A Comfortable Wife. Stephanie Laurens

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      Three days later, Antonia climbed the stairs and entered her bedchamber. She had spent all morning going over the plans for the fête, to be held, as Henrietta had decreed, two days hence; it was now mid-afternoon and Henrietta was napping. As usual, the garden was her destination but she had fallen into the habit of checking her appearance whenever she ventured forth. Crossing to the dressing-table, she smiled absentmindedly at Nell, seated by the window, a pile of darning beside her. “Don’t strain your eyes. I’m sure some of the younger maids could lend a hand with that.”

      “Aye—no doubt. But I’ve little confidence in their stitches—I’d rather see to it myself.”

      Picking up her brush, Antonia carefully burnished the curls falling in artful disorder from the knot on the top of her head.

      Nell threw her a swift glance. “Seems you’ve been seeing a lot of his lordship lately.”

      Antonia’s hand stilled, then she shrugged. “I wouldn’t say a lot. We ride in the mornings, of course. Geoffrey, too.” She did not think it necessary to mention that for at least half the time she spent on horseback, she and Philip were alone; Geoffrey, encouraged to try the paces of his mount, was rarely within hailing distance. “Other than that, and the three occasions he’s let me drive his curricle, Ruthven only seeks me out if he has some matter to discuss.”

      “That so?” Nell remarked.

      “Indeed.” Antonia tried to keep the irritation from her voice. Although Philip often sought her company during the day, spending half an hour or more by her side, he invariably had some reason for doing so. She sank the brush into one curl. “He’s a busy man, after all—a serious landowner. He spends hours with his agent and baliff. Like any sensible gentleman, he puts effort into ensuring his estate runs smoothly.”

      “Strange—it’s not what I’d have thought.” Nell shook out a chemise. “He seems so…well, lazy.”

      Antonia shook her head. “He’s not lazy at all—that’s just an image, a fashionable affectation. Ruthven’s never been truly lazy in his life—not over anything that matters.”

      Nell shrugged. “Ah, well—you know him better than most.”

      Antonia swallowed a “humph” and continued to tend her curls.

      Five minutes later, she was descending the steps from the terrace when she heard her name called. Looking about, she saw Geoffrey striding up from the stables. One glance at his face was enough to tell her her brother was in alt.

      “A great day, Sis! I had them trotting sweetly from the first. Who knows—next time our teacher might let me take out his greys.”

      Antonia grinned, sharing his delight. “Bravo—but I wouldn’t get your hopes too high.” While Ruthven had entrusted his greys to her, he had started Geoffrey with a pair of match chestnuts, by any standards a well-bred pair but not in the same league with his peerless Irish greys. “In fact,” Antonia said, linking her arm in Geoffrey’s, “I’d rather you didn’t suggest it—he’s really been very generous in helping you take the reins.”

      “I wasn’t about to,” Geoffrey replied, fondly condescending. “That was just talk.” Obediently, he fell in beside her as she strolled the gravel path. “Ruthven’s been far more encouraging than I’d ever looked to see. He’s a great gun—one of the best!”

      Antonia heard the fervour in his tone; glancing up, she saw it reflected in his face.

      Unconscious of her scrutiny, Geoffrey went on, “I assume you know he’s suggested I should accompany you to London? I wasn’t too sure at first—but he explained how it would set yours and Henrietta’s minds at ease—if you could see me in society a bit, build your confidence in me, that sort of thing.”

      “Oh?” When Geoffrey glanced her way, Antonia hurriedly changed her tone. “I mean—yes, that’s right.” After a moment, she added, “Ruthven’s very good at thinking of such things.”

      “He said that’s one of the traits that distinguishes a man from a boy—that a man thinks of his actions in the wider context, not just in terms of himself.”

      Despite her inclination, Antonia felt a surge of gratitude towards Philip; his subtle mentoring would help to fill the large gap their father’s death had left in Geoffrey’s life. Any lingering reservations she had regarding Geoffrey’s visit to London evaporated. “I think you would be very wise to take Ruthven’s hints to heart. I’m certain you can have every confidence in his experience.”

      “Oh, I have!” Geoffrey strode along beside her, then recalled he should match his steps to hers. “You know—when СКАЧАТЬ