A Comfortable Wife Read online

  She looked at Catriona in time to be dazzled by the trans­formation her words had wrought. Smiling, Catriona was the most radiantly beautiful girl.

  "Oh, Miss Mannering—I mean, Antonia!" Catriona caught Antonia's hand and clasped it warmly. "I will be your dearest friend for life! That's a brilliant suggestion."

  Geoffrey humphed.

  "If we present the thing right," Ambrose mused. "They'll be sure to approve." He turned to Catriona. "If we make it sound like I invited you and then asked Miss Mannering and Geoffrey to make up the party, it will allay their suspicions."

  "Indeed, yes! Nothing could be better." Buoyed with purpose, Catriona flashed both Antonia and Geoffrey an­other stunning smile. “As I said, fate clearly intended us to meet. Nothing could have been more fortuitous!''

  Two days later, Philip strolled across Grosvenor Square, basking in the afternoon sunshine. Swinging his cane as he walked, he noted that the leaves still clinging to the trees were golden and brown. They had completely changed col­our since his return to London, their altered hue a record of the passage of time. To his mind, somewhat unexpect­edly, that time had been well spent.

  Their first days, admittedly, had been a trifle strained, but once Antonia had found her feet, their interactions had run smoothly. The Little Season would commence tomorrow evening; the round of balls and parties would till the coming weeks. Given Antonia would be introduced as Henrietta's niece, no one would remark on his presence by her side. No eyebrows would be raised when he waltzed with her. A subtle smile curved his lips. Even more to his liking was what would happen every night when they returned to Ruth­ven House. He had been at pains to establish their nightly routine. At the end of every day, they would repair to his library, comfortable and at ease, she to drink her milk and favour him with her observations, he to sip his brandy and watch the firelight gild her face.

  As he climbed the steep steps to his door, Philip realised he was smiling unrestrainedly. Abruptly sobering, he schooled his features to their usual impassive mien. Carring opened the door, bowing deeply before relieving him of his gloves and cane.

  Philip glanced at the hall mirror, then frowned and straightened one fold of his cravat. Satisfied, he opened his lips.

  "I believe Miss Mannering and Master Geoffrey have gone to the museum, m'lord."

  Philip shut his lips. Turning, he shot Carring a narrow-eyed glance, then headed for the library.

  The museum? Philip wandered about the library, ulti­mately halting before his desk to idly flip through his mail. He glanced at the stack of invitations piled on the desk but felt no burning desire to examine them. What to do with the afternoon? He could go to Manton's and hunt up some congenial company. Grimacing, he remained where he was. Long minutes passed as he stared unseeing out of the win­dow, fingers tapping on the polished mahogany. Then his jaw firmed. Turning on his heel, he headed back into the hall.

  Carring was waiting by the front door, Philip's gloves and cane held ready in his hands.

  Philip cast him a withering look, accepted both gloves and cane, then strode out.

  He reached the museum to find it unexpectedly crowded; it took him some time to locate his stepmother's niece. It was Geoffrey he found first, deep in examination of a group of artifacts purported to be Stone Age relics. Geoffrey's absorption was so intense Philip had to clap him on the shoulder to get his attention.

  Blinking, Geoffrey focused on Philip's face, then smiled absentmmdedly. "Didn't expect to see you here. Antonia's over there." He pointed to the next room, a large alcove beyond one of the display cases, then promptly returned to the relics.

  Exasperation growing, Philip left him to them and pushed through into the next room.

  Only to discover his stepmother's niece surrounded by no fewer than five gentlemen.

  Antonia looked up to see Philip bearing down upon her. She smiled warmly. "Good day, my lord."

  "Good afternoon, my dear."

  As his fingers closed, tightly, about hers, Antonia regis­tered the change from languid indolence to clipped abrupt­ness. Rapidly whipping her wits to order, she turned a sud­denly wary gaze on her companions. "Ah—I believe I have mentioned Sir Frederick Smallwood, my lord."

  Philip nodded stiffly in reply to Sir Frederick's bow. "Smallwood."

  Disregarding the menace underlying his tone, Antonia doggedly introduced every last one of her court. “Mr Car­ruthers was about to favour us with the tale of the discovery of the stone implements displayed over there." Antonia smiled encouragingly at Mr Carruthers.

