Miss Dane and the Duke

‘It is no charade,’ she said furiously. ‘When I give my hand, it will be to a man whom I can love and respect, not to one prompted only by primitive possessiveness.’

‘Antonia, stop behaving like an outraged old maid. After all, you have not always shown such delicacy.’ Marcus groaned inwardly as soon as the words were out. Clumsy clod, he told himself. There was hurt as well as anger now in her face. Even so, he was not prepared for the stinging impact as her palm met his cheek.

With a sound somewhere between a curse and a sob Antonia whisked out of the retiring room, carried onto the dance floor by the speed of her exit. A stately measure was in progress with complicated sets moving slowly the length of the ballroom. Her intrusion set several couples out of rhythm, but they were even more discommoded when Marcus strode to her side, seized her hands and forced a place for them in the line.

‘What do you think you are doing?’ Antonia hissed, sending apologetic glances to the couples on either side.

‘I had not finished with you,’ Marcus ground out, keeping the social smile on his lips with an effort. ‘And if the only way to stop you boxing my ears again is to converse on the dance floor, then so be it.’

They had reached the head of the set. To his horror, this brought them directly under the scrutiny of Lady Jersey. From her raised brows, he gathered that their irregular entrance had not escaped the Patroness’s notice. Hoping he had not completely ruined Antonia’s chances for acceptance Marcus directed a charming smile at her ladyship and was rewarded by a relaxing of her adamantine gaze.

He whirled Antonia around and they took their place in the centre of the circle. ‘Everyone is staring at us,’ Antonia muttered. She curtsied and began the complex sequence of steps with her partner while the other couples circled around them. Her deportment was perfect, her eyes were wild.

‘Will you stop this nonsense and say yes?’ Marcus demanded, keeping his tone conversational.

Antonia’s cheeks flamed. ‘Shh!’ The steps took them apart and then together again.

‘I mean it, Antonia,’ he warned.

‘You cannot force me,’ she flashed back, still in a whisper.

Now they were hand in hand, sidestepping down the long row. ‘You will stay on this dance floor until you give me an answer.’ Marcus wanted to plead, but he made his voice hard with determination.

He was conscious that heads were turning and amongst the watchers some women were whispering behind their fans. Antonia half-turned, looking to flee through the throng, but Marcus was too swift for her. He circled her wrists, keeping her to the measure.

‘Marry me, Antonia, you know it was meant to be,’ he insisted as they whirled around.

‘Never. Nothing you can do or say will induce me to marry you, Marcus Renshaw.’ The words fell into a sudden silence as the band came to a halt in a flurry of strings.

Aghast, staring wildly about her, Antonia realised her words had been audible to all the dancers around her. The floor failing to open up and swallow her, she picked up her skirts and fled and the crowd parted before her.

Outside, careless of cloak or bonnet, she hailed a passing hackney carriage. The driver seemed startled to find a lone gentlewoman hailing him outside Almack’s, but he was polite enough when she stammered out the direction.

Hodge, with the licence of an old family retainer, was frankly scandalised to find her returning alone. ‘Miss Antonia! Where’s Mrs Clarence? And your cloak and your bonnet. What is amiss?’

‘Oh, never mind. Please don’t fuss, Hodge. Just pay the driver and send my maid up to me.’

Antonia managed to maintain her composure until the maid had helped her into her nightgown, then she dismissed the girl. ‘Thank you, that will be all. Please make sure Lady Granger knows I am returned, but tell her I have a headache and will see her at breakfast.’

Antonia sank down on the bed, put her head in her hands and despaired. Under her fingers her temples throbbed and she could still feel the heat of humiliation burning her cheeks.

The whole of Society would know by tomorrow that she had made an indecorous exhibition of herself at Almack’s and humiliatingly rejected the Duke of Allington into the bargain. He would never forgive her for that very public rebuff, even though it was he who had been to blame, she thought bitterly.

Antonia groaned. To think she had come to London for sanctuary. Now she would have to retreat once more into Hertfordshire and rusticate until some other scandal arose to titillate Society and she was once more forgotten. And Great-Aunt would never forgive her, broadminded though she was.

At that moment the knocker thudded, audible even through her closed door. Hewitt, no doubt, with Emilia squeaking in his wake, ensuring that no sordid detail of her disgrace remained untold. There were footsteps on the landing and her great-aunt’s sitting-room door opened and closed. Strain her ears as she might, Antonia could not hear voices.

The visit lasted half an hour. When carriage wheels rumbled away in the street outside, Antonia sat tensely, awaiting the summons to account for herself. It never came and eventually she fell asleep.

Chapter Twenty Four

Antonia entered the breakfast parlour the next morning to be met by a benign smile from Lady Granger. ‘Good morning, my dear. I trust you had a pleasant evening last night.’

‘No, Aunt, I did not.’ Antonia sat down and stared at her plate. ‘Surely you have heard? Surely Hewitt told you last night when he came?’

‘Oh, Hewitt. I never pay any attention to what he says.’ Lady Granger fell silent as a footman brought in a fresh jug of chocolate. As he left, she remarked, ‘I suppose you will be wanting to go out of Town for a while? You may take my travelling carriage and Blake my coachman will, of course, drive you into Hertfordshire.’

Antonia accepted gratefully. She was a little surprised that her great-aunt had not offered one of the maids to accompany her. She concluded that, despite her calm, the old lady was displeased with her.