Donna.
The apparition was swathed in madder rose silk with a velvet pelisse cut with fluttering edges, each trimmed with a gold tassel. She was poised carefully on the cobbles, as if reluctant to place her dainty kid boots on the horse-trampled ground.
‘She is tiny,’ Antonia observed, and indeed, as she stood, one hand firmly on Marcus’s arm, the stranger stood no higher than his shoulder. ‘No doubt another member of the house party, although, if I am not mistaken, Marcus is surprised to see her.’
‘Do you think so? Well, you know him better than I, my dear.’
It might not be apparent to Donna, but to Antonia, whose mind’s eye was so often full of every nuance of Marcus’s figure, a certain rigidity in his shoulders and an expression of bland politeness showed a change of mood.
The party was returning to the carriage, the post boys in their big boots swung up on to the horses’ backs and his groom led out Marcus’s mount. In a flurry of hooves the carriage and the two riders turned and were out of the yard, leaving it strangely empty to Antonia’s gaze.
Donna got to her feet and summoned the parlour maid, giving her instructions to carry their parcels down to Jem. ‘Tell him we will be at least another hour,’ she ordered, ‘and send him out for some bread and cheese and ale.’
‘Donna? Why are we not returning home?’ Antonia demanded as she found herself being hustled down the stairs and into the High Street once again.
‘We are going back to Mrs Mumford’s shop. We are going to buy several ells of ribbon to furbish up your russet walking dress, some velvet for a new pelisse, a new bonnet and,’ Donna’s gaze fixed on Antonia’s sensible walking shoes, ‘some kid boots.’
‘That is dreadfully extravagant,’ Antonia protested as they passed St Peter’s church.
‘No more than you deserve.’
‘This is not a competition,’ Antonia said.