The Trouble With Virtue: A Comfortable WifeA Lady by Day

by Stephanie Laurens

  One glance at the Countess was enough for Antonia; thereafter, she studiously avoided their hostess’s basilisk stare.

  “Five to me.”

  Philip’s demand focused her attention on the game. “Five?” Antonia studied the cards laid on the table, then sniffed. She doled out the required counters, then reached for the pack. She won three back, but her stack of counters was steadily eroded, falling prey to Philip’s ruthless machinations. He was, apparently, a past master at this pastime, too.

  Reaching for the pack, Antonia cast him a disapproving glance. “I admit I had not thought to find you so expert at this game, my lord.”

  The smile he turned on her made her toes curl.

  “I dare say you’ll be amazed, my dear, by just how many games I can play.”

  Unexpectedly trapped in his gaze, by what she could read in the grey, Antonia froze, her hand, outstretched, hovering above the pack.

  “C’mon, Sis—you going to forfeit your turn?”

  Geoffrey’s words broke the spell. Glancing around, Antonia drew in a quick breath.

  “Not,” Geoffrey continued, “something I’d advise—if we don’t take care, Ruthven’s going to wipe us out. We’ll have to use our wits if we’re to counter his predatory incursions.”

  Antonia studied the situation afresh—and discovered he was right. “Nonsense,” she declared, straightening and picking up the pack. “We’ll come about.” She dealt, settled the question of trumps, then turned up her first card; it was the ace of trumps. Smiling, she lifted her chin and glanced Philip’s way. “When opponents believe they’re invincible, they’re sure to be defeated.”

  She received a very direct, definitely challenging look in reply.

  Thereafter, the fight was on. Their attention fully engaged, Antonia and Geoffrey combined to counter Philip’s steady accumulation of chips, draining his pile at every opportunity. Philip struck back, catching Geoffrey more frequently than Antonia, who, very much on her mettle, took care to cover her back.

  Fifteen minutes later, Ambrose edged his chair from the table and somewhat ruefully declared, “That’s my last three counters.”

  “I’ve only got one left,” Catriona said.

  Their comments halted play. Three heads came up; Antonia exchanged a glance with Philip. He grimaced, catching Geoffrey’s eye as he pulled out his watch. “Too early,” was his verdict.

  “Right then.” Geoffrey seized the pack and dealt.

  During the following fifteen minutes, the three endeavoured to lose as many counters as they had earlier won, amidst a great deal of unexpected hilarity.

  “Your pile is still a great deal too high, my lord.” Magnanimously, Antonia handed six counters to Catriona. “It’s my belief you’re not trying hard enough.”

  Removing the pack from her fingers, his hand closing briefly about hers, Philip caught her eye. “Put it down to my having to fight against deeply ingrained habit.”

  Antonia opened her eyes wide. “Oh?”

  “Indeed.” Philip held her gaze. “None of my ilk like to lose.”

  Antonia’s eyes widened even more; with an effort, she directed them to the table, to the cards he negligently dealt. “See?” Righteously, she nodded. “A knave. You will have to do better, my lord.”

  “Once this present distraction is passed, I will endeavour to do so, my dear.”

  The promise in those words sent a delicious shiver down Antonia’s spine. Determined to ignore it, and the breathlessness it evoked, she fought to keep her attention on the cards, aware that Philip’s too-perceptive gaze remained on her face.

  Salvation came from an unlikely source; the doors opened and Scalewether rolled in the tea-trolley. Summoned to take their cups, they abandoned their game; by unspoken accord, they all remained together, standing in a loose group as they sipped.

  Under the direction of her aunt, Catriona dutifully extolled the attractions to be found within the grounds. “The folly is probably the most interesting,” she concluded. “It stands by the lake and is quite pretty when it’s sunny.”

  Her tone suggested Newgate would be more appealing.

  Antonia caught Philip’s eye. “Actually, I’m rather tired.” Delicately, she smothered a yawn.

  “Doubtless the effects of the drive down.” Smoothly, Philip relieved her of her cup; together with his, he laid it aside. “So enervating,” he murmured solicitously as, turning, he met Antonia’s gaze. “Travelling in a carriage.”

