At the sound of Philip's voice, Frederick Amberly started. "What? Oh—it's you, Ruthven." Consternation showed fleetingly in his eyes. "Didn't expect to meet you here."
"So I perceive." Philip smiled charmingly at the young lady, now clinging wide-eyed to Mr Amberly's arm.
"Beg to make you known to my friends, m'dear." Mr Amberly patted her hand reassuringly. "Miss Mannering and Lord Ruthven—Miss Hitchin."
Miss Hitchin smiled sweetly and gave Antonia her hand; Antonia returned her smile encouragingly and pressed her fingers. Philip bowed, then looked at Frederick Amberly. "Just strolling?"
"I thought the flowers looked so very pretty," Miss Hitchin volunteered somewhat breathlessly. “Mr Amberly very kindly offered to escort me to see them at closer range."
"They really are very lovely," Antonia agreed.
“I had heard there was a rhododendron walk further on." Miss Hitchin looked appealingly at Mr Amberly.
"Ah, yes." Mr Amberly smiled down at her. "We'd best get on if we're to see the bushes then get back to your mama's carriage in good time." He nodded to Antonia. "Your servant, Miss Mannering. Ruthven."
Philip watched them hurry away. "Who would have thought it—a miss just out of the schoolroom, barely old enough to put up her hair?" He shook his head. "Poor Amberly."
"Why 'poor'?" Antonia asked as they started to stroll again.
"Because," Philip explained, "being caught strolling in the Park with a young lady on your arm ostensibly viewing the flowers is tantamount to declaring oneself irretrievably smitten."
They strolled on a few steps before Antonia said, her tone carefully neutral, "You're strolling by the flower-beds with me.
"True—but there's nothing surprising in a man's being smitten with you. But a chit just out of the schoolroom?'' Again, Philip shook his head. "Poor Amberly."
Chapter Eleven
"Well, my dear? Were you impressed with Hugo's flourishes?" Philip extended his arm as Antonia, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling, joined him by the side of Lady Darcy-d'Lisle's ballroom.
"Indeed!" Placing her fingertips on his sleeve, Antonia slanted a playful glance at Hugo. "I cannot recall a more enthusiastic gavotte in all the past weeks."
Hugo's grin turned to a grimace. "Sssh!" Theatrically, he looked about him. "I declare—you'll give me a bad name. Not a rake in London wants to be known as enthusiastic. ''
His expression had Antonia laughing aloud.
Philip savoured the silvery sound. In the last week, Antonia's confidence had steadily grown; his pride and satisfaction had kept pace, swelling at moments like this, feeding his impatience. Suavely, his expression discreetly restrained, he covered her hand with his. "Come. The ball is ended." Her eyes met his. "It's time to go home."
To his house, his library—and their regular nightcap.
To his delight, she blushed delicately, then lifted her head to look across the room. "It appears we'll have to pry Aunt Henrietta from Lady Ticehurst's side."
"Indeed." Philip followed her gaze to where his stepmother was talking animatedly to the Countess. "I'm not at all certain I approve of the connection."
As they started across the floor, Antonia threw him a puzzled look. Philip saw it. He waited until Hugo had taken leave of them before saying, “To my experienced eye, Henrietta is showing alarming signs of involving herself in your youthful friend's affair."
His supposition proved correct; as they strolled up, the Countess was in full flight, declaiming on the wisdom of young ladies allowing their elders to be their matrimonial guides. "For mark my words, it's substance that counts, as my dear niece will be forced to admit." She capped this grim pronouncement with a severe nod, directing a basilisk stare around the ballroom as if searching for dissenters.
Henrietta dutifully nodded, although her expression suggested her opinion was somewhat less trenchantly set.
Antonia watched as Philip applied his not-inconsiderable charm to disengaging Henrietta from her ladyship's side. That accomplished, they found Geoffrey waiting by the door. With smiles and nods, they took leave of their hosts, then descended to their carriage.
As he handed Antonia in, Philip heard his name called.
Turning, he saw Sally Jersey tripping down to her carriage, a distinctly arch look on her face. He replied with a repressive nod. Her ladyship had not been alone in shooting speculative glances his way. Climbing into the carriage, Philip inwardly shrugged. In a few weeks, possibly less, they'd be back at the Manor; thereafter, the rabid interest of the ton would be a matter of no importance, certainly not something he need consider every time he smiled at Antonia. The prospect grew daily more alluring.
Screened by the dark, he settled back against the carriage seat.
Facing him, Antonia sat similarly shrouded by shadows, her thoughts, like Philip's, very much on themselves. Like him, she felt smu