‘You may escort me to the King’s Arms where Jem is waiting for me with the gig,’ Antonia snapped. ‘And you know what I mean perfectly well. Pethybridge had no intention of granting me the loan until you intervened. Nothing whatsoever had changed and yet he reversed his decision, as you knew he would.’ The effort of quarrelling in public with a man who retained his infuriating calm only fuelled her anger. ‘Surely you do not expect me to believe you have no ulterior motive in securing me this loan, Your Grace?’
‘Indeed I have, Miss Dane.’ The more angry she became, the smoother his manner was.
Antonia was taken aback. ‘Well, what is it? It seems to me to be an action quite against your own interests.’
‘I have no intention of telling you that. And you must allow me to judge what my own interests are, Antonia.’
‘I have no desire to be beholden to you.’
‘Your desires are not the only ones at issue, and I have no intention of gratifying your curiosity.’ Marcus glanced sideways at her, a small smile on his lips. It was very tempting to wipe it away… somehow.
‘You were not paying a great deal of attention in Pethybridge’s office, were you?’ he added.
He was quite right and the fact did nothing for her mood. Antonia contented herself with a silent glare.
‘That is understandable,’ he said without waiting for the reply she was reluctant to give. ‘It must have been an ordeal for any lady, and I can understand you being distracted. But it is not sensible to undertake business with only half your mind on the matter.’
He was right, the patronising, infuriating creature, and she had no defence. None.
Marcus guided her through the cobbled entry to the inn. ‘Ah, your carriage awaits, complete with chickens in a coop and straw upon the boards, I see. Is it too much to hope that you will spend some of your loan on a conveyance more suited to your station in life?’
‘Your Grace, I have never in my life been tempted to strike another human being,’ Antonia hissed in a low voice, aware of an interested audience of Jem and two lounging ostlers. ‘But I am sorely tempted now. You are quite the most insufferable, patronising, arrogant individual it has ever been my misfortune to encounter. I must be grateful that you have helped me to obtain the funds I need, but do not think I do not harbour the deepest suspicions as to your motives.’
‘Your imagination is too vivid, Antonia.’ He steered her to one side as a farmer’s gig swept through the yard. ‘As I observed the other day, your addiction to Gothick novels has much to answer for. I bid you good day, Antonia.’ Before she could upbraid him for using her first name in public he had tipped his hat and had gone, striding through the archway into the High Street.
Jem prattled cheerfully as they drove home, very pleased with himself for the bargain he had struck over the coop full of chickens. Antonia made admiring noises, her mind still puzzling over Marcus’s extraordinary behaviour.
What had he meant by telling her she should have paid more attention in the banker’s office? Had she missed some vital point? Antonia racked her brains, but in vain. She opened her reticule and unfolded her copy of the paper she had signed. Yes, she had mortgaged the house and land against the loan that she had taken out for a maximum term of one year. There was no explanation there of why the banker had changed his mind.
She sat and stared out over the burgeoning hedges already white with May blossom, mentally editing a version of that morning’s events for her companion. Donna would only say, ‘I told you that you should send a man upon the business,’ in her most governessy tone, Antonia thought. But that was not what was so irksome about the matter. If her man of business had been easily available, she would have employed him.
No, it was because it was Marcus Renshaw. She had no desire to be beholden to him for his intervention with Pethybridge, because the more she thought about it, the clearer it was that the banker had accepted Marcus’s intervention as a guarantee of the loan, however informal. But it was too late to remedy that now.
Nor did she want Donna to harp endlessly on about his possible motives. She wouldn’t put it past her companion to conclude that the Duke was attracted to her.
‘Too ridiculous for words,’ she exclaimed aloud, then had to apologise to Jem, who had taken it as a comment on his commercial triumph and was most put out.
Donna was sitting by the open back door, engaged in turning a worn sheet edge to edge, her work basket at her feet, but she dropped the linen unregarded as she heard Antonia’s step on the path. ‘Back already. Did you have a nice drive?’
Antonia could see the anxiety which lay behind the bright words. Donna was steeling herself for disappointment and was already braced to offer soothing words and encouragement.
She put her arms around her companion and hugged her fiercely. ‘We have the money, Donna. Every guinea we need.’
‘Hooray!’ Donna threw her pincushion up in the air, seized Antonia’s hands and proceeded to jig around the kitchen, much to the consternation of the charwoman who emerged from the scullery to see what all the noise was about.
Donna subsided into a chair in a billow of skirts, pink-cheeked and seemingly unperturbed by the amazement of Mrs Brown, who hastily took herself off to the kitchen garden, shaking her head – presumably over the unaccountable ways of the gentry. ‘Tell me all about it, every detail,’ Donna demanded.
Antonia produced a highly edited version of her interview with Mr Pethybridge, carefully omitting any reference to Marcus Renshaw, then reached for the commercial directory to search for builders and carpenters. It would be prudent to obtain at least one more estimate for the work
‘I cannot believe the thing was so easily accomplished,’ Donna persisted. ‘I thought you would have the most enormous difficulty going unaccompanied.’ She looked beadily at Antonia who knew she was blushing. ‘Antonia, why are you looking so self-conscious? Have you been employing feminine wiles
upon the banker?’
‘Upon Mr Pethybridge? Really, Donna, as if I would! Why, he is quite a middle aged gentleman.’
‘Hmm.’ Donna was really far too perceptive sometimes. Or perhaps she believed that even elderly gentlemen had an eye for a young woman.
The next few weeks passed in a blur of activity as Antonia began to put her credit to good use. The house seemed full of workmen repairing the roof, reglazing windows, unblocking drains and repainting woodwork neglected for many years.