  A student of antiquities, Mr Carruthers promptly launched into his dissertation. As his tale unfolded, encom­passing numerous tangents, all described in glowing detail, Antonia felt Philip shift impatiently. When Mr Dashwood asked a question, which led to a lively discussion involving all the other gentlemen, Philip leaned closer and whispered in her ear, "You can't be so bored you consider this amuse­ment?"

  Antonia threw him a warning glance. "It's an improve­ment over staring at the relics."

  "The trick is to keep strolling." Philip caught her hand and placed it on his sleeve. "That way, you don't end up collecting so much extraneous baggage."

  His hand closed over hers, his intention plain; Antonia held firm. "No!" she hissed. "I can't leave here—I'm wait­ing for someone."

  Philip's eyes locked on hers. The arrested look in them made Antonia's heart skip a beat. "Oh?" he said. One brown brow slowly arched. "Who?"

  Antonia cast a distracted glance at her companions; their discussion was slowly winding down. "I'll explain it all later—but we have to stay here." With that, she gave her attention to Sir Frederick.

  "Tell me, my dear Miss Mannering." Sir Frederick smiled engagingly. "What do you say to the age of these gold cups?'' He gestured to a large display in the centre of the room. "Are we really to believe such workmanship dates from before Christ?''

  Philip raised his eyes to the ceiling. Resisting the urge to simply haul Antonia away, he clenched his jaw and endured fifteen minutes of the most utterly inane discussions. Hav­ing very little to do with younger gentlemen, he had never before suffered any similar experience. By the time Antonia abruptly straightened, he was ready to admit that young ladies of the ton might have a cross to bear he had not hitherto appreciated.

  Scanning the room, his gaze passed over a stunningly pretty girl strolling forward on the arm of a pasty-faced youth. Failing to discover any likely candidate for Antonia's attention he was rescanning their surroundings when An­tonia broke off her conversation. "Ah—here's Miss Dall­ing."

  Miss Dalling and her companion were well known to the other gentlemen; introduced, Philip exchanged greetings. He did not need Antonia's swift glance to realize it was Miss Dalling and the Marquess for whom she'd been wait­ing. Her reasons, however, remained a mystery.

  Miss Dalling turned wide lavender-blue eyes upon the assembled company. "All these old things are quite fasci­nating, are they not?"

  While Catriona chattered animatedly, Antonia, somewhat distractedly, considered her court. When she had planned this excursion, she had imagined strolling quietly about the displays on Geoffrey's arm while Catriona with Ambrose in attendance composed her missive. But no sooner had she set foot in the museum than gentlemen had appeared as if sprouting from the woodwork, all intent on passing the time by her side. Luckily, Mr Broadside and Sir Eric Malley had had previous engagements which had forced them to leave; that still left her with five unexpected cavaliers to dismiss.

  She had not the first idea how to accomplish the deed.

  "Perhaps," she said, smiling meaningfully at Catriona, "we should stroll about the rooms?"

  "Oh, yes! I expect I should take particular note of some of the displays." Eyes twinkling, Catriona took Ambrose's arm. Antonia surmised the summons to Henry Fortescue had been successfully inscribed and handed into Ambrose's care.

  Her hand on Philip's sleeve, Antonia smiled upon her court. "Gentlemen, I thank you for your company. Per�
�chance we'll meet tonight?"

  "Yes, indeed—but no need to break up the party." Sir Frederick gestured expansively.

  "No—indeed no," came from Mr Dashwood. "Haven't actually looked at anything in the museum for years—only too pleased to take a squint around."

  "I'll come too—just in case you need some information on the artifacts." Mr Carruthers nodded benignly.

  Antonia's answering smile was weak. When they strolled from the room, all five gentlemen ambled in their wake. As they wended their way between the display cases, she bit her lip—then slanted a glance up at Philip. He met it with an expression she was coming to know well—pure cyni­cism combined with insufferable male superiority. He arched a distinctly supercilious brow at her. Antonia nar­rowed her eyes at him, then, head high, shifted her gaze forward.

  Philip hid his smile. He saw Geoffrey and shot him a glance sharp enough to bring him to heel. When they reached the centre of the main room, he halted and pulled out his watch. Consulting it, he grimaced. "I'm afraid, my dear, that we've run out of time. If you want your surprise, we'll have to leave now."

