course, it wasn’t just the time, Sebastian admitted guiltily. He had stayed away, not because he had been reluctant to see Clara, but for reasons which none but himself knew. Reasons which even Paddy had not been privy to. Added to that was the fact that he simply didn’t know how to behave around the child. He was not used to children of any age, let alone a six-year-old. Very few of his friends had offspring Clara’s age, and those who did were more than happy to leave them to the care of their mothers or nannies.
It was ironic really. For all his adeptness at court, Sebastian found himself painfully at a loss when it came to dealing with the wide-eyed stare of his own child. But then, was it any wonder? He’d had no brothers or sisters of his own, and he had seen Clara less than ten times since she had been born, due mainly to Violet’s outright refusal to share the child with him in the early years of her life. She had begun to smother Clara, perhaps in a pathetic attempt to make up for the love that had been missing in her own relationship. It had grown so bad that just the sight of her father was enough to make Clara burst into tears.
Hardly the kind of welcome any new father looked for.
For that reason, and for…others, Sebastian had had virtually nothing to do with the child. After Violet’s death, he had seen to it that the nursery at Ashdean had been luxuriously appointed, and had even hired a governess to look after her. But beyond that, the best Sebastian had been able to do was send Clara expensive toys for her birthday and a special box at Christmas; presents usually chosen by Bingham, and sent from an unknown man who called himself her father…
‘Yes, I shall go down to the country. Just for a few days, mind,’ Sebastian added, aware of a tightness in his throat which had nothing to do with the brandy. ‘You may expect me…within the week.’
Taking care to conceal his surprise, Bingham nodded and slowly got to his feet. ‘Very good, my lord. I shall inform the household of your impending arrival. And I shall contact Mr Huddlesworth and Mr Davlin to set up interviews.’ He paused to glance at the averted face of his employer. ‘You are quite sure you do not wish to meet with either of them?’
‘Quite sure. There will be many other pressing concerns to which I must address myself.’
‘As you wish, my lord. Will there be anything else?’
Sebastian shook his head, his mind already on other matters. ‘I think not. Goodnight, Paddy.’
‘Goodnight, my lord.’
Alone again, Sebastian sat down at the writing table and stared at the neat pile of papers which dotted its top. A trip to the country? He must be mad. No one travelled to the country when there were still so many things to do in London. And yet, what exactly was there for him to do in London? When was the last time he had actually looked forward to going to a ball, or to spending an evening at the theatre? When had he ever anticipated an afternoon filled with nothing more exciting than going aimlessly from one at-home to the next?
What was there in London that he was truly going to miss?
Nothing. And as the reality of that hit home, Sebastian’s mouth began to curve in the first real smile he had experienced in weeks. There was absolutely nothing in London that he was going to miss. In fact, the mere thought of getting out of it for a few days was enough to lift him out of the dismals. He summoned Royce and informed him of his intentions.
Sebastian did not miss the nearly imperceptible quirk of his servant’s left eyebrow. Nor did he fail to recognise that Royce was almost as surprised as Bingham had been. That, if anything, served to convince Sebastian that his actions were long overdue. He had been living the life of a man about Town for too long. It was time he found something else upon which to focus his attention; time he tried to develop some kind of relationship with that little girl in the country—even if he was late in getting started.
He may have failed miserably as a husband, but that did not mean he had to fail at being a father as well! He only hoped that he hadn’t left it too late.
‘Toni, you did it!’ Catherine joyously waved a piece of paper over her head as Antonia walked into the yellow saloon at Shand Hall a few days later. ‘The Earl of Carlyle wishes to see you!’
Antonia blanched, and her hand went immediately to her heart. ‘He does? Oh, dear! I really had not expected that he would.’
‘Well, he does,’ Catherine exclaimed, handing her the letter. ‘Here. Read it for yourself.’
Antonia set her reticule down on the table and reached for the piece of heavy cream parchment which boldly displayed the Carlyle crest at the top of it, and held it between hands that were visibly shaking.
The letter—which had come to Shand Hall at Antonia’s request—was from Carlyle’s steward, Mr Bingham, and it informed Tony Davlin that the Earl of Carlyle would be pleased to consider him for the position of riding master to his daughter, the Lady Clara. It further instructed Mr Davlin to be at the stables at Ashdean at two o’clock the following Monday afternoon.
‘La, Toni, I can scarce believe it,’ Catherine said breathlessly. ‘I never thought that you would actually get it.’
Antonia shook her head in wonderment. ‘No, nor did I, Kitty.’
Her ‘perfectly splendid idea’ had been to apply for the position, not as Miss Antonia Hadley, but as Mr Tony Davlin. As she had explained to Catherine, she was not telling a complete lie by using the masculine form of address. If she shortened her first name to Tony, and employed her mother’s maiden name of Davlin, she was, for all intents and purposes, Tony Davlin.
And because it was hardly to be expected that Lord Carlyle would entertain a query from a young woman, Antonia felt sure that by representing herself as the highly competent Mr Tony Davlin, she would at least have a chance to meet with the steward and to plead her case. And if she could do that with any degree of competency, was he not then far more likely to recommend her for the position than anyone else?
It certainly seemed so. Because here, in her hands, was the proof that she did indeed possess the qualifications the Earl was looking for.
‘Nor have I been granted it yet,’ Antonia reminded her friend. ‘While the letter does not mention my being interviewed by Lord Carlyle himself, it does say that I shall be required to meet with his steward, Mr Bingham.’
‘Do you know this Mr Bingham?’
‘We have not actually met, but I have seen him when I have gone to visit Clara at Ashdean. Surprisingly, he and Clara seem to be fast friends.’
‘Well, I suppose it was too much to hope that you could be hired without having been seen by anyone,’ Catherine acknowledged, ‘but how will you go on at the meeting itself, Toni? It is all very well to fool someone on paper, but there is no disguising the fact that you are a young lady when it comes time for the interview. What do you think Mr Bingham will say when he discovers who…or rather what you are?’
‘I have absolutely no idea,’ Antonia answered truthfully as she tapped the letter against her chin. ‘I suppose it depends on what his feelings are as regards hiring a woman.’
‘His feelings may have no bearing on the matter, given Lord Carlyle’s antipathy towards women,’ Catherine pointed out. ‘Still, I suppose there is nothing you can do now but go and give it your best. The fact that you received a reply at all indicates that they were impressed with your qualifications.’
The
