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An Innocent Deceit
Gail Whitiker


A Lady's DeceptionWhen the Earl of Carlyle suddenly decides to leave London to become better acquainted with the young daughter he barely knows, Miss Antonia Hadley's plans go awry. Believing the man abandoned his daughter, Antonia has no compunction about persuading the earl's servants to help her deceive him. Determined to help little Clara overcome her fear of horses, Antonia teaches her to ride, under the guise of a Mr. Anthony Davlin. Soon the earl notices something just a bit odd about his daughter's riding instructor. Can Antonia keep her secret, or will Carlyle expose her innocent deceit?









“Miss Hadley, I have the distinct impression that you do not like me.”


“My lord, I cannot imagine why you would say such a thing.”

“Nevertheless, I have been aware of the chill in your voice from the occasion of our first meeting. Have I offended you in some way, Miss Hadley? Were you annoyed that I sought you out in the music room?”

“My lord, I can assure you that I was neither offended nor annoyed by your appearance that morning. I really do not know what else to say except…”

Carlyle placed the tips of his fingers gently against her lips. “Then say nothing. Because I would far rather imagine that you might miss me than hear from your lips that you should not.”




An Innocent Deceit

Gail Whitiker





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




GAIL WHITIKER


Originally hailing from Pembrokeshire, England, Gail Whitiker now lives on beautiful Vancouver Island on the west coast of Canada. When she isn’t indulging her love of writing, you’ll find her enjoying brisk walks along the island’s many fine beaches, or trying to catch up on her second love, reading. She wrote her first novel when she was in her teens, and still blesses her English teacher for not telling her how bad it really was.




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen




Chapter One


‘No, my dear, I am very sorry, but I really cannot agree to the idea of your working for the Earl of Carlyle,’ Mr Hadley told his daughter regretfully, ‘and certainly not in the capacity you have just set forward.’

‘But, Papa—’

‘Why, only think what your aunt would say if she were to hear of it. Indeed, I wonder what your dear mother would have said, had she lived to see what you were about.’

Miss Antonia Hadley, recipient of this most disappointing news, shook her head in a gesture of mild resignation. While she had not expected this to be easy, neither had she expected her father to be so rigidly opposed to what she considered to be a perfectly splendid idea.

‘I venture to say that aunt Ophelia will be shocked and horrified, as no doubt you already suspect, and that she will shake her head and wonder if there is any hope for me at all. But as regards Mama,’ Antonia said, her voice softening, ‘I believe that she would have applauded my ingenuity and commended me to proceed. As I truly wish you could see your way clear to doing, Papa. After all, we did agree that I had to do something.’

Seated behind his desk Mr Hadley glanced up at his daughter in surprise. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Well, yes. Do you not remember?’

‘What I remember is that you informed me that it was your intention to seek employment, whereupon I informed you that it was neither necessary nor fitting that you do so. Is that not more the way the conversation went?’

Antonia tried not to smile, but failed. Odious man. He might have been able to persuade others of his absent-mindedness, but he had never been able to fool her. He was now, as he had always been, in possession of an annoyingly retentive memory.

‘You may be right, now that I come to think of it, Papa,’ Antonia allowed grudgingly, ‘but that does not alter the fact that I should very much like to do something with my time. After all, I am nearly twenty years of age, yet all I seem to do is write letters and pay tedious house calls.’

‘Tedious?’ Mr Hadley frowned. ‘I thought young ladies liked paying house calls.’

‘Not every day.’

‘Well, then, what about the management of Buntings Hill? Surely that is more than enough to occupy your time, since you do it almost single-handedly.’

‘Tosh! Mrs Grenfall is in charge of the household now. All I do is review the accounts and approve the meals, and goodness knows, even that requires little enough of my time. But if I were working for the Earl, I should be required to spend…at least two hours a day at Ashdean. Which is why I think this is the best opportunity to have come along so far.’

‘The best opportunity?’ Mr Hadley chuckled as he removed his spectacles and wiped them with a remnant of cloth which deposited far more dust than it removed. ‘My dear girl, this does not even approach the designation of a good opportunity, let alone one deserving of a higher commendation. For a young woman in your position, I would have thought that an offer of employment from the Dowager Countess of Haversham would have been far more worthy of your consideration.’

‘Lady Haversham?’

‘Yes. She is looking for a companion.’

‘What, again? What happened to Miss Marchmaine?’

‘I understand the young lady left to take care of her elderly mother.’

‘But…she already has two younger sisters at home doing just that.’

Mr Hadley leaned back in his chair, and steepled his fingers in front of his face. ‘Perhaps the mother’s health took a turn for the worst and the sisters felt compelled to call Miss Marchmaine home. I really do not know, Antonia, that was all Mrs Heath was able to tell me when I chanced to come upon her in the village yesterday. However, I do think it a more appropriate position for a lady than to be a groom in the household of the Earl of Carlyle.’

Antonia’s mouth twitched. ‘I am not applying to be a groom, Papa. The Earl is looking for someone to teach his daughter how to ride.’

‘Semantics. It entails working with horses, does it not?’

‘Yes, which is precisely why I wish to apply. You have told me that I am an exceptional rider—’

‘Much as I am beginning to wish that I had not—’

‘And you know that I enjoy working with children,’ Antonia continued, ignoring his interruption. ‘This provides me with an opportunity to do both.’

‘Children?’ Mr Hadley regarded her with a suddenly hopeful expression. ‘My dear, if it is the company of children you seek, perhaps it is Lady Cruikshank’s offer you should be considering.’

