And consider how best to deal with her host.
She might have tried to make him notice her, she might have tried to make him see her as a potential wife. But to accuse her of seducing him?
“Hah!” Frowning direfully at the mirror, she gritted her teeth and ruthlessly dealt with a tangle. She was not such a scheming female!
The very notion that a lady such as she, of severely restricted experience, could seduce a gentleman of his vast and, she had no doubt, varied background, was ludicrous. None of the seducing that had been done to date could be laid at her door.
She knew very well who had been seducing whom.
Those moments in the woods had opened her eyes; until then she had been too distracted by her reactions, too caught up with suppressing them, to focus on what drew them forth. Now she knew.
The Lord only knew what she was going to do about it.
The hand holding her brush stilled; Antonia studied the face that looked back at her from her mirror, the trim figure displayed therein. It had never occurred to her that Philip, with all the accommodating ladies of the ton from whom to choose, would fix any real part of his interest on her.
She had thought to be his wife but had envisaged he would feel nothing beyond mere affection for her—that and the lingering warmth of long-standing friendship. That was what she had expected, what she had steeled herself to accept—the position of a conventional wife.
His actions in the woods suggested she had miscalculated.
He wanted her—desired her. A delicious thrill ran through her. For an instant, she savoured it, then, frowning again, resumed her brushing. A serious problem had surfaced with his ardour—namely, hers. Or, more specifically, how, given a gentleman’s expectations of his wife, she was supposed to keep her feelings hidden or, at the very least, acceptably disguised.
The door opened; Nell walked in, stopping in amazement at the sight of her.
“Great heavens! And here I’d thought to wake you.”
Antonia brushed more vigorously. “There’s still a lot to do—I don’t wish to be rushed at the last.”
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 tight 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
