Miss Dane and the Duke

by Louise Allen

  ‘No, ma’am. I have taken rooms at the Green Man in Tring. It is rather more conveniently situated for riding here daily, which I hope you will permit me to do, given that there are many practical details to be settled.’

  ‘Then Sir Josiah is minded to take the Hall?’ Somehow Antonia spoke calmly.

  ‘Indeed yes, Miss Dane. He was most happy with my account and both he and my aunt feel this will be the ideal country establishment for them.’

  ‘You must feel very gratified that Sir Josiah and Lady Finch place so much trust in your judgement that they will take the house unseen,’ Antonia said warmly. ‘And I must thank you for your persuasion on our behalf. It is such a relief to know that Rye End Hall will be let to such a notable person as Sir Josiah. With him in residence it will regain its place amongst the estates of the area.’

  Mr Blake flushed slightly at the compliment. ‘l thank you, ma’am, but I assure you that, once the merits of the estate were presented to him, Sir Josiah needed little persuasion from me. And it is you and Miss Donaldson who should be congratulated on the taste and quality of the renovations.’

  Mr Blake set his glass to one side and removed some folded papers from his breast pocket. He handed one, closed with a seal, to Antonia. ‘I act as messenger from your man of business whose letter you have there. Between us, we have drawn up a contract which I trust you will find acceptable. May I hope you could give me an answer on it if I return tomorrow?’

  ‘But surely we can close on this today?’ Antonia said. ‘lf you will allow me an hour to study it before luncheon, then, unless I have any questions, I can sign it and the deed is done. You will stay for luncheon, Mr Blake?’

  ‘That would be most acceptable, ma’am, thank you.’ Mr Blake got to his feet. ‘With your permission, I will use the time until luncheon to ride around the estate. There are some notes Sir Josiah has charged me to make, and it is a most beautiful day.’ He bowed to them both and left.

  Antonia seized Donna’s hands and danced her round the room in a joyful jig. ‘We’ve done it, we’ve done it, we’ve done it!’

  ‘Antonia, dear! What if Mr Blake should see us?’

  ‘He has gone and what if he does see us? I do not care.’

  ‘Antonia, please, I am quite breathless. And this is most indecorous.’ But Donna was smiling.

  When Mr Blake rejoined them for luncheon Antonia had read the contract and letters through three times. ‘I am most happy to sign this contract. My man of business recommends it to me, and I am more than happy to vacate the Hall by the date specified.’

  A look of relief crossed Mr Blake’s pleasantly plain features. ‘I had feared that a date only two weeks hence might be too soon for you. Are you quite certain it is convenient?’

  ‘Let us discuss it over luncheon.’ Antonia led the way through to the breakfast room, which served them as a small dining room. ‘Please sit here, Mr Blake. Will you carve the ham? I tell you truly, Miss Donaldson and I would be ready to move to the Dower House within the week. All the building work there is done so it only remains to hang the curtains, make up the beds and move our personal possessions.’

  ‘I am most relieved to hear you say so, Miss Dane.’ Blake passed a platter of carved ham to Donna as he spoke. ‘If I may, this afternoon I had hoped to ride over and see your tenant at the Home Farm. I will need to spend one or two days with him this week, and then there are numerous measurements Lady Finch has charged me to make in the house, if that will not be inconvenient to you.’

  ‘Not at all,’ Antonia assured him. ‘I will give you a note of introduction to Thomas Christmas at the farm and, as for the measurements, you are to make yourself quite at home and not stand on ceremony. Come and go as you please.’

  The rest of the meal passed most pleasantly. Mr Blake proved to be an unexpected source of anecdotes about London Society. It was obvious he mixed freely with the Quality and Antonia could well imagine him at Almack’s. She felt he perhaps viewed life a little too seriously, a product of his profession, no doubt, but he was most agreeable company.

  ‘Are you frequently away from home on Sir Josiah’s business?’ Miss Donaldson enquired. ‘I only ask because, for a young man such as yourself, absences must put a strain upon domestic harmony.’

  Antonia flinched at what was, to her ears, an obvious attempt to discover whether he was married or not.