‘Lady Cruikshank? But—’ Antonia paled ‘—surely you cannot mean as governess to those five wretched children of hers?’

‘Well, yes, actually, I do. Why, what have they done?’

‘Only retire three governesses in the past nine months. And last week, even the housekeeper threatened to quit!’

‘Good Lord, Mrs Mortonby? Whatever for?’

‘It seems that she found a reptile in her bed.’

‘A reptile?’

‘A snake.’

‘Oh, dear. Common garden variety, I hope.’

Antonia blinked. ‘Does it matter?’

‘Well, yes, my dear, I rather think it does. After all, one would be considerably more alarmed at finding a viper in their bed than a harmless—’

‘The fact that she found any manner of snake in her bed—and that it was put there by those dreadful children—is reason enough for me to wish to stay well away from them, Papa,’ Antonia interrupted, aware that her father was just as like to embark on a biological discussion as he was to give her a straightforward answer. ‘Goodness knows, a lady of weaker constitution might have…expired from the discovery of such a creature in her bed.’

‘Ah. Well, in that case, I doubt that Mrs Mortonby was in any real danger,’ said Mr Hadley as he set the smudged spectacles back on his nose. ‘Of the two, I would wager that the snake was the more terrified. However, given that no one was hurt, I do not see that there is any reason for endowing what was obviously a childish prank with any malicious intent. Certainly, I was not above doing such things when I was their age.’

‘Which is the only reason I can think of for you to have suggested that I look after them in the first place,’ Antonia said wryly. ‘I thought I had been a better daughter to you than to warrant being condemned to such a cruel fate as that.’

‘You have been the best of daughters, my dear, and I would not knowingly condemn you to any fate but one of your own choosing,’ her father replied fondly. ‘But in all sincerity, I cannot be happy about this notion of yours to seek a position with the Earl of Carlyle.’

Antonia sighed as she crossed to the window seat and picked up her copy of La Belle Assemblée. This was not turning out at all as she had hoped. In her opinion, Lady Cruikshank and Lady Haversham were two of a kind, which was likely the real reason for Miss Marchmaine’s departure. Both women possessed an uncanny knack for retiring any and all manner of domestic help with alarming haste and disturbing regularity.

‘Well, my dear?’ Mr Hadley said. ‘You have not yet answered my question. Is it your intention to approach the Earl with regard to this position?’

‘I am not sure that I know what to do any more, Papa,’ Antonia replied in all honesty. ‘While teaching the Earl’s daughter how to ride would be eminently preferable to serving as a companion to Lady Haversham, or as a governess to Lady Cruikshank, it is obvious that it would cause you more grief than the other two put together, and I certainly have no wish to do that.’

Mr Hadley sighed. ‘What grieves me the most, Antonia, is that you feel the need to seek any manner of employment. You are a beautiful and accomplished young woman. One whom any man would be proud to call his wife. To my mind, you should be thinking about marrying the Earl, not seeking employment in his household!’

‘Marry the Earl!’ Antonia gasped. ‘Gracious, Papa, what an alarming thought.’

‘You find the thought of becoming a Countess alarming?’

‘I find the thought of becoming Carlyle’s Countess alarming,’ Antonia replied without hesitation. ‘He is a cold and arrogant man who cares little for the feelings of others, and who takes no trouble to conceal it. I cannot think of any man to whom I would less wish to be married.’

‘Goodness, a harsh condemnation indeed,’ Mr Hadley observed. ‘But one, I wonder, which is based upon your own assessment of the gentleman’s character, or upon the opinions of others? For unless I am mistaken, you have not had occasion even to see Lord Carlyle these past eight years, let alone speak with him.’

Antonia felt her cheeks grow warm. ‘It is not always necessary to speak to a gentleman to know the manner of his character. I have heard from more than one source that Lord Carlyle is an exceedingly arrogant man who is very much aware of his position in society, and who prefers not to associate with people of a lesser social consequence as a result. Which means that he is no more likely to notice me than he is…a fly upon his wall.’

The remark brought a smile to her father’s face. ‘I think that the stories which have reached your ear have been somewhat exaggerated, my dear. I have not heard tales of such colossal arrogance myself. But tell me, if Lord Carlyle were to notice you, and if he were to seek you out, would you entertain his suit?’

‘No.’

‘No. You would refuse a peer of the realm simply because of something one of your friends had said?’

‘I would refuse him because I do not like him, Papa,’ Antonia said, wishing she could make her father understand. ‘We have absolutely nothing in common. Everyone knows that Lord Carlyle despises the country. He has made no secret of the fact that he prefers to live in London, where he keeps a very fine house and a veritable army of servants to dance attendance upon him. Whereas I, on the other hand, can think of nowhere I would rather live than here at Buntings Hill with you.’

‘Bless you for saying so, my child, but the fact that Lord Carlyle prefers to live in London cannot be held against him,’ Mr Hadley said reasonably. ‘He is the Earl, after all, and entitled to the privileges of his rank. I do not see that as being a valid reason to reject him outright.’

‘No, but that is not the only reason, Papa.’ Antonia turned her eyes towards the lush green hills that were visible through the window, and sighed. ‘When you consider that he has no feelings for his child—’

‘I beg your pardon? Lord Carlyle not care for Clara? Now that I must take exception to.’ Mr Hadley’s brows drew downward in a frown. ‘Where in the world did you come by such a ridiculous notion as that?’