  Brows rising haughtily, Antonia turned to Catriona, raising her voice for the benefit of the ladies nearby. “I believe I should retire—perhaps, Miss Dalling, you would care to accompany me?”

  “Yes, indeed.” Catriona set down her cup.

  “Not deserting us yet, are you, miss?” The Countess’s gimlet gaze fastened on Catriona’s face. “Why, what will the Marquess think of you, leaving him to entertain himself like this?”

  “Indeed,” the Marchioness of Hammersley opined. “I suspect my son, like any other young gentleman, would be very grateful for your company, Miss Dalling.” With a commanding wave, she continued, “The night is quite mild. I dare say a turn on the terrace in the moonlight is just what you young people would like.”

  “Ah—no. That is...” Aghast, Ambrose goggled at his mother. “Mean to say—”

  The Marchioness transfixed him with a penetrating stare. “Yes, Hammersley?” When Ambrose just stared at her, rabbitlike, she enquired, her tone sugar-sweet, “Do you find something objectionable about the notion of strolling her ladyship’s terrace?”

  “Nothing to say against her ladyship’s terrace,” Ambrose blurted out. His hand strayed to his neckcloth. “But—”

  Philip cut in, his tones dripping with fashionable languor. “Perhaps I should explain, Lady Ticehurst, that Miss Mannering, hailing as she does from Yorkshire, is unaccustomed to finding her way about such...” his graceful gesture encompassed the house about them “...grand establishments as your own. I beg you’ll allow Miss Dalling to act as her guide. Indeed,” he continued, his gaze shifting to Antonia’s face, “I must admit the idea of Miss Mannering wandering lost through your corridors quite exercises my imagination. Dare I hope you’ll take pity on her poor sense of direction and allow your niece to accompany her?”

  Frowning, the countess shifted on the chaise. “Well...”

  “As for Hammersley,” Philip smoothly continued, “there’s no need to concern yourself over his entertainment. He and I had thought to adjourn to the billiard-room.” Turning, he bestowed an elegantly condescending look on the Marchioness. “I understand that, due to the late Marquess’s early demise, Hammersley has lacked the opportunity to polish his talents in such manly arts as billiards. I had thought, perhaps, to be of some use to him while here.”

  The Marchioness’s expression blanked. “Yes, of course. How very kind...” Her frown grew as her words trailed away.

  “So—if you’ll excuse us?” With a supremely graceful bow, Philip turned from the chaise. Avoiding Antonia’s eye, he captured her hand and placed it on his sleeve. “Come, Hammersley—let’s escort these young ladies to the stairs. Mannering?”

  With that, he led the way; in less than a minute, the drawing-room door was shut upon the twin harpies, leaving the rest of them safe in the hall. Pausing at the foot of the stairs to wait for Catriona, Antonia glanced at Philip. “Quite a tour de force, my lord.”

  Philip met her gaze; he smiled, deliberately, with the full force of his intent. “As I told you, my dear, I’m not one who generally loses.” Raising her hand, he kissed each fingertip, his eyes on hers all the while. “I suspect you’ll be amazed by what forces I can, when moved, bring to bear.”

  The ripple of awareness that shivered through Antonia and the soft blush that tinged her cheeks stayed with him long after she retreated up the stair
s.

  * * *

  AT EIGHT THE following morning, Antonia slipped from the lowering bulk of Ticehurst Place and headed for the stables. The sun again ruled the sky; as she entered the low-ceilinged stables, she paused, blinking rapidly. As her vision adjusted, she saw a cap bobbing in a nearby loose box. She hurried forward.

  “I’d like a horse, please. As quick as you can.” Rounding the end of the open box, Antonia cast a swift glance over the bay the stableman was bridling. “This one will do nicely.”

  The aged retainer blinked owlishly at her. “Beggin’ your pardon, miss.” He broke off to tug at his cap. “But this one’s for the gentleman.”

  “Gentleman?” On the instant, Antonia felt her senses shiver. She swung around—to find herself breast to chest with her nemesis. She took a step back and hauled in a quick breath. “I didn’t see you there, my lord.”

  “Obviously.” Philip studied the tinge of colour highlighting her cheekbones, then let his gaze meet hers. “And where are you headed?”

