The Trouble with Virtue: A Comfortable Wife / A Lady By Day. Stephanie Laurens

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      AT PRECISELY SIX O’CLOCK, Philip stood before the mirror above the mantelpiece in the drawing-room, idly checking his cravat. It was the household’s habit to gather there during the half-hour preceding dinner; Henrietta, however, rarely made it down much in advance of Fenton’s appearance.

      Focusing on his reflection, Philip grimaced. Dropping his hands, he surveyed the room. When no distraction offered, he fell to pacing.

      The latch clicked. Philip halted, straightening, conscious of a surge of expectation—which remained unfulfilled. A boy—or was it a young man?—came diffidently into the room. He stopped when he saw him.

      “Er...who are you?”

      “I believe that’s my line.” Philip took in the wide hazel eyes and the thick thatch of wavy blonde hair. “Antonia’s brother?”

      The youth blushed. “You must be Ruthven.” He blushed even more when Philip inclined his head. “I’m sorry—that is, yes, I’m Geoffrey Mannering. I’m staying here, you know.” The boy stuck out his hand, then, in a paroxysm of uncertainty, very nearly pulled it back.

      Philip solved the problem by grasping it firmly. “I didn’t know,” he said, releasing Geoffrey’s hand. “But had I considered the matter, I should, undoubtedly, have guessed.” Studying the boy’s open face, he raised a brow. “I presume your sister felt she needed to keep you under her wing?”

      Geoffrey grimaced. “Exactly.” His eyes met Philip’s, and he promptly blushed again. “Not that she’s not probably right, of course. I dare say it would have been dev—” he caught himself up “—deuced slow staying at Mannering by myself.”

      Rapidly revising his estimates of Geoffrey’s age downwards and his intelligence upwards, Philip inclined his head. The boy had the same ivory skin Antonia possessed, likewise untouched by the sun—strange in one of his years. “Are you down for the summer?”

      Geoffrey flushed yet again, but this time with gratification. “I haven’t actually gone up yet. Next term.”

      “You’ve gained entrance?”

      Geoffrey nodded proudly. “Yes. Quite a stir it was, actually. I’m only just sixteen, you see.”

      Philip’s lips curved. “No more than I would expect of a Mannering.” He had years of experience of Antonia’s swift wits on which to base that judgement.

      Engaged in an entirely unaffected scrutiny of Philip’s coat, Geoffrey nodded absentmindedly. “Dare say you don’t remember me, but I was here, years ago, when the parents used to leave Antonia and me with Henrietta. But I was mostly in the nursery—and when I wasn’t I was with Henrietta. She used to be very...well, motherly, you know.”

      He draped an arm along the mantelpiece, and Philip’s smile wry. “I do, as it happens. You’ve no idea how grateful I was, first to Antonia, then to you, for giving Henrietta an outlet for her maternal enthusiasms. I’m extremely fond of her, but I seriously doubt our relationship would be quite so cordial had she been forced to exercise her talents on me in lieu of other, more suitable targets.”

      Geoffrey regarded Philip measuringly. “But you must have been quite...that is, almost an adult when Henrietta married your father.”

      “Not quite a greybeard—only eighteen. And if you think you’ve outgrown Henrietta’s mothering just because you’ve reached sixteen, I suggest you think again.”

      “I already know that!” With a disgusted grimace, Geoffrey turned aside, picking up a figurine and turning it in his hands. “Sometimes,” he said, his voice low, “I think I’ll always be a child in their eyes.”

      Philip flicked a fleck of lint from his sleeve. “I shouldn’t let it bother you.” His tone was even, man to man. “You’ve only so many weeks to go before they’ll be forced to cut the apron strings.”

      Geoffrey’s expressive features contorted. “That’s just it—I can’t believe they actually will. They’ve never let me go before.” His brow clouded. “Mama wouldn’t hear of me going to school—I’ve had all my learning from tutors.”

      The door opened, cutting short their tête à tête. Philip straightened as Antonia came into the room. Geoffrey noted the movement. Replacing the figurine, he unobtrusively followed suit.

      “Good evening, Antonia.” Philip watched as she approached, a picture in soft yellow silk, the sheening fabric draping her curves, clinging, then hanging free, concealing then revealing in tantalizing glimpses. Her guinea-gold curls rioted in prolific confusion about her neat head; her expression was open, her hazel gaze, as always, direct.

      “My lord.” Graciously, Antonia inclined her head, her eyes going to her brother. “Geoffrey.” Her serene smile faded slightly. “I see you two have met.” Inwardly, Antonia prayed Geoffrey hadn’t developed one of his instant dislikes—something he was distressingly prone to do when confronted with gentlemen.

      Philip returned her smile. “We’ve been discussing Geoffrey’s impending adventure in joining the academic establishment.”

      “Adventure?” Antonia blinked, her gaze shifting to Geoffrey, then back to Philip.

      “Adventure indeed,” Philip assured her. “Or so it was when I went up. I doubt it’s changed. High drama, high jinks, life in all its varied forms. All the experience necessary to set a young gentleman’s feet on the road to worldly confidence.”

      Antonia’s eyes widened. “Worldly confidence?”

      “Savoir faire, the ability to be at home in any company, the knowledge with which to face the world.” Philip gestured broadly; his grey eyes quizzed her. “How else do you imagine gentlemen such as I learned to be as we are, my dear?”

      The words were on the tip of Antonia’s tongue—she only just managed to swallow them. “I dare say,” she replied, in as repressive a tone as she could. The teasing light in Philip’s eyes was doing the most uncomfortable things to her stomach. A swift glance at Geoffrey confirmed that her precocious brother was not ignorant of the purport of their host’s sallies. Tilting her chin, she caught Philip’s eye. “I’m sure Geoffrey will find the academic pursuits all absorbing.”

      Whether Philip would have capped her comment she was destined never to know; the door opened again, this time admitting Henrietta, closely followed by Hugo.

      As she turned to her aunt, Antonia surprised a fleeting look of chagrin on Philip’s face. It was there and then gone so rapidly she was not, in truth, entirely certain she had interpreted his expression correctly. Before she could ponder the point, Fenton entered to make his announcement.

      “My honour, I believe?”

      Antonia turned to find Philip’s arm before her. Glancing across, she saw Henrietta being supported by Mr Satterly, the pair already deep in conversation. With a regally acquiescent glance, Antonia placed her hand on Philip’s sleeve. “If you will, my lord.”

      Philip sighed. “Ah, what it is to be master in one’s own house.”

      Antonia’s lips twitched but she made no reply. Together, they led the way to the dining-room. They were five, leaving Philip at the head of the table and Henrietta at the СКАЧАТЬ