  Mr Blake, however, showed no sign of discomfiture at the probing. ‘Fortunately, ma’am, I have my own apartments within Sir Josiah’s London residence and come and go as I please with no inconvenience.’

  An expression, which Antonia recognised as the nearest Donna ever came to smugness, crossed her face. So, Mr Blake was not married and was even now being added to Donna’s mental list of suitable suitors for Antonia.

  Jeremy Blake, mercifully unaware of his hostesses’ thoughts, soon took his leave, taking the signed contract and a note for Thomas Christmas urging the farmer’s complete co-operation with his new landlord.

  Antonia stood on the sun-warmed steps watching as he cantered off towards the Home Farm. Halfway down the driveway, he encountered another rider. Both gentlemen doffed their hats as they passed one another and Antonia recognised the gleam of Marcus’s hair in the sunlight.

  He dismounted at the front door, tossing his reins to the groom who was riding at his heels. ‘Ten minutes, Saye,’ he ordered. ‘Keep them walking, this breeze is fresh. Good afternoon, Miss Dane.’ He bowed slightly to Antonia. ‘I trust I find you well?’

  ‘Very well indeed, Your Grace. You find me on my way to the flower garden. Would you care to accompany me and protect me from Old Johnson, who refuses to believe any of his blooms are for cutting?’

  ‘Did I recognise that London clerk visiting again?’

  Antonia hid a smile at his apparently casual probing. It seemed Mr Blake piqued Marcus’s interest, which could only be flattering to herself. ‘Yes, it was Mr Blake. I see no reason why I cannot tell you now that his principal, Sir Josiah Finch, has decided to take Rye End Hall. I expect Sir Josiah and Lady Finch, who is Mr Blake’s aunt, by the by, will be in residence here within the fortnight.’

  ‘l congratulate you.’ Marcus pushed open the wicket gate into the garden and held it for Antonia to pass through. ‘You appear to have scored a veritable triumph with your tenant. A notable nabob, I believe.’

  Antonia scanned his face, looking for signs of sarcasm, but saw only genuine admiration for her business acuity.

  ‘You know Sir Josiah?’

  ‘No, but I have heard of him. I believe he has been back in this country from the Indies for almost a year and the on dit is that he has amassed a great fortune in his years in the East. He and Lady Finch do not go much into Society, although she, of course, is widely connected with some of the best families. He, I believe, is a self-made man.’

  ‘And none the worse for that,’ Antonia interjected.

  ‘I had intended no slur on your nabob. I am sure he is a most excellent man and will adorn our local society.’

  Antonia was surprised. She had expected Sir Josiah’s origins in trade, however exalted, would be despised by an aristocrat, especially a duke. Her own father would certainly have looked down on him.

  ‘You do me an injustice,’ Marcus said evenly, ‘if you believe I would condemn the man for such a reason. If he proves a bad landlord, I may revise my opinion.’

  Antonia suspected there was a veiled hint about her ‘poachers’ in that last remark but, warmed by her success and the admiration of Mr Blake, she chose to ignore it. Best, perhaps, not to provoke an argument.

  Old Johnson greeted them with a look of deep suspicion and a grunt. When Antonia asked him for a basket he produced one with bad grace. ‘And some scissors, please, Johnson,’ she requested firmly, knowing how the old man hated her to pick his flowers.

  ‘Ain’t got none,’ he muttered, but was foiled by Marcus producing a pocket knife.

  Marcus held the basket while Antonia cut her selecte
d blooms, wandering up and down the paths under the old man’s hostile eye. ‘He appears to have taken a great dislike to me, as well as to your flower picking,’ Marcus observed.

  ‘Small wonder,’ Antonia responded crisply. ‘You are the cause of his son’s present condition.’

  ‘I am? And what condition might that be?’

  ‘He is languishing in Hertford gaol doing hard labour, sent there by you for poaching, and meanwhile his old father must support his family.’

  ‘l remember him now, and I doubt his father is supporting his family, which consists of numerous by-blows scattered from here to Berkhamsted. The son is a ne’er-do-well who has never done an honest day’s work in his life and who crowned a career of poaching, thievery and wenching by clubbing a keeper so savagely the man lost the sight of one eye. No, ma’am, save your sympathy for those who better deserve it.’

