‘Sir Josiah is married to Lady Finch who is my aunt. Sadly, they are without surviving children. The Indies are a cruel place for infants.’
As she murmured words of regret, Antonia was aware of Donna slipping back into the salon, no doubt to peruse the pages of Burke’s Landed Gentry for the records of the Finch family. Such a connection would explain Mr Blake’s air of easy good breeding. And, Antonia mused, it should also make negotiations much simpler. No doubt he was fully in his uncle’s confidence and would be able to make decisions without constant reference to his principal.
Mr Blake proved to be an undemanding visitor, although he made frequent notes in a small black book. He admired the number and proportions of the rooms, commented favourably upon the domestic arrangements and was fully in agreement with their decision not to decorate extensively.
‘Sir Josiah will be bringing a considerable collection of Oriental furnishings and art works,’ he explained as they descended the staircase. ‘And he will wish to hang some very fine Chinese wallpapers, if that is acceptable to you, Miss Dane?’
‘Oh, certainly, I would have no objection. You sound as though you have already resolved to recommend Rye End Hall to Sir Josiah,’ Antonia commented, her fingers crossed in the folds of her skirts.
‘I think it would suit them admirably,’ Mr Blake said. ‘Of course, the final decision is Sir Josiah’s,’ he added with a sudden return to lawyer-like caution.
‘Would you care to take a little luncheon before seeing the pleasure grounds and Home Farm?’ Antonia offered, determined to remain cool and business-like, but quite unable to hide the pleasure and relief at his positive words.
Donna had left off from her scanning of Burke’s long enough to order up a light meal to be served in the breakfast room. Antonia wished that the smell of beeswax polish was not quite so obvious, betraying all the hard work and hope which had gone into preparing for this visit but, fortunately, Mr Blake seemed oblivious to such housekeeping details.
‘Most eligible. Extremely well connected,’ Donna hissed in Antonia’s ear as they entered the room. ‘l have marked the page.’
‘Donna… shh. Do take this seat, Mr Blake. You will have a fine view down to the river.’
‘That puts me in mind of another question I must ask. Thank you, ma’am, cold pigeon would be most acceptable. Is the fishing good? And do you intend to retain the rights?’
Antonia felt herself colour up to the roots of her hair. ‘I believe there are perch, but I really cannot say. I have no intention of keeping the fishing rights, none at all.’
Her vehemence was clearly as puzzling as her confusion and she was very aware of Donna’s beady regard. She must pull herself together, stop falling into daydreams and reveries every time anyone mentioned the river. A sensible woman would conclude that, despite his dalliance on the river bank, the Duke’s absence was a clear signal that the incident meant nothing to him. She became aware that Mr Blake was speaking again and remarked hastily, ‘And no doubt pike are common.’
‘In the stables?’ Donna interjected. ‘Antonia dear, you have lost the thread of the conversation, we were speaking of accommodation for Sir Josiah’s carriage horses.’
‘I am so sorry. A syllabub, Mr Blake, or can I tempt you with a jelly?’
‘Either, Miss Dane,’ the lawyer responded warmly.
Across the table Antonia was aware of Donna’s smug expression. No doubt she was convinced that there was no hope of the Duke coming up to scratch but a lawyer with connections…
An hour later, only the stables remained to be inspected. Mr Blake expressed his intention of returning immediately and had his groom hitching up his pair while he looked around.
‘I hope to reach London tonight and speak to Sir Josiah tomorrow morning,’ he explained as they emerged from the carriage house into the sunlight once more.
‘You will be very late, surely?’ Antonia queried.
‘I shall change horses at Stanmore and expect to make good time. Sir Josiah is impatient when it comes to matters of business and he will expect a prompt report.’
‘May I ask if you are still inclined to recommend this house to Sir Josiah?’ Antonia ventured.
‘Let me just say that I shall ask the name and direction of your man of business before I leave,’ Mr Blake replied, pencil poised over his notebook.
Antonia dictated the details and London address, making a mental note to write with all dispatch to Mr Cooke at Gray’s Inn, who would otherwise be deeply confused to receive such an approach.
She was slightly taken aback at the sight of Mr Blake’s vehicle, a rakish sporting curricle pulled by a pair of handsome matched bays. She had expected a lawyer to be driven in a closed carriage, not to be tooling himself down the highway. But then, Mr Jeremy Blake was most unlawyerlike in many respects.
‘Well, I must thank you for your hospitality, Miss Dane, Miss Donaldson,’ he began, taking Antonia’s hand in his and looking deep into her eyes. ‘And I hope to be able to give you an answer within a few days...’
He was in mid-sentence, Antonia’s hand still clasped in his, when, with a flurry of hooves on the gravel, Marcus Renshaw cantered into the stable yard astride a rakish chestnut. He reined in hard, but not before the carriage horses shied in alarm, sending the groom running to their heads.
Chapter Nine
Jeremy Blake immediately stepped between the ladies and the horses, glaring with unconcealed annoyance at the source of the intrusion.
Antonia swallowed hard, a prey to mixed emotions. She was glad to see Marcus again after so many days, annoyed at herself for caring that he had not called, and acutely conscious of how they had last met. She studied his face, searching for some glance, some acknowledgment of their encounter by the river.