  Antonia stared at him, her lips forming a silent "Oh".

  "Surprise?" Geoffrey asked.

  "The surprise I promised you all," Philip glibly replied. "Remember?"

  Geoffrey met his gaze. "Oh! That surprise."

  "Indeed." Smoothly taming to Antonia's trailing court, Philip raised a languid brow. "I'm afraid, gentlemen, that you'll have to excuse us."

  "Oh—yes. Naturally!"

  "Until next time, Miss Mannering. Miss Dalling."

  To Antonia's inward disgust, amid a host of similar phrases, her five encumbrances obediently took themselves off. As the last bowed and withdrew, she glanced up at Philip, only to see his jaw firm.

  "I suggest we get moving immediately." Before any of them could question his intent, he had them all outside, Catriona and Ambrose included. A hackney was waiting at the kerb; Philip hailed it and bundled Catriona, Ambrose and Geoffrey aboard. Shutting the door on them, he slapped the side. "Gunters."

  The jarvey nodded and clicked his reins. The old coach lumbered away.

  Left standing on the pavement, distinctly bemused, An­tonia stared at Philip. “What about us?''

  Exasperated, he looked down at her. "Do we have to follow?"

  Antonia stiffened. "Yes!"

  Philip narrowed his eyes at her but she refused to retreat. Heaving a long-suffering sigh, he called up another hack­ney.

  "Now," he said, the instant the hackney's door shut upon them. "You can explain what Miss Dalling and the Marquess are about."

  Antonia was perfectly willing to do so; by the time the hackney drew up outside Gunters, Philip was considering retreating himself. Unfortunately, the sight that met his eyes as he glanced out of the hackney window rendered that course of action impossible.

  "Good God!" he said, sitting forward and reaching for the handle. "The silly clunches are standing outside."

  Predictably, Catriona Dalling had started to attract an au­dience. Gritting his teeth, Philip handed Antonia down, then deftly extricated Miss Dalling and, feeling very like a sheepdog with his sheep, ushered his little group into the shop.

  It was hardly a venue at which he was well known. Nev­ertheless, the waitress took one look at him and immediately found a discreet booth big enough to accommodate the whole party. By the time he sank onto the bench beside Antonia, Philip found he was actually looking forward to an ice.

  The waitress took their orders; the ices arrived before they had well caught their breaths. Catriona, Ambrose and Geoffrey attacked theirs in style; Philip and Antonia were rather more circumspect.

  Catriona finished first and patted her lips with her napkin. "Ambrose will post my letter tomorrow," she informed the table at large. "I know Henry will come post-haste to the rescue—just like the true knight he is." She clasped her napkin to her bosom and affected a romantically distant gaze. Then she sighed. "He'll know exactly what to do for the best. Everything will be right as a trivet once he ar­rives."

  When she and Ambrose fell to discussing their respective guardians' likely plans, Philip caught Antonia's eye. "I can only hope," he murmured, "that Mr Fortescue is up to handling Miss Dalling's dramatic flights. Don't ever think I'm not grateful for your lack of histrionic tendencies."

  Antonia blinked, then smiled and looked down at her ice. As she took another mouthful, her smile grew. She had wondered if Philip would prove at all susceptible to Ca­triona's undeniable beauty. Apparently not. His comment, indeed, suggested quite otherwise; she couldn't help feeling pleased.

  Watching her, Philip narrowed his eyes, astute enough to guess what lay behind her smug smile. He attacked his ice, inwardly humphing at the implied slight to his taste. To any with experience, certainly any of his ilk, Miss Dalling's mere prettiness could not hold a candle to Antonia's mature beauty. The heiress might be a handful in her own way but she was very definitely not the same sort of handful his bride-to-be obviously was. He glanced at Antonia, then, all but automatically, scanned the room.

  Four gentlemen rapidly averted their eyes. Philip's ex­pression hardened. At the museum, all five gentlemen had had Antonia in their sights, a fact that had not escaped him.

  Shifting in his seat, Philip let his gaze rest on her face.

  She felt it; turning, she briefly studied his eyes, then lifted a brow. "I think perhaps it's time we left. We have Lady Griswald's musical soiree this evening."

