Philip's lips twitched. "I saw no reason why you wouldn't." With that, he lifted her to her saddle.
Antonia made a production of arranging her skirts. By the time she was ready, Geoffrey had joined them; with a nod, Philip led the way out.
A three-mile gallop was precisely what she needed to shake her wits into place. Riding never failed to soothe her; atop a fine horse, she could fly over the fields, beyond the touch of time, beyond the present. It was an escape she had sorely missed over the past eight years; she knew very well no man alive bar Philip would permit her to ride in such a way.
She glanced at him, to her left a half-length in advance, his body flowing easily with the big gelding's stride. Man and horse were both strong; combined they presented a picture of harnessed power.
Quelling a shiver, Antonia looked ahead.
They pulled up on a knoll overlooking green meadows; they had not previously ridden this way. A stone cottage sat in the midst of a small garden, a narrow lane leading to its gate.
"Who lives there?" Antonia leaned forward to pat Raker's sleek neck. "This is still your land, isn't it?"
Philip nodded. “But that patch—'' with his crop, he transcribed the boundaries of what Antonia estimated was a twenty-acre block "—belongs to a recently bereaved widow, a Mrs Mortingdale."
Wheeling slowly, Antonia checked her bearings. "Wouldn't it be sensible for you to purchase it—incorporate it with your holdings? She couldn't be getting much return on such a small piece."
"Yes and no in that order. I've made her an offer but she's yet to come to terms with selling up. I've told Banks to increase the offer slightly and let it stand. She has family elsewhere; she'll come around in time."
Geoffrey was eager to investigate a nearby ridge; Philip nodded and he left with a whoop.
Antonia clicked her reins and set Raker to ford the narrow stream by which they'd paused. "You seem very busy of late." He had spent most of the last two days with Banks. "Surely the estate doesn't normally take so much of your time?"
"No." Slanting her a glance, Philip brought Pegasus alongside. “But it seemed a propitious time to get the books to order."
Antonia frowned. "I would have thought after harvest would be more useful. That's when I did the tallies at Mannering."
Philip's lips quirked; he forced them straight. "Indeed? I rather think, however, that the exigencies I presently face are somewhat different to those you encountered at Mannering."
Puzzled, Antonia glanced at him. "I'm sure they are—I didn't mean to criticise."
Philip's answering glance was distinctly wry. "For which forbearance, my dear, I am truly grateful."
Antonia straightened. "You're talking in riddles."
"Not intentionally." Meeting her sceptical gaze, Philip raised a languid brow. "What do you think of Henrietta's plans for London?''
Antonia hesitated, then shrugged and obediently turned her mind to her aunt's projections. "Leaving in a week seems wise. I would certainly appreciate a little time to accustom myself to the pace before the balls begin—and there's Geoffrey, too." Her brow clouded. "Once the parties start, I doubt I'll have much time to spend with him."
Philip's gaze was on Geoffrey, heading back at a gallop. "Once he finds his way about, I doubt you'll need worry your head over him. I can't see him as a slow-top." Glancing at Antonia, he saw the concern in her eyes. "Of course, given he'll be under my roof, I will, naturally, be keeping an eye on him."
Antonia shot him a surprised look as Geoffrey thundered up. "Oh?"
"Indeed." Wheeling to head home, Philip met her gaze. "The least I can do. In the circumstances."
Antonia blinked. With a brisk nod for Geoffrey, Philip tapped his heels to Pegasus's sides; the chestnut surged. Raker followed. By the time they regained the stables, Antonia had thought better of enquiring as to precisely what circumstances he referred—she wasn't, she decided, ready to deal with his likely answer.
London and the ton—her proving ground—was, after all, still before her.
Philip decided to precede his stepmother and her guests to town, ostensibly to ensure Ruthven House was ready to receive them, in reality to take a quick look-in at his clubs and test the waters of the ton before permitting Antonia or Geoffrey to take a dip in society's sea. Departing one day before them would be enough; leaving early and driving his curricle, he would reach Grosvenor Square by midday, giving him two full days in which to gauge the tide before they arrived on the scene.
He did not, however, intend to leave the Manor before settling one significant point with his stepmother's niece. Time and place were crucial to his cause; he waited until the night before he was to leave, until tea had been taken and the cups stacked on the tray.
Antonia set the tray on the trolley then, turning, headed for the bellpull. Standing before the fireplace, Philip reached out as she passed him, capturing her hand before she reached her objective. Ignoring her surprised look, he spoke to Geoffrey, yawning by the chaise. "I left that book you wanted on the desk in the library."
Geoffrey's eyes brightened. "Oh, good! I'll take it up to bed."
He was already turning to the door. Philip raised a resigned brow—and raised his voice. "Perhaps, when you cross the hall, you could send Fenton in?"