Donna was still worrying on. ‘I think you should return to bed. I will make you a tisane.’
She broke off as Jane bustled in with a tray and fresh tea. ‘Jane, please go directly and make up your mistress’s bed and open the windows wide. It is fresher this morning, my dear, I am sure there will be a breeze and you will sleep more easily in the cool.’
‘Thank you, Donna, but I am expecting the Duke to be calling on me this morning. Perhaps I will lie down when he is gone.’ What he would think when he saw her wan face and the dark shadows under her eyes she could not imagine. The comparison with the exquisite Claudia Reed would be laughable.
Antonia sighed. She wanted to see Marcus again so badly, to be in his arms, hear him at last tell her he loved her. Yet she felt so drained, so guilty that she had behaved badly the night before. She was ashamed of being jealous, ashamed of thinking ill of Marcus. And in some far less worthy part of her mind, she acknowledged that she had shown her hand to the other woman. If Claudia Reed had been in any doubt about Antonia’s feelings for Marcus, the incident last night would have made them crystal clear.
By her own actions, she had given that unscrupulous female the upper hand – and Claudia was living under the same roof as Marcus. She was a married woman, entirely unconstrained by the strict social rules that governed Antonia in her dealings with men.
‘You do not seem very pleased that the Duke is calling this morning,’ Donna observed. ‘ls something amiss? He appeared most attentive last night as he saw us to the carriage.’
‘No, nothing.’
‘If we are expecting a visitor, it would certainly not do for you to retire to your bed again,’ she continued briskly.
Antonia found herself being ste
ered out of the breakfast parlour and up the stairs to her bedchamber. ‘If we brush out your hair – really, tying it back so tightly makes you appear quite dowdy – and I think we can conceal those dark shadows with just a touch of rice powder… and your new jonquil muslin is most becoming...’
Donna bustled round the room as she spoke and Antonia passively allowed herself to primped and preened. But she had to admit, when she looked in the mirror afterwards, that sitting in the cool room had refreshed her, and Donna’s efforts had transformed her into some semblance of her usual self.
Her skin was still pale, without its normal glow of health, but her abundant brown hair clustered in a tumble of curls on the shoulder of the pale jonquil gown and her eyes were clear, although the heavy lids still spoke of her sleepless night.
‘There,’ announced Donna. ‘You look quite yourself again. I am sure the Duke will notice no difference.’
Antonia smiled back, her spirits rising. How strange that one sleepless night could put things so out of kilter, disturb the balance of her emotions so much. It was she Marcus wished to marry, she he had asked, and today when he came to her he would tell her that he loved her. Now he was betrothed, he would put all thought of Lady Reed aside, surely?
Hoof-beats sounded on the gravel drive. Both of them moved to the low open casement and looked out, but the rider below was not Marcus.
‘It is Saye, His Grace’s groom,’ Antonia observed as the man reined in his black cob and leaned down to hand a folded paper to Jane, who had run out at the sound of his arrival.
The girl slipped the note in her apron pocket, but made no move to go back into the house. She was looking up at the sturdy young man with coy admiration, her cheeks pink. Antonia could not catch what the groom was saying but, judging from the way they were laughing and chatting, the two appeared to know each other well. He gathered up the reins to leave, but bent down at the last moment and snatched a quick kiss from the maid before cantering off down the drive. Jane stood looking after him, her fingers straying to her cheek.
‘Jane!’ Donna’s voice carried sharp on the morning air. ‘Stop standing there like a moonstruck calf and bring that note in at once.’
The girl started and stared upwards in alarm. ‘Yes, ma’am, sorry, ma’am.’
She was still very pink as she handed over the missive to Antonia. ‘And just what are that young man’s intentions?’ Antonia demanded. ‘I am not aware you have asked Miss Donaldson’s permission for a follower to call.’
‘Intentions? I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Miss,’ the girl stammered. ‘I’ve known Josh Saye all my life. Friend of my brother’s, he is, Miss.’
‘Indeed,’ Donna observed, not unkindly. ‘I am sure if he is one of His Grace’s men he is respectable, but even so, if he is to call on you, then I must know and you can both sit in the kitchen in a proper manner. And,’ she added, ‘no dallying on the front doorstep.’
‘Yes, ma’am, thank you, ma’am.’ The girl scuttled from the room, clearly relieved to have got off so lightly.
‘Oh,’ Antonia said blankly, as she scanned the letter.
‘What is wrong, dear?’
‘The Duke writes that he is unable to call this morning after all. It seems the parish constables have brought a most complicated case before him and he must sit, perhaps all day, to hear the evidence against them before deciding whether to commit the men to the County gaol.’
She could have handed the letter to Donna without a qualm, for the business-like lines in his firm black hand contained nothing beyond the simple message, Marcus’s formal regrets and his intention to call later that evening.
Antonia was puzzling over the household accounts after luncheon when Jem was admitted to the small parlour.
‘I’ve brought the post, Miss.’ He held out the papers in one slightly grubby hand and hesitated, looking at Donna, who was settled in the window-seat stitching a pillowcase.
‘Have you eaten, Jem?’ she asked, just as he had doubtless hoped.