‘It is not ridiculous, nor am I the only one who believes it,’ Antonia said in her own defence. ‘Lord Carlyle took Clara to Ashdean immediately following his wife’s death, and left her there for two years. And in all that time, how many visits has he paid her?’

‘Few enough, I admit, but the paucity of his visits cannot be interpreted as a lack of affection on his part,’ Mr Hadley objected. ‘A parent’s love for his child should never be measured by the frequency—or infrequency—of his visits. I am sure that the Earl would have wished to spend more time with Clara, but for his position in life—’

‘His position in life does not justify negligence towards his child,’ Antonia said tersely. She rose from the window seat and began to pace back and forth in front of her father’s desk. ‘Your charity does you credit, Papa, but in this instance, I find I cannot agree with it. If Lord Carlyle truly cared about his daughter, he would have found the time to visit her. Instead, he continues to leave her in the country, all but abandoned to the care of servants, and only makes his presence known when it pleases him to do so. Hardly commendable behaviour for a father to my way of thinking!’

Mr Hadley studied his daughter’s angry face, whilst an expression of amusement appeared on his own.

‘Antonia, if you dislike the man so intensely, why are you even thinking about working for him?’

‘Because I like his daughter very much and I know that she needs my help.’ Antonia’s voice gentled as it always did when she spoke of the Earl of Carlyle’s daughter. ‘Lady Clara is a sweet and intelligent child who is quick to respond and remarkably eager to learn. But she is lonely, Papa. She lives in that great house all on her own, with only the servants and her spaniel for company, and her father seems quite content to leave it that way. Well, I am not. A six-year-old child needs love and affection, and I believe that the opportunity of teaching Clara how to ride would be a wonderful experience for both of us. And that, I can assure you, is the only reason I would consider working for her father.’

‘Well, I still think you judge him too harshly, my dear,’ Mr Hadley said, returning his attention to the papers on his desk. ‘Lord Carlyle has not led a happy life. Have you forgotten that in the space of a few short years, he lost both a father whom he loved and a beautiful young wife?’

Antonia shook her head as she gave up pacing to lean against the edge of his desk. ‘I have not forgotten. But neither do I believe that his prolonged indifference to Clara can be justified by the tragic events of the past. Lady Carlyle has been gone well over two years. Surely that is long enough for the Earl to have recovered from his grief.’

‘Perhaps. But you must remember that not everyone is like you, Antonia,’ her father said gently. ‘Not everyone behaves in exactly the same way, especially when it comes to matters of the heart. And at such times, you would do well to be more tolerant of those whose behaviours differ from your own. At least until you find yourself in a similar position.’

A quick glance at her father’s face assured Antonia that nothing would be gained by prolonging the argument now and, grudgingly accepting defeat, she slowly began to smile. ‘Dear Papa. I must be such a strain on your patience. No doubt you are wondering why you were not blessed with an obedient daughter who would have married and had children, and not given you any cause for concern. I would have been a good deal less troublesome, would I not?’

‘You would,’ her father agreed, ‘but then you would not have been my Toni, and I cannot imagine you being any other way than you are. However, I do understand what you are saying. You wish to help the child—without encouraging the father.’

‘Precisely.’

‘Because you have absolutely no interest in the Earl of Carlyle as a husband.’

‘None whatsoever.’

‘Fine. Then I suppose there is nothing for it but that we send you up to London for the Season as your aunt has suggested. It is only fair that you be given an opportunity to meet the right kind of gentlemen, and I doubt very much that you will do that here.’

Antonia’s face softened. ‘Papa, you know that the cost of a Season is well beyond our means at present, and pray do not try to pretend that it is otherwise. I have seen Mr Ludlow come and go any number of times these past few weeks, and I know what that means.’

‘The fact that a gentleman speaks to his man of business need not signify that we are under the hatches, Antonia,’ her father said wryly.

‘No, but I am well aware that our income is no longer sufficient to ensure the adequate maintenance of the property. Only look at the sorry state of the gardens, Papa,’ Antonia said, returning to the window and waving her hand in the direction of the gardens which, once immaculate, were now sadly overgrown with grass and weeds. ‘We can no longer afford the services of a gardener, and only last week Abbott informed me that a new hole had appeared in the stable roof.’

‘I have spoken to Mr Ludlow regarding the roof, and he has assured me that there is money enough to see to its repair. As regards your going up to London for the Season, I intend to speak to Ophelia and—’

‘Oh, no, Papa, pray do not!’ Antonia said with a groan. ‘We both know there will be little enough to be gained for your trouble. Aunt Ophelia will not settle any money on me until I am married, and I certainly do not intend to rush into marriage simply to appease her.’

‘You must try not to think too harshly of your aunt, my dear. No doubt Ophelia is only doing what she believes to be in your best interests.’

Antonia’s lips compressed into a narrow line. Lady Farrington, her mother’s eldest sister, was in possession of a considerable sum of money which Antonia’s grandmother had set aside for her dowry—money which would have significantly eased the constraints under which she and her father were currently living. Unfortunately, Lady Farrington now seemed reluctant to part with the money, saying that, as Antonia was nearly twenty, and still showing no inclinations towards marriage, it was incumbent upon her to hold on to the money until such time as she felt her niece was responsible enough to look after it herself. Which meant, of course, being married.

As such, Antonia had endeavoured to forget about her inheritance and to look elsewhere for the funds which would support them. This was why the position of riding master to the Earl of Carlyle’s six-year-old daughter Clara had appealed so much.

