go up there looking likeââ
âLike myself?â She was already through the garden gate with a swinging stride. âMother, this is how I look. If anyone doesnât like it, they can look the other way.â
***
The coach wound through the woods and then burst into the open meadow, which was dotted with far too many sheep for Lady Antoniaâs comfort. She lifted a scented hanky to her nose.
Her ladyâs maid, Martha Quimby, sniffed appreciatively. âJust smell that air, my lady.â
âMust we?â Antonia asked. The country was so earthy sometimes, all shaggy mutton and sniffle-inducing grass and other appallingly fresh things she couldnât identify. âWhy anyone of sense ever leaves London is a mystery to me.â
Unless itâs to go to Paris.
Then the lane straightened and hundred-year-old oaks lined the way. At the end of the long drive, Somerfield Park beckoned, like a prize waiting to be claimed.
Which it most certainly is , Antonia thought as she craned her neck to view it. And a worthy prize at that.
âWell, thereâs a proper place for Quality to lay their heads, if I do say so,â Quimby said. âYour young man must be swimming in lard, so he must.â
âQuimby, please,â Lady Pruett admonished. âSpeaking of money is so gauche.â
Quimby rolled her eyes and sighed. Antonia could practically hear her thinking, If you donât have it, speaking of money is better than nothing.
The ladyâs maid frequently spoke out of turn, but she was also a veritable magpie when it came to collecting information about the bon ton through her connections with other servants. She shared these shiny, often scandalous revelations with her employer with dependable frequency. That, combined with her absolute discretion when it came to being tight-lipped about the family she served, made Quimby worth her weight in gold.
And Quimby was right about Somerfield Park. The manor house was a delight to the eyes, symmetrical and ornate, yet not fussy enough in its embellishments to seem ostentatious. The only thing out of place was the large lilac bush at one corner which looked as if someone had taken a hacksaw to it. No matter. Once Antonia was the marchioness, sheâd have it taken out completely and replaced by topiary in the French style. After her stay in Paris, she adored all things français .
âThe first house we passed on the estate looked a bit shabby, but it appears the main house is in fine repair,â Lord Pruett said.
âWhat do we care about the outbuildings, Papa? Hartley invited us to stay at Somerfield Park. With his family.â
The distinction was not lost on her. This was not a house party with dozens of guests. It was simply her family and his.
âYouâll be wearing a marchionessâs coronet before you know it, my lady,â Quimby said. âHis lordship can hardly have declared himself more clearly.â
âOf course, it would help if the man actually said the words,â Antonia muttered.
But that was an oversight easily mended. If she didnât know how to coax Hartley into saying them, she deserved to return to Surrey to live out her life as a dried-up spinsterâwhich she might, if any suitor looked too closely at the canal shares her father intended to offer as her dowry. Of course, a family as old and venerable as the Barretts, with their vast estate and impeccable connections, didnât need her dowry in any case.
Besides, she loved Lord Hartley. She was almost sure of it. Sure enough to believe Lady Hartley had a fine ring to it indeed.
***
Richard usually rode only in the early mornings, but his mother and grandmother had been pestering him about Miss Goodnight with sidelong looks and outright entreaties all day. He escaped to the stables after luncheon and took Pasha, his favorite Arabian, out for a second punishing ride along the hedgerows. The vigorous activity soothed
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