A Comfortable Wife (Regencies 8)

"Mr Hemming, my dear Miss Mannering." As he straightened, Antonia looked into mild brown eyes set under wavy brown hair. "I hope you'll excuse my impertinence, but Lady Mountford tipped me the wink that the musicians are about to start up. Can I prevail on you to honour me with the first cotillion?"

The invitation was accompanied by an engaging smile; Antonia responded spontaneously, graciously extending her hand. "Indeed, Mr Hemming. I would be pleased to stand up with you."

She was well-versed in the cotillion, more adept, as it transpired, than Mr Hemming. Despite his pleasant dispo­sition, he was forced to give his attention to the figures, leaving Antonia free to pursue her principal purpose. As she twirled and swirled, it was easy to examine those not dancing for couples who might be husband and wife. Other than the Moggs, she found no likely candidates. As for the Moggs, they, she felt certain, were hardly representative specimens.

It would, she felt sure, be unwise to use their behaviour as a guide to how she might behave with Philip. For a start, Philip was a good deal older than Mr Moggs. As, hand held high, she pirouetted, Antonia scanned the room. Indeed, she couldn't imagine Philip at such a gathering—there were no gentlemen like him present.

The age difference was telling in another way. She could not, by any fanciful stretch of her imagination, imagine Philip casting adoring glances at her, in public or otherwise. Likewise, she was quite certain any affectionate squeezes would result in a frown and a reprimand for damaging his suiting.

Gentlemen, her mother and all Yorkshire ladies had as­sured her, were made uncomfortable by any public show of fondness; ladies must never, so she had been taught, wear their hearts on their sleeves. While Miss Dalling and her family, one branch at least, as well as the youth of the ton, might freely acknowledge the softer emotions, Antonia could not believe that gentlemen of Philip's age and tem­perament had been won over.

The dance ended and she sank into the prescribed curtsy. Mr Hemming, beaming, raised her. “An excellent measure, Miss Mannering." Gallantly, he offered her his arm. "I take it you'll be attending the coming balls and parties?"

"I expect we'll attend our fair share." Antonia accepted his arm; he very correctly escorted her back towards the fireplace.

"Have you seen Lord Elgin's marbles? Quite worth a visit, in my humble estimation."

Antonia was about to reply when they were joined by an acquaintance of Mr Hemming's, a Mr Carruthers. Intro­duced, Mr Carruthers bowed extravagantly. Within minutes, two others had joined them, Sir Frederick Smallwood and a Mr Riley. Before Antonia could blink, she found herself at the centre of a small circle of gentlemen. They chatted amiably, pleasantly; she danced the quadrille with Sir Fred­erick and the last cotillion with Mr Carruthers. Mr Riley begged to be remembered when next they met.

Then the party started to break up. Geoffrey appeared by her elbow with the information that Henrietta was ready to depart; Antonia excused herself to her cavaliers and politely withdrew.

Once she had settled Henrietta in the carriage, draping extra shawls about her shoulders, Antonia sat back and pon­dered all she had seen. "Aunt," she eventually asked, as the carriage rocked into motion, "is it common for married gentlemen to accompany their wives to such entertain­ments?"

Henrietta snorted. “Noticed the Moggs, did you? Hardly surprising—they attracted quite a bit of interest, that pair of lovebirds." Her tone suggested the matrons had not been impressed. "But to answer your question—no, it's not gen­eral practice, but not only is Gerard Moggs quite openly besotted with his wife, she's also in an interesting condition, so I expect we'll have to excuse him."

Antonia nodded; she now had the Moggs in their proper perspective.

"Quite a fine line, actually—just how much husbandly attention is allowable." Henrietta spoke into the darkness, her voice only just audible over the rattle of the carriage wheels. "Not, of course, that the question arises in many cases—gentlemen being what they are. Only too glad to keep to their clubs and their dinners. Most put in an ap­pearance at the best balls and parties, enough to nod to their wives in passing, but the consensus has always been that, in town at least, husbands and wives follow essentially sep­arate social calendars." She fluffed her shawls. "That, of course, limits the opportunities for the sort of exhibition you witnessed tonight."

Any doubts as to her aunt's opinion of the Moggs' be­haviour was laid to rest. Antonia shifted in her seat. "I had thought gentlemen often escorted ladies to the various en­tertainments?"

"Indeed." Henrietta yawned. "But, in the main, such escort duties fall to the unmarried males, the confirmed bachelors or the yet-to-be-snared. Only occasionally would a married lady expect her husband to act as her escort, and then only if he was wishful of attending the same function."

The shadows hid Antonia's frown. Her enjoyment of the outings Philip had organised, the laughter they had shared, the undeniable pleasure she found in his company—would all that change once they were wed? Be relegated to history, never to be experienced again? What, she wondered, was the point of being married—of having a firm friendship with one's husband-—if being married prohibited him from spending time in your company?

The carriage swayed around a corner then rumbled on into Grosvenor Square; Geoffrey shifted in his corner. As they drew up outside Ruthven House, he jumped down, smothering a yawn. Between them, Antonia and he helped Henrietta up the steps; Carring stood at the top, holding the door wide.

Behind him, in the glow of the hall chandelier, Antonia spied Philip. He strolled forward as Carring shut the door. "A pleasant evening?"

The question was addressed to her but Geoffrey answered it.

"Dull work," he said, around another yawn. "Nothing of any substance except for the heiress's dragon of an aunt. She really did look like a gorgon."

“Indeed?'' Philip raised an amused brow.

“Absolutely,'' Geoffrey assured him. “But I'm for bed."

"In that case," Henrietta said, poking him in the ribs, "you can give me your arm up the stairs." She glanced over her shoulder. "Send Trant up at once, please, Car-ring."

Carring bowed deeply. "Immediately, m'lady."

Antonia stood by Philip's side, watching until her brother and her aunt gained the upper landing.

"Come into the library." Philip's words and his hand at her elbow had her turning in that direction. "Was there much dancing?"

He had gone out after they had left, stifling a ludicrous wish that he could join them, instead meeting Hugo and a small coterie of friends at Brooks. Together, they'd gone on to Boodles, then to a select establishment in Pall Mall, but he'd been too restless to settle to the play. In the end, he'd cried off and returned home to idly pace the library floor.

"Two cotillions and a quadrille." Antonia yielded to his persuasion. They entered the library; Philip shut the door behind them.