Antonia had met the Earl’s daughter a year earlier, at the Christmas party held at the vicarage. Lady Clara, a delicate child with the most astonishing blue eyes Antonia had ever seen, had been brought to the party by her governess in the hopes that the child would meet and mingle with other children her own age. But when Lady Clara had arrived at the entrance to the crowded room and seen upwards of thirty-five little boys and girls, all intent upon their games, she had stopped dead, clearly overwhelmed by the sights and sounds of so many children laughing and playing within.

Fortunately, Antonia had been standing close to the door and had noticed the child’s dismay at once. She had wondered at it too—until she had learned that it was the Earl of Carlyle’s daughter who stood so timidly in the doorway—and then all had become clear. Lady Clara had never been exposed to a Christmas party like this before and, no doubt after the solitude of Ashdean, it had all seemed rather frightening.

With that in mind, Antonia had quickly made her way to one of the sweet tables and selected a piece of gingerbread which had been baked in the shape of a little boy. After exchanging a few words with the child’s governess, Antonia had bent down to greet the Lady Clara, smiling all the while into those wide blue eyes, and had tried to put the child at ease.

At first, Clara had continued to play shy. She had hidden behind her governess’s skirts, peeping out at Antonia with reluctant curiosity, and then ducking back behind Eva’s skirts again. But when the gingerbread man had tentatively been offered, Clara had slowly come forward. Her glance had gone from the face of the pretty lady, to the pastry and then back again, and when, eventually, a chubby little hand had reached out to take the treat, Clara had glanced up at Antonia with those incredible blue eyes—and smiled.

It was a smile which had brought about Antonia’s total capitulation. It had wrapped around her heart, captivating her with its total innocence and convincing her of the child’s heart-wrenching need to be loved.

After that, Antonia had taken pains to visit Lady Clara at Ashdean at least once, and sometimes twice, a week. They would sit together in the nursery and read, or go for long walks through the park. Or sometimes they would just sit in the orchard and look at the clouds drifting by overhead. They had laughed together over the silliest of things, and it was during those early days that the bond between Antonia and Clara had truly been forged.

But it was in more recent days that Antonia had discovered something about the child which had given her genuine cause for alarm. Something she had not even guessed at before.

Clara was afraid of horses. On the few occasions they had walked past the stables, or when they had stood watching the gentle cart horses as they grazed peacefully in a field, Antonia had seen the fear in the child’s eyes, and the way she had held back.

And that had shaken Antonia. Because she knew all too well what it could mean. She had already witnessed, in the most terrifying and personal way possible, what fear could do to a child. Which was why, when Eva had let slip that his lordship was looking for someone to teach Clara how to ride, there had been no question in Antonia’s mind as to what she had to do.

She had to secure the position. It was imperative that she be the one to introduce Clara to horses, and to the art of riding them. Because she had to try to banish the child’s fear. Antonia shuddered to think what might happen if Clara was to be taught by someone who did not recognise that failing in the child, or who tried to force it out of her.

From a practical point of view, the position also offered Antonia a solution to her other dilemma; namely, the finding of additional funds for the ongoing maintenance of Buntings Hill, a problem which, despite her father’s protestations to the contrary, Antonia knew to be of growing concern.

Lastly, it would spare her the tedium of having to sit as a companion to a fussy old lady like Lady Haversham, or to be responsible for the care of a brood of obnoxious, ill-mannered children like Lady Cruikshank’s. Now, if she could only convince her father of its eminent advantages, everything would be just—

‘Antonia, are you listening to me?’

‘Hmm?’ Antonia looked up, and then guiltily shook her head. ‘Forgive me, Papa, I was not. What were you saying?’

‘I was saying, that, quite apart from my reluctance to see you proceed with this, you should be aware that far more formidable objections may arise from the Earl of Carlyle himself. It is well known that he is loathe to take on female servants.’

That was a truism which Antonia had already been forced to consider. Apart from Lady Clara’s governess and Mrs Griffiths, the cook, there was not another female servant in the Earl of Carlyle’s employ, either here, or at his home in London.

‘I realise that the Earl is not generally known for his hiring of female staff,’ Antonia conceded, ‘but in this instance, I cannot help but feel that once he is made aware of all the advantages, he will have to recognise the wisdom of hiring me. For one thing, I am already acquainted with his daughter and get on with her exceedingly well. She trusts me, Papa, and you know how important that trust will be if I am to teach her to ride properly.’

‘I do not take exception to that, my dear, but that does not mean that Lord Carlyle will see it in a similar light. You must be prepared for the fact that he may dash your hopes far more quickly and effectively than I.’

It was an irrefutable point, and one which brought home to Antonia—as reluctant as she was to admit it—just how slim were the chances of her actually securing the position. She had not had any formal training in the teaching of young children, and it was an undeniable fact that nearly all riding masters were men.

She sighed, and clasped her slender hands together in front of her. ‘You are right, Papa. My wishing to work for the Earl does make little sense, and for any number of reasons. It was…foolish of me to bother you with it in the first place.’

‘My dear girl, I never said that you were bothering me. And I am certainly not telling you that you may not go and speak to the Earl, if that is truly what you wish to do.’

‘You are not?’

‘No. Because I know that if I do not allow you to do this, I shall be forced to listen to endless tales of woe regarding Lady Cruikshank’s horrible offspring or Lady Haversham’s appalling habits. And I think that such a litany of grief would be far more wearing on my patience than forbidding you to try for the position in the first place.’ Mr Hadley picked up his pen and fiddled with the nib. ‘I simply thought that…given what happened to…Edwina, you would have felt…differently about the position.’

