A Comfortable Wife (Regencies 8)

Philip's brows rose. "Indeed? Then I'll ride with you." Reaching forward, he took hold of her arm and drew her closer, clear of the bay the stableman was turning. "So much more suitable," he murmured, "than a young lady riding alone."

Suppressing a snort, Antonia swallowed the rebuke with what grace she could muster.

"Here you be, sir." The groom came up, leading the bay. He handed the reins to Philip, then turned to Antonia. "Now, miss. I've a nice steady mare that would suit you. Not one as gets overly frisky, so you won't have to panic."

He turned away on the words, heading for the row of boxes across the stables, leaving Philip as the only witness to Antonia's stunned reaction. Horror and outrage mixed freely in her expression, dazed disbelief filled her eyes. Then her jaw firmed.

Philip swallowed his laughter and called to the stable­man. "I fear you mistake Miss Mannering's abilities. She's perfectly capable of managing one of your master's hunters. By the look of them, they could do with the exercise."

Frowning, the stableman shuffled back. "I don't rightly know as how I should, sir. Wondrous powerful, the master's hunters."

"Miss Mannering can handle them." Philip felt his face harden. "She's a dab hand at reining in all manner of un­tamed beasts." Conscious of Antonia's swift glance, he lifted his head and scanned the hunters shifting restlessly in then boxes. "That one." He pointed to a glossy black, every bit as powerful as the bay he had chosen. "Put a side saddle on—I'll take all responsibility."

With a resigned shrug, the stableman headed for the tack-room.

"Come—let's wait in the yard." Taking Antonia's arm, Philip steered her out of the stable, the bay following ea­gerly.

Antonia glanced about. "I'd thought Geoffrey or Am­brose would be about."

"According to the stableman, they've already gone out. Or should that be 'escaped'?"

Antonia grimaced. "You'll have to admit Ambrose has just cause."

Walking the restive bay, Philip spoke over his shoulder. "You may console yourself with the thought that your brother is doing an excellent job of putting their ladyships' collective noses out of joint."

"Geoffrey?" Antonia frowned. "How?"

"By sticking with Ambrose." When she continued to look bemused, Philip smiled wryly. "I fear Geoffrey is very much the fly in their ladyships' ointment. In case you haven't yet realized, this so-called 'houseparty' was very carefully designed. We each have specific roles: Henrietta, you and me to lend countenance—imagining, of course, that Henrietta is a like-minded soul who shares their ladyships' proclivities and that you and I will be too involved with each other to notice anything else. Geoffrey's presence, however, has thrown a definite spanner into the works. Al­though she extended the invitation, the Countess had imag­ined he'd go up to Oxford after the last of the parties."

Antonia narrowed her eyes. “The Countess is a very ma­nipulative woman."

"Indeed." Philip's tone hardened. "And I do not appre­ciate being manipulated."

Antonia shot him a glance, then elevated her chin. "Nor do I."

It was Philip's turn to glance suspiciously but Antonia had turned away to greet the sleek black hunter the stable­man led forth. Under her direction, the stableman held the horse by the mounting block. Philip inwardly snorted and swung up to the bay's saddle. The instant Antonia had set­tled her skirts, he turned the bay's head for the fields.

He held back only long enough to ensure Antonia was secure and in command, then loosened his reins, letting the bay's stride eat the distance to the trees on the first hill. They drew into the shade of the outliers of the wood and Philip drew rein. He waited until Antonia brought the res­tive black up alongside, then fixed her with a distinctly strait look. "Now—where are you going?"

Inwardly, Antonia grimaced; outwardly, she lifted her chin. "To meet Mr Fortescue—should he be there to meet."

"Fortescue?"

"Catriona arranged to meet him at the end of the ride through the woods. He said he'd come to tell her how he'd got on with the Earl. She was to keep watch every day but at present, she's convinced herself no one can save her from the Countess's machinations."

Annoyance crept into Antonia's voice as she recalled the hours she had spent trying valiantly to raise Catriona's spir­its. "From my previous experience of her, I would not have believed she would give up so easily. I've been telling her she must make a push to secure what she wants from life— that if one really wants something, one has to be prepared to fight for it."

The bay jibbed; Philip tightened his reins. His eyes, fixed on Antonia, narrowed. "Indeed." He might have said more had another, more immediate realisation not intruded. “You were on your way to meet a gentleman alone."

Antonia shot him a frowning glance. "Only Mr Fortes­cue."

"Who happens to be a perfectly personable gentleman some years your senior."

“Who happens to be all but betrothed to a young lady I regard as a good friend." Chin high, Antonia gathered her reins.

Philip held her with his eyes. "I have to inform you, my dear, that meeting personable gentlemen alone is not the behaviour I expect of Lady Ruthven."

Antonia held his gaze, her own eyes slowly narrowing, golden glints appearing in the green. Then she hauled on the reins, pulling the black about. "I am not," she replied, decidedly tart, "Lady Ruthven yet."