  Antonia shivered at the chill in his voice and in his eyes. ‘l am sorry,’ she stammered. ‘I should not have spoken without knowing the full facts. Was the injured man one of your keepers?’

  ‘Yes,’ Marcus replied shortly, then seeing her stricken face, relented and explained. ‘He is the younger brother of Sparrow, my head keeper. He works in the stables now, for his sight is quite poor at night.’

  Antonia remembered Sparrow’s rough grasp. ‘No wonder Sparrow is so hard on poachers.’

  ‘It is as well to remember that not every picture is painted in black and white.’

  She stooped to snip off some greenery, averting her face from his. ‘I am reproved. Sometimes I become so passionately engaged that I fail to see the shades of grey.’

  Marcus put one hand under her elbow to help her upright. Even through her gown and the leather of his glove she could feel the warmth of him. ‘I would not wish to see you any less passionate about anything, Antonia,’ he murmured.

  She could not meet his eye. She glanced away in confusion, to encounter instead the rheumy regard of the old gardener. This was no place to engage in whatever was occurring between her and Marcus. Was he flirting with her, or merely teasing her? She could hardly tell, and her growing partiality for him was clouding her own judgement.

  ‘I have filled my basket as full as I dare,’ Antonia said lightly, with a nod to Johnson as she led the way out of the garden. ‘Donna will be wondering what has become of me – these are for her to fill the vases in the hall.’

  Marcus took the basket from her aa they strolled back towards the house in companionable silence. At the front door he handed her the flowers. ‘I had almost forgotten the purpose of my call. I am assembling a house party at Brightshill next week. I believe I mentioned it before, if you recall. I hope you and Miss Donaldson will do me the honour of joining us for dinner on Tuesday evening.’

  ‘I would be delighted, as, I am sure, will be Miss Donaldson.’ Antonia spoke calmly but inside her heart had leapt at the thought of mixing in society again after so many months. And to see Marcus in his own setting, to see Brightshill in all its glory, filled with people…

  But those people, she suddenly realised, would be of the height of London Society, fashionably dressed, au fait with the latest gossip and news. She had neither the gowns nor the gossip to mix comfortably with such a set. What would Marcus think when he saw her in that company? He might find her amusingly unconventional now, but what appeared refreshing as a country diversion would seem gauche and soon lose its charm set against Town polish.

  ‘Antonia? Is anything wrong?’ Marcus appeared uncannily alert to her mood today.

  ‘Oh, no. I was merely wool-gathering.’

  ‘Forgive me, you must have much to be doing and thinking about. I shall leave you to your housekeeping and look forward to your company next Tuesday.’

  Antonia held out her hand to shake his and was startled when he bent over it to brush the back of her knuckles with his lips. ‘Adieu, Antonia.’

  She watched him leave and found she had lifted her hand up to her cheek as she did so. His groom came with the horses and the two men were trotting off down the driveway before she recalled herself.

  ‘Donna, Donna!’ she called, as she ran up the steps.

  ‘There you are at last with the flowers.’ Donna emerged from the salon, a vase in each hand. ‘What an age you have been, Antonia, I could not imagine what was detaining you.’

  Antonia recognised the teasing note in her voice. ‘You know full well Marcus Renshaw called. And, Donna, he has invited us to dinner at Brightshill next Tuesday when his house party will be assembled. But what are we to wear?’

  ‘I shall wear my garnet silk, of course,’ Donna replied composedly. ‘It is perfectly suitable, and what I wear will not, in any case, signify. No, my dear, the real question is, what are you to wear?’

  Antonia dumped the flower basket unceremoniously on the side table. ‘I have not the slightest notion. I do not even know what is the latest mode, although you may be certain that not a garment that I own will be in it.’

  ‘Then we must set to work immediately. Jane can arrange these flowers, we must review our wardrobes and see what will pass muster. Now,’ Donna began, ticking items off on her fingers as she ascended the stairs. ‘A gown, that must be new, then there are your stockings, gloves, slippers… Jane! Where is that girl? We must see if there are any of your old gowns that will cut up.’

  Antonia hurried after her companion, bemused that for once Donna was not taking the opportunity for remarks on the folly of fashion and the impropriety of a mind set upon adornment.