Antonia glanced at her father, and realised that she had finally discovered what lay at the root of his concerns. ‘Dearest Papa. It is because of what happened to Edwina that I feel so strongly about this. I would hate to think that…but for a lack of training, such a terrible thing could happen to Clara.’

‘Yes, I see that, Antonia, and I can only commend your selflessness for wishing to become involved. I know that it will not be easy. That is why I say you may go and approach the Earl. In the end, he shall be the one to make the decision.’

‘Thank you, Papa, thank you!’ Antonia wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed the top of his head. ‘You are truly the best of fathers!’

‘Yes, well, I am sure there are many who would disagree with your assessment,’ he said ruefully. ‘I only hope that if your mother is looking down upon me now, she is not shaking her head and wondering at my giving you your way—again.’

Antonia smiled affectionately. ‘I do not see how she could be, Papa. You know that Mama always encouraged me to follow my heart. But I promise that you shall have no cause to regret your decision. The Earl is a wealthy man, and if I am fortunate enough to secure the position, I am sure he will be far more generous to his employees than would be either Lady Haversham or Lady Cruikshank.’

‘That remains to be seen, Antonia, as does whether or not you will even be invited to apply,’ Mr Hadley cautioned her. ‘But go and try your luck regardless. I wager I’ll hear soon enough what the Earl has to say.’

As Antonia dashed from the room, Mr Hadley paused in his writings and raised his eyes to the full-length portrait of his wife which hung on the wall opposite his desk. It was a particular favourite of his, for it had captured, at the very peak of her beauty, a woman who had loved deeply, and who had been deeply loved in return.

‘Yes, she is just like you, my dear. Headstrong and impulsive,’ Mr Hadley murmured affectionately. ‘Goodness knows, I could never stop you from doing what you truly wanted to either. But have I made a mistake by allowing her this freedom, Elizabeth? For as admirable as Antonia’s motives are, I fear that she may be in for something of a disappointment when she comes up against the Earl.’ Mr Hadley’s brows flickered a little. ‘Carlyle is not a happy man, beloved, nor an indulgent one. He has been…changed by the tragic events of the past. And I do believe that he is one gentleman who will not allow our dear girl to have her own way, every time she asks for it!’



Not surprisingly, Mr Hadley was not the only one to view his daughter’s choice of occupation with apprehension. Antonia’s closest friend, the Honourable Catherine Shand, was equally flabbergasted by the notion of Antonia seeking employment in the raffish Earl’s household, though for reasons of an entirely different nature.

‘Of course your father would be opposed to you working for the Earl,’ Catherine said as the two of them sat together in the Rose Room at Shand Hall later that day. ‘Apart from the fact that his only daughter is actively seeking employment, he cannot be pleased at knowing that the position she aspires to is in the Earl of Carlyle’s household.’

Antonia sighed. ‘Yes, I know. The Earl is not inclined towards hiring females.’

‘It is not only that, Toni. Lord Carlyle has gained a very bad reputation of late.’

‘A reputation? For what?’

Catherine set her cup down on the tray and moved to sit beside Antonia on the settee. ‘For wicked and dissolute behaviour!’

Antonia’s honey-tipped lashes flew up. ‘No!’

‘Oh, yes. Apparently, he has taken to staying out until all hours of the night, gambling at the very worst of the hells, and frequenting the most notorious of clubs. There were even rumours about his being challenged to a duel by a French Count, though details surrounding that particular contretemps are very difficult to come by.’

A shaft of late-afternoon sunlight suddenly pierced the room, bathing Antonia’s cap of honey-coloured curls in a warm golden light. ‘Is he still accepted by good Society?’ she asked.

‘Oh, to be sure. But when he does attend an event, he flirts with all of the eligible young ladies, but pays not a serious mind to any one of them.’

‘But why would he do such a thing?’ Antonia asked, not even attempting to hide her surprise. ‘Lady Clara has need of a mother—and Carlyle an heir. Surely he wishes to marry again. In fact, did I not hear that he was enamoured of the Lady Helen Cartland?’

‘He might be, but not as enamoured as he is reputed to be of…pretty ballet dancers and actresses,’ Catherine said, blushing hotly.

Antonia gasped. ‘Actresses and ballet dancers! Goodness, Kitty, wherever did you hear such a thing?’

‘From Lady Dalrymple, of course. I overheard her telling Mama that, on her last visit to London, she chanced to see Lord Carlyle going into Covent Garden. He was escorting an exceedingly handsome young woman, but one whose manner of dress and comportment led Lady Dalrymple to believe that she was not a member of respectable Society.’

‘Lady Dalrymple? That old tattlemonger!’ Antonia snapped. ‘I sometimes wonder whether she does not…make up all of her outrageous stories simply in an attempt to draw attention to herself.’

‘I am quite sure that she does, Toni, but not this time I fear. The very next day, Lady Brocklehurst—who, as you know, is a great friend of Lady Dalrymple’s—happened to encounter the same young woman as she was coming out of the very shop which Lady Brocklehurst herself was about to enter. Apparently the young woman was wearing an exquisite ruby necklace. A necklace she hinted, quite boldly, had been given to her by her wealthy and very handsome benefactor!’

Antonia’s smooth brow furrowed. ‘But…if she did not mention Lord Carlyle by name, why would Lady Brocklehurst simply assume that it was the Earl to whom the young woman had been referring? I have heard that many wealthy gentlemen keep—well, that is to say—it could have been any one of a number of…others.’

‘It could. Except that Lord Carlyle’s penchant for giving rubies to…certain types of young women is well known around London.’

