The door opened and Philip entered. In keeping with her recent habit, Antonia allowed her gaze to rise only as far as the diamond pin in his cravat. It was an effort not to scowl at it. The smile she did manage was decidedly tight.
"Ah, good morning, Ruthven. I trust you slept well?"
Philip shifted his gaze from Antonia to Henrietta; his stepmother's fond smile fed the instant suspicion her words had evoked. "Tolerably well, thank you." Taking his seat at the table's head, Philip nodded to Carring, proffering the coffee pot. "I had intended, ma'am, to ask when you intended to remove to the country."
"Indeed—and that's precisely the point I wish to discuss with you, my lord." Henrietta sat back in her chair. "We have all received an invitation to a houseparty—three or four days in Sussex, just the thing to round off the season."
Philip's hand, carrying his coffee cup, halted in mid-air. "Sussex?"
"Sussex," Henrietta confirmed. "You're included in the invitation, naturally."
"Naturally?" Philip met his stepmother's eye. "Do I know our hosts, by any chance?''
Slightly flustered, Henrietta fluffed her shawls. "You've met the Countess. The party's at Ticehurst Place." She looked up, prepared to be belligerent, fully expecting to have to do battle to gain her ends.
Philip's slowly raised brows, his unexpectedly considering expression, held her silent.
"Ticehurst Place?" Settling back in his chair, Philip sipped his coffee, and cast a quick glance at Antonia's bent head. Her attention appeared wholly focused on a boiled egg, which she was decapitating with military precision. Philip's gaze sharpened. "Three days, I believe you said?"
"Three—possibly four. Starting tomorrow." Henrietta regarded him a trifle warily. "I understand it's to be a smallish gathering."
Philip's gaze flicked her way. "How small?"
Henrietta waved dismissively. "Just the four of us—and the Hammersleys, of course."
"Of course."
When Philip said nothing more, his gaze resting thoughtfully on Antonia, who remained apparently oblivious, Henrietta humphed. "I dare say, if you don't wish to go, we can get along without you."
"On the contrary." Abruptly, Philip sat forward. Setting his cup down, he reached for the platter of ham. “I confess to being somewhat at a loose end. I see no reason I cannot accompany you to Sussex, if you wish it."
Henrietta blinked in amazement; she quickly grabbed the offer. "Indeed—nothing would please me more. I won't conceal from you, my lord, that affairs might become rather touchy—it would be a great relief to me if you were by."
"Consider it settled, then." As he helped himself to three slices of ham, Philip was conscious of Antonia's swift, appraising, distinctly suspicious glance. He resisted the urge to smile wolfishly at her. Time enough for that once he had her at Ticehurst Place—at a houseparty without the party, in what would doubtless prove to be a huge rambling mansion, mostly empty, with large grounds likewise free of unwanted spectators—all of it glorying in one significant advantage.
None of it would be his.
He had spent half the night and all the morning considering the constraints his honour dictated while Antonia remained under his roof, on his lands.
Ticehurst Place was neither. Not his roof, not his grounds.
Open season.
He slanted a quick glance at Antonia, engrossed in slicing a piece of ham to ribbons. Returning his gaze to his plate, Philip allowed himself a smug smile.
At last, at long last, fate had dealt him an ace.
Chapter Thirteen
Late the next morning, Antonia descended the stairs, Henrietta in her wake. Both she and her aunt were ready to depart for Ticehurst Place; they had both elected to breakfast in their bedchambers, Henrietta due to her slow preparations, Antonia due to a sudden conviction that facing Philip over the breakfast table with only Geoffrey for protection was not a sensible undertaking.
There'd been something in his demeanour, a certain intentness in his manner during their
previous evening's parade through the ballrooms that had set her senses on edge. She had no real idea what it was she detected—she was not about to hazard a guess.
As they started down the last flight, Antonia keeping a watchful eye on Henrietta's ponderous progress, the front door opened. Geoffrey strode in, his tall form enveloped in a white drab driving coat sporting quite as many capes as Philip's.
Antonia halted on the last step. "Where on earth did you get that?"