Endeavouring to retain his habitually impassive mien, Philip reached past them to point to the items arrayed on a bed of black silk in pride of place in the centre of the window. "Those."
"Those" were emeralds. Eyeing the exquisite green gems, set, not in the usual heavily ornate settings, but with an almost Grecian restraint in simple gold, Antonia felt her eyes grow round. Just like the gown in Lafarge's window, the delicate necklace with pendant attached, matching earrings and matching bracelets exerted a charm all their own. She would love to have them—but that was impossible. Even she could tell they were worth the proverbial king's ransom. They were, she suspected, the sorts of gifts a gentleman might give to his mistress, especially were she one of those beings referred to in hushed whispers as "highflyers”—the sort who might qualify for peignoirs from Madame Lafarge. She stifled a sigh. “They're certainly beautiful." Determinedly, she turned away. "There's John."
The carriage was waiting just up from the corner. His face expressionless, Philip stepped back. Without comment, he gave Antonia his arm across the street then handed his stepmother, then her niece into the carriage.
Henrietta leaned forward. "I'd thought to go for a quick turn about the Park—just to let Antonia get a feel for the place. Will you join us?''
Philip hesitated. He shot a glance at Antonia; the shadows of the carriage hid her eyes. She made no move to encourage him. Gracefully, he stepped back. "I think not." Feeling his jaw tighten, he forced his face to impassivity. "I believe I'll look in on my clubs." He executed a neat bow, then shut the door and gave John Coachman the office.
Philip rose late the next day, having spent the evening idly gaming with Hugo Satterly, whom he had opportunely sighted late in the afternoon napping behind a newsheet in White's. After a leisurely dinner, they had moved on to
Brooks and settled in for the evening, a sequence of events so common they had not even bothered to discuss their intent.
Determined to cling to such comfortable routines, he descended his stairs at noon, carefully pulling on his gloves. As he set foot in his hall, the library door opened and Geoffrey looked out.
"Ah—there you are." Grinning engagingly, Geoffrey came forward.
Instantly suspicious, Philip raised one brow. "Yes?"
Geoffrey's grin turned ingenuous. "I wondered if you recalled your promise that you'd help me in town if I kept all of the children out of the lake during the fete?"
"Ah, yes," Philip mused. "As I recall, no one got wet."
"Exactly." All but bouncing on his toes, Geoffrey nodded. "I wondered if you'd consider sponsoring me at Manton's—in return for my sterling efforts?"
His smile was infectious; briefly, Philip returned it. Manton's was, in fact, one of the safer venues for one of Geoffrey's years. "I'll have to speak with Manton himself—he doesn't normally encourage youngsters."
Geoffrey's face fell. "Oh."
"Don't get your hopes too high," Philip advised, turning to accept his cane from Carring who had silently approached. "But he may make an exception." Turning to Geoffrey, he raised his brows. "Provided, that is, that you can handle a pistol?"
"Of course I can! What sort of countryman can't?"
"As to that, I can't say." Extracting a card from his case, Philip handed it to Geoffrey. "If you get caught anywhere, use that. If not, meet me outside Manton's at two."
"Capital!" Eyes glowing, Geoffrey scanned the card, then put it in his pocket. "I'll be there." With a nod, he turned to go, then turned back. "Oh, I say—Antonia mentioned about the riding."
"Ah, yes." Philip waved away the hat Carring offered.
"Would it be a problem if I took one of your horses out in the mornings? I was speaking with your grooms—they seemed to think it was all right—that is, permissible—for me to ride early, say about nine."
"Indeed." Philip nodded. "And yes, before you ask, you can gallop down the tan—as long as you remain on the track. The keepers don't appreciate having their lawns cut to pieces."
"Oh, good!" Geoffrey's face glowed. "Antonia explained how she can't gallop but I thought that might just be one of those feminine things."
"Precisely," Philip replied. With a wave, he headed for the door.
One of those feminine things.
The words returned to haunt Philip as he idly strolled the clipped lawns bordering the carriageway in the Park, his gaze scanning the landaus and barouches wending their way along the fashionable avenue. He had dined well with friends at a select eatery in Jermyn Street, then met Geoffrey at Manton's.
After prevailing on the proprietor to overlook Geoffrey's age, an argument greatly assisted by his protégé’s undeniable skill with a pistol, he had left Geoffrey happily culping wafers and repaired to Gentleman Jackson's Boxing Salon. Declining an invitation to don a pair of gloves and spar with the great man h
imself, an acquaintance of many years, he had strolled the rooms, catching up with cronies and identifying the notables already in town. What gossip there was he had gleaned, then, with no pressing engagement, he had let his feet wander where they would.
They had brought him here. He wasn't sure whether he approved or not.
On the thought, he spied the Ruthven barouche, rolling slowly around the circuit. He raised his arm; his coachman saw him and drew the carriage into the verge. He strolled up as John was explaining his actions.