‘And I suppose that bit of information was also supplied by Lady Dalrymple?’

At her girlfriend’s nod, Antonia frowned in irritation. At the moment, she was not sure which of the two people she liked less. Lord knew, she was no admirer of Lady Dalrymple. The woman was an insatiable gabble-grinder who Antonia took pains to avoid meeting in the street. But neither was her opinion of Lord Carlyle improved by the information she had just received. Certainly his predilection for pretty young actresses and ladies of…questionable virtue did nothing to lessen her feelings of contempt towards him. If anything, it only served to strengthen her resolve to try to protect Clara from his influence.

Antonia had never actually been introduced to the handsome Earl of Carlyle. Nor—as her father had pointed out—had she had anything to do with him for the past eight or nine years. The last time she had seen him was when she had been just eleven years old, and he had just returned from London after his marriage to the beautiful Lady Violet Pelham.

At the time, the residents of Upper Tipping had been all agog with the news that the young lord was bringing his new bride to Ashdean. Antonia herself had looked forward to the occasion, though she had little recollection of it now. She did remember that the exquisite young lady who had stepped down from the old Earl’s carriage had been dressed all in blue, from the tip of her elegant feathered bonnet to the heels of her soft, kid slippers.

But while the new Viscountess had been undeniably beautiful, it had soon become evident that she was not at all taken with life in the country. She did not like to ride, nor did she enjoy walking along the tree-shaded lanes. Consequently, it had come as no surprise to anyone when, little more than two weeks later, the Viscount and his young wife had packed up their belongings and headed back to Town.

In the years that followed, two significant events had taken place. The first was the death of the old Earl and the ascension of his son to the title. The second was the birth of a daughter to the new Earl and Countess of Carlyle.

The latter news had been greeted with the kind of joy typically reserved for such great occasions, and there had been much celebrating, both in Town and in Upper Tipping. Tragically, however, it was a joy which had been short-lived. The Countess’s health had begun to fail. She had endured a difficult and protracted birthing and, frail creature that she was, had never fully recovered from it. Thus, when she had contracted influenza a few years later, the doctors had known that there was little hope. She had died less than six months after, leaving Carlyle, at nine and twenty, solely responsible for the care of his then four-year-old daughter, Clara.

Not surprisingly, Lord Carlyle had returned to the country at once. He had lavished money on the nursery at Ashdean in preparation for the infant’s stay, and had hired an army of servants to see to her care. But as soon as all of the arrangements had been made, he had returned to London and stayed there, visiting his daughter only when called upon by duty or necessity to do so.

‘Well, I do not care a fig for what Lord Carlyle does,’ Antonia professed. ‘It is his daughter’s welfare that I am concerned with, and since Clara is the one to whom I intend to devote my time, the less I have to do with her father, the better.’

‘I suppose, though he is very handsome, Toni.’ Catherine’s voice took on a wistful quality. ‘Cynthia Prescott told me that she near fainted dead away when she saw him at Almack’s, with all that dark, wavy hair and those incredible blue eyes. She said that the colour reminded her of the sky on a summer’s day.’

‘The sky on a summer—? Really, Kitty, you make Lord Carlyle sound like one of those…heroes in those Gothic novels you are forever reading.’

‘I am only repeating what Cynthia told me,’ Catherine retorted defensively. ‘You can see for yourself when you speak to him about the position.’

Antonia began to fiddle with the lace edging on her sleeve. ‘Actually, I am hoping that I shall not have to see him about it…at all.’

‘Not see him?’ Catherine glanced at her best friend in astonishment. ‘But how can you possibly avoid it?’

Antonia shrugged. ‘I do not think it will be all that difficult, given Lord Carlyle’s antipathy for the country. His steward will likely be handling all of the arrangements.’

‘But surely the Earl will at least wish to see the applicants before the final selection is made,’ Catherine objected. ‘He would hardly commit his daughter to the care of someone he hasn’t even met.’

‘Why not? He was not around much for the first six years of Clara’s life, why would he feel compelled to be around for the next few?’ Antonia argued. ‘All Lord Carlyle requires of a riding master is that he be able to teach his daughter to sit a horse competently and to look good into the bargain. I have no doubt that I can do that as well, or better, than any old riding master from London.’

‘And what about Lord Carlyle’s refusal to employ women?’

‘Ah, now that did give me some cause for concern,’ Antonia confessed, ‘but I do believe I have come up with a rather brilliant idea for circumventing the problem.’

Catherine saw the twinkle in her friend’s eye and warily shook her head. ‘Toni, what scheme are you concocting now? I know that look, and I know that it bodes no good!’

‘Tosh, it is a perfectly splendid idea, and one which will work very well if, as I suspect, Lord Carlyle will not be present for the interviews.’

‘Are you going to tell me what this perfectly splendid idea is?’

‘Not just at the moment. I still have a few more details to work out.’

Clearly disappointed, Catherine’s pretty mouth turned downward. ‘I think you might at least have given me a hint, Toni. After all, I am your closest friend. But what if Lord Carlyle still finds out the truth of your identity, despite your splendid idea?’

Antonia reached towards the tray and took a plain biscuit. ‘I am hoping that by that time, I will have been able to persuade his steward that I am more than capable of filling the position, and that the steward, in turn, will have been able to convince the Earl of the same. Lord Carlyle will not be looking for complications in his life, Kitty. Consequently, it only follows that if matters are proceeding according to plan, and his daughter is happy, it should not matter that the person teaching her how to ride is a woman. Besides which, he is only here for a few days each year.’