  Inwardly, Antonia cursed. She hesitated, then, recognizing the hint of steel beneath the soft grey of his eyes, capitulated. “I was going for a ride.”

  Philip’s brows rose. “Indeed? Then I’ll ride with you.” Reaching forward, he took hold of her arm and drew her closer, clear of the bay the stableman was turning. “So much more suitable,” he murmured, “than a young lady riding alone.”

  Suppressing a snort, Antonia swallowed the rebuke with what grace she could muster.

  “Here you be, sir.” The groom came up, leading the bay. He handed the reins to Philip, then turned to Antonia. “Now, miss. I’ve a nice steady mare that would suit you. Not one as gets overly frisky, so you won’t have to panic.”

  He turned away on the words, heading for the row of boxes across the stables, leaving Philip as the only witness to Antonia’s stunned reaction. Horror and outrage mixed freely in her expression, dazed disbelief filled her eyes. Then her jaw firmed.

  Philip swallowed his laughter and called to the stableman. “I fear you mistake Miss Mannering’s abilities. She’s perfectly capable of managing one of your master’s hunters. By the look of them, they could do with the exercise.”

  Frowning, the stableman shuffled back. “I don’t rightly know as how I should, sir. Wondrous powerful, the master’s hunters.”

  “Miss Mannering can handle them.” Philip felt his face harden. “She’s a dab hand at reining in all manner of untamed beasts.” Conscious of Antonia’s swift glance, he lifted his head and scanned the hunters shifting restlessly in their boxes. “That one.” He pointed to a glossy black, every bit as powerful as the bay he had chosen. “Put a sidesaddle on—I’ll take all responsibility.”

  With a resigned shrug, the stableman headed for the tackroom.

  “Come—let’s wait in the yard.” Taking Antonia’s arm, Philip steered her out of the stable, the bay following eagerly.

  Antonia glanced about. “I’d thought Geoffrey or Ambrose would be about.”

  “According to the stableman, they’ve already gone out. Or should that be ‘escaped’?”

  Antonia grimaced. “You’ll have to admit Ambrose has just cause.”

  Walking the restive bay, Philip spoke over his shoulder. “You may console yourself with the thought that your brother is doing an excellent job of putting their ladyships’ collective noses out of joint.”

  “Geoffrey?” Antonia frowned. “How?”

  “By sticking with Ambrose.” When she continued to look bemused, Philip smiled wryly. “I fear Geoffrey is very much the fly in their ladyships’ ointment. In case you haven’t yet realized, this so-called ‘house party’ was very carefully designed. We each have specific roles: Henrietta, you and me to lend countenance— imagining, of course, that Henrietta is a like-minded soul who shares their ladyships’ proclivities and that you and I will be too involved with each other to notice anything else. Geoffrey’s presence, however, has thrown a definite spanner into the works. Although she extended the invitation, the Countess had imagined he’d go up to Oxford after the last of the parties.”

  Antonia narrowed her eyes. “The Countess is a very manipulative woman.”

  “Indeed.” Philip’s tone hardened. “And I do not appreciate being manipulated.”

  Antonia shot him a glance, then elevated her chin. “Nor do I.”

  It was Philip’s turn to glance suspiciously, but Antonia had turned away to greet the sleek black hunter the stableman led forth. Under her direction, the stableman held the horse by the mounting block. Philip inwardly snorted and swung up to the bay’s saddle. The instant Antonia had settled her skirts, he turned the bay’s head for the fields.

  He held back only long enough to ensure Antonia was secure and in command, then loosened his reins, letting the bay’s stride eat the distance to the trees on the first hill. They drew into the shade of the outliers of the wood and Philip drew rein. He waited until Antonia brought the restive black up alongside, then fixed her with a distinctly strait look. “Now—where are you going?”

  Inwardly, Antonia grimaced; outwardly, she lifted her chin. “To meet Mr Fortescue—should he be there to meet.”

  “Fortescue?”

  “Catriona arranged to meet him at the end of the ride through the woods. He said he’d come to tell her how he’d got on with the Earl. She was to keep watch every day but at present, she’s convinced herself no one can save her from the Countess’s machinations.”

