A Comfortable Wife (Regencies 8)

Nell snorted and came to take the brush. "Seemingly you're not the only one. I just saw his lordship downstairs. Thought he must be going riding, but then I noticed he wasn't in top boots. Very natty, he looked, I must say."

"Indeed." Clasping her hands in her lap, Antonia infused the word with the utmost disinterest. Philip had tried to speak with her last night, first in the drawing-room before dinner, when Geoffrey's enthusiasm had saved her, then later, when she was pouring the tea. She had affected deaf­ness to his low-voiced “Antonia?'' and handed him a brim­ming cup.

She was not about to forgive him, to let him close again, not until the panicky feelings inside subsided, not until she was again confident of carrying off their interaction with the assurance expected of a prospective wife.

"Dare say you'll have your hands full today, acting as hostess in her ladyship's stead." Nell deftly wound the golden mass of Antonia's hair into a tigh

t bun, teasing ten­drils free to wreathe about her ears and nape. "She told Trant she intends going no further than the terrace."

Antonia shifted on the stool. "She's getting too old to stand up to the crowds—I'm only glad I can help her in this way."

"Aye—and his lordship, too. Can't think that he'd ap­preciate having to face it all by himself."

Antonia glanced searchingly at Nell but there was no evidence of intent in her maid's homely features. "Natu­rally I'll be on hand to aid his lordship in any way I can."

A role she could hardly escape, having worked so dili­gently to earn it. Being at odds with Philip on today of all days was going to be simply impossible. They would have to make their peace before the guests arrived.

As soon as Nell pronounced her fit to face the day, An­tonia headed downstairs. As she descended the last flight, her nemesis strolled into the hall. Looking up, he stopped at the foot of the stairs—and waited. Antonia paused, meet­ing his gaze. In the hall above, a door opened then slowly closed. Drawing in a steadying breath, Antonia continued her descent, her expression determinedly aloof.

Philip turned to face her, effectively blocking her way. As Nell had intimated, he was precise to a pin in a grey morning coat, his cravat tied in a simple but elegant knot. A subdued waistcoat, form-fitting breeches and glossy Hes­sians completed the outfit—perfect for a wealthy gentleman about to greet his neighbours. His movements, Antonia noted, were once again lazy; his habitual air of languid in­dolence hung like a cloak about him. She stopped on the last step, her eyes level with his. "Good morning, my lord." She kept her tone coolly polite.

Only his eyes, his grey gaze sharply intent as it met hers, gave evidence of yesterday's turmoil.

"Good morning, Antonia." Holding her gaze, Philip raised a brow. "Pax?"

Antonia narrowed her eyes. "You accused me of seduc­ing you."

"A momentary aberration." Philip kept his eyes on hers. "I know you didn't." He had managed that all by himself.

She was, after all, an innocent; regardless of any scheme she and Henrietta had concocted, what had flared between them was more his doing than hers.

Antonia hesitated, studying his bland countenance.

Despite his determination to remain distant, Philip felt his lips twist. He reached for her hand. "Antonia—"

The sound of a heavy footstep had them both looking up.

"Henrietta." Lips tightening, Philip caught Antonia's gaze. "I need you as my hostess, Antonia." His fingers tightened about hers. "I want you by my side."

It took a moment for Antonia to subdue her response to his touch, his plea. Stiffly, she inclined her head; behind her, she could hear Henrietta on the landing. "You may count on me, my lord." She kept her voice low. "I won't let you down."

Philip held her gaze. "And I won't let you down." For an instant, he held still, then, eyes glinting, swiftly raised her fingers to his lips. "I'll even promise not to bite."

As the day progressed, Antonia found herself grateful for the reassurance. Henrietta had elected to greet her visitors at the bottom of the terrace steps; Fenton was stationed at the front of the house, directing all arrivals around the cor­ner to the south lawn.

After settling Henrietta by the balustrade, Antonia, her eye on Mrs Mimms, approaching like a galleon under full sail, two anaemic daughters in tow, murmured, "I'll just go the rounds and check—"

"Nonsense, my dear." Closing her crabbed fingers about Antonia's wrist, Henrietta smiled up at her. "Your place is beside me."

Antonia frowned. "There's no need—"

“What say you, Ruthven?'' Henrietta glanced at Philip, standing behind her, his gaze fixed on Mrs Mimms. "Don't you think Antonia should stand by us?"

"Indubitably," Philip stated. He shifted his gaze to An­tonia, subtle challenge in his eyes. "How else, my dear, will we cope with Mrs Mimms—let alone the rest of them?"

She had, of course, to acquiesce; the result was predict­able. Introduced by a beaming Henrietta as "My very dear niece—dare say you remember her—spent many summers here with us all. Don't know how we could have managed this without her", she found herself transfixed by Mrs Mimms' basilisk stare.

"Indeed? Helping out?" Mrs Mimms cast a knowledge­able eye over the tables and booths scattered over the lawns and terrace. Her lips thinned as her gaze fell on Philip, already greeting the next guests. "I see."