‘But what if he chances to see you on one of those days?’

Antonia waved aside her friend’s objection. ‘I shall simply feign an illness and stay at home.’

‘That is all very well, but if the Earl does decide to spend more time in the area, I fear that your carefully formulated plan—whatever it is—will go for nought. Lord Carlyle will be none too pleased when he discovers that he has been the object of a clever little deceit.’

‘Kitty, we are only talking about the enactment of a simple deception, not a plot to overthrow the King,’ Antonia assured her. ‘Personally, I do not think his lordship will mind who teaches his daughter to ride so long as he does not have to be bothered about it. From what you say, he is much more addicted to Town pleasures anyway and, knowing that, I cannot think of any reason why a non pareil like Carlyle would suddenly decide to turn feather and retire to the bucolic tranquillity of Upper Tipping!’




Chapter Two


A suffocating yellow fog had descended upon London, blanketing the City, all but immobilising the steady flow of traffic through the already crowded streets. It hung in the night air like a shroud; stinging the eyes of those foolhardy enough to venture outside without suitable covering and making it nearly impossible for anyone to see more than two feet in front of them.

Standing before the drawing-room window of the elegant house in Park Lane, Sebastian Hastings, Earl of Carlyle, stared out into the murky darkness of the night and felt as though the cursed fog had penetrated into the very room in which he stood. Its silence was oppressive; its heaviness permeating into even the most far-flung corners of the house, causing his head to ache, and his already sagging spirits to plummet like a stone.

God, how he hated this house. Hated the unhappy memories associated with it and the wretched way it made him feel. He grew increasingly restless when forced to reside in it for any length of time; assailed by a boredom that was totally out of keeping with his normally ebullient spirits—which was why he endeavoured to spend as much of his time away from it as possible.

But even that did him no good of late, for the moment he stepped through the front door, he felt the familiar malaise begin to return, settling on him much the same way the cursed fog had settled on London. And the most frustrating part of all was that he had absolutely no idea how to go about ridding himself of it.

Turning away from the window, Sebastian walked towards the elegant sideboard situated between the pink and white marble fireplace and the ornate boule cabinet, and poured himself a generous glass of brandy. He swirled the golden liquid in the bowl, impressed neither by the quality of the Venetian crystal nor by the excellent vintage of the wine. These things he took for granted, as he did everything else about the elegant town house in which he lived; a house which meant so little to him, yet which had meant everything to his late wife; the beautiful and desirable Violet, Countess of Carlyle.

At the thought of the woman to whom he had been married, Sebastian tilted the glass to his lips and drank deeply, feeling the fiery spirit burn a path down his throat. Violet. It was hard to believe that she had been dead over two years. At times, he felt like she was still here, her spirit lingering on in the dark corridors of the vast house like a physical presence.

And why would it not linger? Sebastian acknowledged wryly. There was far more of her here than there was of him. The Ming bowls and the other priceless knick-knacks she had been so fond of collecting—indeed, the house itself, with its Italian marble, and its magnificent crystal chandeliers—meant nothing to him. As Sebastian glanced around the opulent drawing room which had been embellished with nearly as much chinoiserie as the Regent’s pavilion in Brighton, all he could see were the suffocating crowds Violet had filled it with in her endless quest to become London’s most popular and accomplished hostess.

And eventually, she had. But at what cost to him, and to their marriage?

Still, all that was of little consequence now. Sebastian had married the beautiful, but shallow, Lady Violet Pelham, and had elevated her upon his father’s death to the exalted rank of Countess, whereupon she had set out to more than make up for the lack of regard her husband seemed to have for the title. And, in doing so, she had lost him.

Perhaps that’s what this was all about, he reflected sadly. Perhaps regret was the cause of this…malaise which plagued him; dogging his steps, and causing the mouth which had once moved so easily to laughter to twist so cynically. God knew, he had been living a lie for more years than he cared to admit. A lie which had begun shortly after his marriage…and a marriage which had died shortly after it had begun…

‘My lord?’

Sebastian raised the glass to his lips, but he did not turn around. ‘What is it, Royce?’

‘Mr Bingham asks if you might be able to see him.’

Sebastian’s brow furrowed in annoyance. Damn. He wasn’t in a mood to see anyone right now, and certainly not the steward of Ashdean. The man knew him too well. He was one of the few people who could see beyond the barricades Sebastian erected, and who could touch on areas, on emotions, that were best left undiscovered.

Unfortunately, Sebastian also knew that there was little to be gained by putting the man off. The business of the estate went on, no matter what his own particular frame of mind. ‘Very well.’ He downed the rest of the brandy in one mouthful. ‘Show him up.’

The butler bowed, and in a few moments, returned with the late-night caller. ‘Mr Bingham, my lord.’

‘Come in, Paddy.’ Sebastian’s tone was brusque as he turned to address the steward by name—one of the few people who warranted such treatment. ‘Will you have a drink?’

Padrick Douglas Bingham, steward of Ashdean, shook his head as he advanced into the room. He was an ordinary-looking man; tall, with rugged features, a thatch of thick, sandy-coloured hair that styled after no fashion but its own, and green eyes that seemed to sparkle with perpetual mirth. Certainly there was nothing to distinguish him from the hundreds of other men who worked for the Earl.

But there was a difference. Paddy Bingham was one of the few men with whom Carlyle felt truly at ease. He was one of the fewer still who had earned Sebastian’s trust.

‘Sorry to be stopping by so late, my lord,’ Bingham said now as he set a handful of letters on the desk.

