The butler was waiting at the foot of the stairs. Not by a flicker of his well-schooled features did he show that he had ever set eyes on Miss Dane before, although it had been a scant three months since she had been man-handled through this very hall by two burly gamekeepers.
‘Miss Dane. Miss Donaldson,’ he announced, throwing open the salon doors with a flourish.
Antonia summoned up all the poise necessary to confront the patronesses of Almack’s in critical mood, straightened her spine, took a deep breath and sailed into the room.
The men came to their feet, but Antonia was conscious only of Marcus’s eyes upon her, on her lovely new gown of dull gold silk, on her bare shoulders rising above the slope of her bosom revealed by the cross-cut of the bodice.
Her grandmother’s diamond eardrops trembled against the bare column of her throat and her hair had been caught up severely and allowed to tumble from the crown á la Dido. She believed she looked really quite fine and it seemed he shared her opinion.
Marcus stepped forward. He took her hand and murmured, ‘Behold me ruthlessly suppressing the desire to sweep you into my arms and kiss you insensible.’ When she gasped and blushed he added, out loud, ‘Miss Dane, welcome to Brightshill.’
‘Thank you, Your Grace.’ Antonia dropped a curtsy. So he did desire her. She felt positively dizzy. ‘It is not, of course, the first time I have visited here.’ She had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes narrow warily, before she added, ‘I have a vague memory of coming here with my grandfather, many years ago.’
He turned to greet Donna, but not before Antonia caught the hint of a sensual smile of recollection on his lips. It heightened her recollection of that audacious kiss in his study and her cheeks were warm when he turned to her again.
‘May I make you known to my sister, Lady Anne Meredith and to her friend, Lady Reed.’ The two ladies rose and exchanged bows with the new arrivals, Anne Meredith with a warm smile, Lady Reed with a speculative glance that was not lost on Antonia. ‘Miss Fitch.’ The young lady, only just out of the schoolroom, blushed charmingly at being the centre of attention and retreated hastily to her place beside Lady Anne.
‘May I also present Lord Meredith, Mr Leigh, Sir John Ollard.’ The gentlemen bowed in their turn.
Antonia found herself seated next to her hostess, who was making polite enquiries about the move to the Dower House. It did not take long to find herself at ease with Marcus’s sister. Lady Anne appeared to have none of her younger brother’s hauteur, despite her choice to retain her own title as a duke’s daughter.
As Antonia had observed in the inn yard, Anne Meredith shared Marcus’s colouring and bone structure, making her a handsome rather than a pretty woman. She made the best of her looks by dressing á la Turque in dramatic jewel-coloured silks and a turban-like headdress. The regard of her husband was amply demonstrated by the very fine suite of emeralds at her neck and ears and Antonia admired the manner in which she carried off the entire ensemble.
They were comfortably moving on from the perils of house removal to the best way of approaching the layout of a small pleasure garden when Antonia became aware that someone was watching her intently.
Lady Reed was quite openly assessing Antonia, her chilly blue eyes moving from the diamond eardrops to the little kid slippers, so newly dyed bronze to match the stripe in the silk. Antonia felt uncomfortably as though she was being priced on a market stall and being found wanting.
Nettled, she turned with a chilly smile, determined to outface the older woman. But it was too late. Lady Reed got to her feet and strolled, with maximum effect on the onlookers, to talk to Mr Leigh.
Donna had been making small talk with Sophia Fitch, an uphill battle with so shy a child. Antonia could just hear their conversation. ‘Is not Mr Leigh the younger son of the Earl of Whitstable?’ Donna enquired.
‘Yes, Richard,’ Sophia confided, blushing rosily.
Ah ha, Antonia thought, so that's the way the land lies. She was amused to see Miss Fitch casting a dark look at Lady Reed.
The young man in question appeared less than comfortable at being the target for her ladyship’s attention. She was resting one hand confidingly on his sleeve, her face upturned to his, her eyes big and appealing as she hung on his every word.
Antonia caught Donna’s eye and almost collapsed into giggles as Miss Donaldson cast her gaze ceiling-wards. Still amused, she glanced round and saw Marcus watching the tableau stony-faced.
She was speculating upon his thoughts when the butler announced that dinner was served. Lord Meredith offered her his arm and the entire party made its way through to the dining room.
Antonia blinked in the dazzle of light from the two magnificent chandeliers suspended over the table. Despite having had three of its leaves removed to accommodate a party of only nine, the table still dominated the room with its burden of crystal, fine china and decorative pieces.
With five women and four men the seating plan at the table was, of necessity, unbalanced but Lady Anne, as hostess, had sought to overcome this as best she could. She and Marcus faced one another down the length of the board while he had Lady Reed to his right and Antonia on his left. Lord Meredith on Antonia’s left faced Miss Fitch and Miss Donaldson and Lady Anne was flanked by Sir John and Mr Leigh.
Conversation was at first general as servants poured the wine. Antonia made small-talk with Marcus about the originality of the display of flowers down the centre of the table.
‘Yes, the hothouses are producing particularly well this year,’ he agreed. ‘You must allow me to show you round them one day soon, Miss Dane. I would value your opinion on any improvements we might make.’
Antonia’s heart leapt at the use of the word we. But no, she was reading too much into the word. Doubtless he meant his gardening staff and not the two of them as man and wife. She still could not believe in his proposal of marriage, still could not trust his motives for making it.
The ambiguity had not been lost upon Claudia Reed either. Across the table, she glanced sharply from Antonia’s face to Marcus’s inscrutable expression and immediately began to talk to him of mutual acquaintances in London.
‘I do declare, Renshaw,’ she drawled, touching
his sleeve, ‘your hothouses are now far superior even to Lord Melchitt’s. I remember so clearly the advice you gave to him when we were in Bath last Spring.’
She looked at Antonia as she spoke, her blue eyes signalling quite clearly the message that she and Marcus had a history, shared not only friends, but experiences, too.