  As they left the shop, Philip found himself wondering who would be at Lady Griswald's tonight. Antonia shook his arm.

  "Catriona and Ambrose are leaving."

  Philip duly took his leave of the pair, who intended vis­iting Hatchard's before returning to Ticehurst House. With Antonia on his arm and Geoffrey ambling behind, Philip headed in the opposite direction. Absorbed with thoroughly unwelcome considerations, he stared, unseeing, straight ahead.

  Antonia cast a puzzled glance up at him. She opened her lips to comment on his brown study, simultaneously follow­ing his gaze. Her words froze on her lips.

  Ten yards ahead stood two ladies, both exquisitely gowned and coiffed. Both were ogling Philip shamelessly.

  She might have been raised in Yorkshire but Antonia knew immediately exactly what sort of ladies the two were. She stiffened; her eyes flashed. She was about to bestow a chillingly haughty glance when she caught herself up—and glanced at Philip.

  In the same instant, Philip refocused and saw the two Cyprians. Absentminded still, he idly took stock of their wares, then felt Antonia's gaze. He glanced down at her, just in time to see her lids veil her eyes. She stiffened and pointedly looked away, every line infused with haughty condemnation.

  Philip opened his mouth—eyes narrowing, he bit back his words. He had, he reminded himself, no need to excuse himself over something she should not, by rights, even have noticed. He halted. "We'll take a cab."

  He hailed a passing hackney. The three of them climbed in; Antonia sat beside him, cloaked in chilly dignity. Philip stared out of the window, his lips a thin line. He had had to put up with her being ogled all afternoon, let alone what might happen tonight. She had no right to take umbrage just because two ladybirds had cast their eyes his way.

  By the time the hackney turned into Grosvenor Square, he had, somewhat grudgingly, calmed. Her sensitivity might irritate but her intelligence was, to him, one of her attrac­tions. It was, he supposed, unreasonable to expect her to be ignorant on specific topics—such as his past history or po­tential inclinations.

  The hackney pulled up; he let Geoffrey jump down, then descended leisurely and helped Antonia to the pavement, affecting indifference when she refused to meet his eyes. He tossed a half-crown to the jarvey then, studiously ur­bane, escorted her in, pausing in the hall to hand his cane to Carring.

  "So," he said, coming up with her as she removed her bonnet. "You're bound for Lady Griswald's tonight?*'

  Still avoiding his gaze, Antonia nodded
. "A musical soi­ree, as I said. Hordes of innocently reticent young ladies pressed to entertain the company with their musical tal­ents." Looking down, she unbuttoned her gloves. "Not, I believe, your cup of tea."

  Her words stung; ruthlessly, Philip clamped down on his reaction, shocked by its strength. His polite mask firmly in place, he waited, patiently, beside her—and let the silence stretch.

  Eventually, she glanced up at him, haughty wariness in her eyes.

  Trapping her gaze, he smiled—charmingly. "I hope you enjoy yourself, my dear."

  Briefly, her eyes scanned his, then, stiffly, she inclined her head. "I hope your evening is equally enjoyable, my lord."

  With that she glided away; regally erect, she climbed the stairs.

  Philip watched her ascend, then turned to his library, his smile converting to a wry grimace. He was too old a hand to try to melt her ice; he'd wait for the thaw.

  Chapter Ten

  Three nights later, the atmosphere was still sub-zero.

  Following Henrietta and Geoffrey up Lady Caldecott's stairs, Antonia on his arm, Philip cast a jaundiced glance over the crowd about them. Their first two evenings of the Little Season had been spent at mere parties, relatively quiet affairs at which the guests had concentrated on catching up with the summer's developments rather than actively em­barking on any new intrigues. Lady Caldecott's Grand Ball marked the end of such simple entertainments.

  They had yet to gain the ballroom door, but at least three of his peers had already taken due note of Antonia, serenely beautiful if somewhat tense by his side. Even at a distance, he could detect the gleam in their eyes. He didn't need to look to know she presented a stunning spectacle, garbed in another of Lafarge's creations, a shimmering sheath of pale gold silk trimmed at neckline and hem with delicate lace edged with tiny pearls. Despite his intentions, his eyes were drawn to where her mother's pearls lay about her throat, their priceless sheen matched by her ivory skin.