  Annoyance crept into Antonia’s voice as she recalled the hours she had spent trying valiantly to raise Catriona’s spirits. “From my previous experience of her, I would not have believed she would give up so easily. I’ve been telling her she must make a push to secure what she wants from life—that if one really wants something, one has to be prepared to fight for it.”

  The bay jibbed; Philip tightened his reins. His eyes, fixed on Antonia, narrowed. “Indeed.” He might have said more had another, more immediate realisation not intruded. “You were on your way to meet a gentleman alone.”

  Antonia shot him a frowning glance. “Only Mr Fortescue.”

  “Who happens to be a perfectly personable gentleman some years your senior.”

  “Who happens to be all but betrothed to a young lady I regard as a good friend.” Chin high, Antonia gathered her reins.

  Philip held her with his eyes. “I have to inform you, my dear, that meeting personable gentlemen alone is not the behaviour I expect of Lady Ruthven.”

  Antonia held his gaze, her own eyes slowly narrowing, golden glints appearing in the green. Then she hauled on the reins, pulling the black about. “I am not,” she replied, decidedly tart, “Lady Ruthven yet.”

  With that, she touched her heels to the black’s sides and took off through the woods.

  Philip watched her go, his eyes slitted, his gaze as sharp as honed steel. Suddenly, he recalled he rode much heavier than she—he couldn’t let her get too far ahead. With a curse, he set out in pursuit.

  Despite his best efforts, Antonia was still in the lead when the end of the ride hove in sight. It led up to a small knoll at the back of the woods; cresting the rise, Antonia saw a single horseman waiting patiently. Recognizing his square frame, she waved; moments later, she drew up alongside Henry Fortescue.

  He returned her greeting punctiliously, nodding as Philip joined them, then, somewhat glumly, turned to Antonia. “From your presence, I take it all is lost?”

  Antonia blinked at him. “Heavens, no! Catriona is too well watched for it to be safe for her to ride out to meet you—Ruthven and I came in her stead.”

  Ignoring Philip’s glance, she smiled brightly and was rewarded with a smile in return.

  “Well, that’s a relief.” Henry’s smile faded. “Not that my news holds out any hope.”

  Philip brought his bay up besi
de Antonia. “What did the Earl say?”

  Henry grimaced. “Unfortunately, things weren’t as we thought. There was no legal guardianship established, so the Earl has no real rights in the matter. The Countess assumed Catriona’s guardianship by custom, so there’s no gainsaying her. Not, at least, until Catriona comes of age—but that’s years from now.”

  “Oh.” Despite her earlier optimism, Antonia felt her spirits sink.

  “Not that we wouldn’t be prepared to wait,” Henry went on. “If that was the only way. But the problem is, the Countess has her own row to hoe. And she’s not one to let up.”

  Antonia grimaced. “Indeed not.”

  Henry drew a deep breath. “I don’t know what Catriona will say—or do—when she hears the truth.”

  Antonia didn’t bother to answer; Henry’s gloom was contagious.

  “Then before we tell her, I suggest we establish the facts ourselves.”

  Antonia stared at Philip. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that I suspect we have not yet reached the truth.” Hands folded over his pommel, Philip raised a brow at her. “I took refuge in the library last night—a little habit of mine, you might recall.”

  Antonia narrowed her eyes. “So?”

  “So, while idly pacing, not having any other distraction to hand, I noticed a family bible on a lectern in one corner. It’s a handsome volume. Out of sheer curiosity, I looked at the flyleaf. It doesn’t, as I had imagined, belong to the Earl’s family but to the Dallings. Indeed, I imagine it might belong to Catriona as it was certainly her father’s before.”

  Henry frowned. “But what has that to say to oversetting the Countess’s schemes?”

  “Nothing in itself,” Philip acknowledged. “But the information the bible contains bears consideration. Inscribed on the flyleaf are the recent generations of the Dalling family. The history clearly shows the Countess is one of twins—her only sister is her twin. As is often the case with twin females, there’s no distinction made between them—no record of who was born first—that fact is stated explicitly in the bible. So, by my reckoning, Catriona’s other aunt would have equal right to act as her guardian by custom.”