  Chapter Eleven

  An afternoon spent in turning out both their wardrobes passed swiftly

  ‘It is as I feared,’ Antonia said gloomily over a cup of tea as they reviewed their findings. ‘We each have one pair of respectable evening gloves, there is enough ribbon to furbish up your gown and your slippers are presentable. But our stockings are woeful, my evening slippers scuffed and not a single gown of mine is such that I could either wear it or cut it up to make another with any pretensions to style whatsoever.’

  ‘None of this is insurmountable,’ Donna said firmly, setting down her cup and raising her voice. ‘Jane!’ The girl hurried in, only to be dispatched to find Jem and order his presence with the gig the next morning. ‘We can try what Berkhamsted has to offer and go further afield if necessary.’

  ‘But, Donna,’ Antonia protested, ‘we cannot afford to shop for any of this.’ She was utterly bewildered by the other woman’s enthusiasm.

  ‘Nonsense. You have money left from the loan. Look upon this as an investment.’

  ‘You cannot seriously be suggesting that I use that money for husband-hunting?’

  ‘I did not say anything of the kind. But you cannot go into Society attired like a milkmaid. And if you are not to go into Society, pray tell me why we have been wasting so much time and money to establish ourselves in the Dower House?’

  ‘Oh, very well,’ Antonia conceded. There was no gainsaying her companion in this mood. ‘But we only have a week in which to prepare.’

  ‘It will suffice. If luck is with us, we shall be able to obtain copies of the Ladies’ Intelligencer in Berkhamsted, which will give us an inkling of the current mode. I have already found an excellent shop for haberdashery. Remember, I told you of it when I bought the linens last month? And there are several drapers. One, at least, must have some acceptable silks.’

  ‘But we do not know which dressmakers to trust,’ Antonia protested.

  ‘Dressmakers? No time, my dear. We will sew the garment ourselves. With my skill for pattern cutting, and your fine stitchery, we may save several pounds and no one be any the wiser. Now, let us have some supper and retire early. We have a busy day before us tomorrow.’

  ‘Now this will become you very well,’ Donna said with satisfaction, holding up the dull gold silk against Antonia’s face. ‘That subtle counter-stripe in the weave picks up the brown of your hair beautifully.’

  ‘Indeed yes, ma’am,’ Mrs Mumford the linen draper hast
ened to add her voice. ‘If you intend to make this gown here,’ she gestured to a striking fashion plate open on the counter, ‘I can think of nothing that will cut and drape better.’

  ‘It is very expensive,’ Antonia demurred, wistfully fingering the soft fabric to admire the sheen.

  ‘Quality will out, madam, if I may make so bold an observation.’

  ‘Quite right,’ Donna declared. ‘We will take a dress length of this, and the lining we had already agreed upon. Now, trimmings…’

  Another delightful half-hour was passed deciding between the rival merits of mother-of-pearl buttons or covered silk ones, floss edgings or corded ribbon and whether to add a sprig of artificial flowers at the neckline or an edging of fine lace.

  ‘And will you be bringing in your slippers for dyeing, ma’am?’ Mrs Mumford enquired as the girl made up the parcels. ‘I can recommend Thomas Hurst in the High Street for kid slippers, but his dyeing isn’t all it ought to be.’

  After negotiating with the shoemaker to send the new slippers to Mrs Mumford, they retired to a private parlour overlooking the inn yard at the King’s Arms and sent for coffee and biscuits. Antonia made herself comfortable in the window seat and surveyed the bustle below. ‘Oh, Donna, do look at Jem. He is sitting up in the gig with his arms folded, aping the groom in that curricle over there.’

  ‘He is a good lad,’ Donna said with a smile. ‘l am glad we are able to give him employment. The yard is very busy, is it not? Here comes another post chaise – and I do declare, is that not the Duke coming out of the inn?’

  It was, indeed. Antonia, from her vantage point at the window, could look down on Marcus as he strolled out into the sunlight and stood waiting for the post boys to let down the steps of the chaise. Although he was wearing riding dress, Antonia noticed he was more carefully attired than normal. As he lifted his tall hat, she saw he had submitted his tawny locks to the attentions of his valet and the nape of his neck, newly shorn, showed pale.