Page List


Font:  

Antonia smiled at him. ‘You said just now that my room was already prepared, Hodge. Was that an untruth?’

‘Merely a slip of the tongue, Miss Antonia,’ he replied blandly. ‘Her ladyship will be delighted to see you, if I may make so bold. She is in the blue parlour. Shall I show you up?’

‘Thank you, no, Hodge. I know the way.’ Antonia whisked upstairs, happy to be back in the reassuring familiarity of her old home. It only lacked Donna to be quite like the old days, but her companion, when Antonia had announced her intention of fleeing to London, had reluctantly agreed to remain behind and supervise the Dower House.

Antonia paused, one hand raised to tap on her great-aunt’s door. She remembered the uncharacteristic blaze of fury on Donna’s face when she realised the lengths to which the Duke had driven her. Antonia had left in the gig with Miss Donaldson’s furious instructions to Jane ringing in her ears: ‘That man is never, never, to be permitted to cross this threshold again. Do you understand?’

Great-Aunt’s hearing was not what it was, so Antonia tapped firmly on the door and peeped round the edge, somewhat concerned that she might give Lady Granger a shock. The old lady was in her eighties and her health was uncertain, despite the recent improvement.

All that was visible was the top of a most elaborate lace cap showing over the back of a heavily brocaded wing chair. A small fire flickered in the grate despite the warmth of the evening and an embroidery stand and a basket of silks had been pushed to one side.

‘Is that you, Hodge?’ Lady Granger’s voice was still as strong and commanding as it always had been. ‘Has that fool of a grandson of mine gone? Thinks I do not know why he comes round! Sits there prattling on and all the time measuring me for my coffin with those wishy-washy eyes and wondering about my will. Pshaw! Does he think I am a fool?’

Antonia smiled to herself. The old lady was as outspoken as many of her contemporaries brought up in the more robust manners of the reign of the second George. She was quite likely to use intemperate language and could be open in her admiration for a comely young man in a way that caused blushes and giggles amongst younger women.

Antonia adored her great-aunt and was about to call her name when the old lady demanded, ‘And bring me my brandy, Hodge. Take away the taste of that bloodless sherry Hewitt pressed upon me.’

Antonia picked up the tray from the side table, carried it round and placed it before her aunt.

‘Good Gad! Antonia, my child, is it really you?’ Lady Granger held out her arms and Antonia went into them, enveloped in a cloud of rose scent, rice face powder and lace. ‘It does my heart good to see you.’

‘I am sorry to come with no warning. I hope it is not a shock, Great-Aunt.’ Antonia sat on a footstool beside Lady Granger and took her hand. She was shocked at how thin and papery the skin felt, but under her fingers the pulse beat strongly and the old eyes were bright and shrewd. ‘Reading your letter, I was so happy that you are feeling better, that I wanted to take up your invitation immediately.’

It sounded false even to her own ears and Lady Granger was not fooled. ‘Now tell me the real reason you are here,’ she demanded. She tipped up Antonia’s chin with a bony fingertip and peered into her face. ‘Some man has made those shadows under your eyes, I suppose. Who is he?’

Chapter Twenty Two

Antonia was shaken into honesty by the old lady’s directness. ‘Marcus Renshaw, the Duke of Allington.’

‘Allington, eh?’ A mischievous glint lit Lady Granger’s eyes. ‘And is he as handsome a dog as his grandfather, I wonder? Now there was a man with a fine leg in a pair of satin knee breeches. A man with a true damn-your-eyes attitude to life!’ She cackled reminiscently. ‘I nearly married him, but he was too much a rakehell, even for me.’

'His grandson is handsome, right enough,’ Antonia admitted ruefully. ‘And arrogant, and a rake.’

‘And you love him, I suppose?’

‘Yes.’ Antonia admitted.

The old lady held up an admonishing finger. ‘Do not dare cry, girl. Remember who you are and keep your pride. They are none

of them worth a single tear, and I should know.’

Antonia bit her lip. ‘I am not crying over him.’ She was beginning to believe the rumours she had heard about her great-aunt: that she had been a great beauty, the mistress of powerful men, even, it was hinted, one of the highest in the land.

The bright gaze suddenly froze on her face. ‘Why have you run away, girl? Has he been playing fast and loose with you? Have you permitted him any liberties? I recall Edmund Renshaw and his winning ways with the ladies. If his grandson has seduced you, he will find himself down the aisle before the week is out, if I have to take a shotgun to him myself.’

‘No,’ Antonia denied, blushing hotly, remembering how close she had come to yielding to the urging of his hard body on the riverbank that night, remembering her responses to his mouth on hers in the conservatory.

‘Indeed, miss!’ Great-Aunt took a sip of her brandy and fell silent as Mrs Hodge brought in a light meal, laid the table and departed with a curtsy.

She brooded quietly as Antonia ate, then, when she finally pushed away the plate, asked, ‘What is the matter then, that you have come to me?’

‘He does not love me and I cannot bear to be near him and his mistress a moment longer,’ Antonia admitted, getting to her feet and crossing to the window to look out on the street below. It was full dark now, except for the lanterns at each doorway.

‘Keeping a mistress, is he? Clumsy fool to let you know. Young men these days are losing their finesse. His grandfather would never have paraded his fancy piece in front of a girl he was courting. Has he made you any sort of declaration?’

‘He has proposed marriage and I have refused.’

‘Glad to hear you have that much spirit, my girl. And I am glad you had the sense to come to me although, with the Season over, Town is thin of company.’ Lady Granger mused for a while. ‘Difficult to think of an available man who might take your mind off that rake. Marcus Renshaw is very eligible,’ she said with a sigh. ‘I doubt you will ever make such a good catch again, but the important thing is that you are happy.


Tags: Louise Allen Historical