Sebastian dismissed the apology with a casual wave of his hand. ‘The fault is not yours. No doubt you called earlier and did not find me at home.’

‘I would have been surprised if I had.’ A knowing smile briefly touched the older man’s face. ‘You’re a very popular gentleman about Town these days.’

Sebastian’s face relaxed, as it did when in the company of people he genuinely cared about. ‘So I have heard, though for the life of me I cannot think why. My own company is beginning to bore me dreadfully. Sure I cannot tempt you to join me?’ he offered, holding up the decanter of brandy again.

‘Thank you, my lord, but I stopped at the Crown and Anchor on my way in.’

‘The Crown and Anchor.’ Sebastian poured himself another brandy. ‘Is the fair Mariette still waiting tables there?’

‘Aye. With a face that could melt a sailor’s heart, and a tongue that could put him to the blush.’ Bingham winked knowingly. ‘She was asking about you.’

Sebastian smiled but made no reply. He was not surprised that Mariette remembered him. He had spent many a night in her bed since Violet’s death, losing himself in the softness of her body and in the forgiving warmth of her arms. But of late, even that had failed to eradicate the blackness which had taken possession of his soul.

He gestured for the steward to sit down. ‘So, what brings you out on such a foul night, Paddy? Matters of grave importance?’

‘Hardly grave, my lord, though not without some import. I believe I have found a suitable master for the Lady Clara.’

Sebastian stared at him blankly. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘A riding master. You asked me to hire one for your daughter.’

Abruptly aware that his latest undertaking had all but slipped his mind, Sebastian’s mouth tightened. ‘Yes, of course. What have you to tell me?’

‘That I received a number of letters in response to the advertisement, and after whittling out the unsuitable ones, I was left with two possibilities.’

‘Good God, only two? What was wrong with the rest of them?’

‘Any number of things. Dubious work background, not enough experience, suspect reasons for prior dismissals. It doesn’t pay to be too careful when it comes to the well-being of the Lady Clara, my lord.’

Sebastian glanced at his man sharply, not sure whether Bingham wasn’t bamming him. But one look at the steward’s face was enough to assure him that his doubts were both unworthy and unnecessary. Paddy Bingham genuinely cared for the child—which was more than many were willing to say for him, Sebastian reflected guiltily. ‘Go on, Paddy, you said you had it down to two gentlemen.’

‘Yes, a Mr Henry Huddlesworth and a Mr Tony Davlin. I have both their letters here.’

Sebastian glanced at the letters, but made no move to read them. ‘Have you a recommendation?’

‘Of the two it would appear that Mr Huddlesworth has more experience in teaching young men and women the skills of riding. However, he is at present living with his ailing mother in Yorkshire.’

Sebastian frowned. ‘Rather a long way to come for work, isn’t it?’

‘It seems that Mr Huddlesworth is quite prepared to move,’ Bingham said, ‘but I admit I had some concerns as to how often he might need to return to Yorkshire to see to the old lady’s health.’

‘A valid concern,’ Sebastian acknowledged. ‘What of Mr Davlin?’

‘While Mr Davlin does not seem to have had as much actual teaching experience, I get the impression that he enjoys working with young children a good deal more than does Mr Huddlesworth. And he certainly knows his horses.’

Sebastian glanced at his steward in amusement. ‘You gleaned all of that from a letter, Paddy? Upon my word, you are even more astute than I gave you credit for. Very well, this Mr…Davlin,’ Sebastian said, wondering why the name should sound vaguely familiar to him. ‘Where does he live?’

‘In the area,’ Bingham informed the Earl. ‘He mentions the use of a cottage on Lord Shand’s estate.’

‘I see. And how would you like to proceed?’

‘With your permission, I would like to bring both gentlemen to Ashdean, and have them spend some time with Lady Clara. Once I see how they handle themselves with the little girl, I shall be able to give you a more accurate recommendation.’

‘As you will, Paddy. When can they start?’

‘Whenever is convenient for you, my lord.’ Bingham duly retrieved the letters. ‘Neither gentleman is currently employed.’

Sebastian briefly inclined his head, as though weary of the conversation. ‘Fine. Make the arrangements. Whichever one you choose may commence as soon as possible.’

Bingham glanced at the Earl in surprise. ‘You will not wish to interview them yourself?’

‘I hardly think it necessary. Your judgement in matters concerning the estate has always been faultless, Paddy. I am sure that whichever man you choose will be fine with me.’

Bingham flushed at the unexpected compliment. ‘It is good of you to say so, my lord.’

‘In any event, I have no doubt that I shall see Mr Huddlesworth or Mr Davlin eventually,’ Sebastian said carelessly. ‘I think it is time that I went down to the country for a while.’

It was difficult to tell who was the more surprised by the unexpected announcement: Mr Bingham upon hearing it, or Sebastian upon uttering it. For, in truth, he had not known that he was even contemplating such an idea until he had heard the words leave his lips. But, once said, the idea began to take hold in his mind.

Yes, perhaps a sojourn in the country was just what he needed. It certainly couldn’t be any worse than remaining in Town, Sebastian reflected dimly. And he had always loved Ashdean, the rambling Elizabethan house set in the gently rolling countryside of Kent. Indeed, some of his fondest memories were of growing up in that house. As a child, he had ridden over every hill and explored every valley, coming to love the land which had belonged to his family for centuries. He had even taken his new bride there in the early weeks of their marriage.

Granted, Violet had complained bitterly nearly the entire time they were there until, guilt-ridden, he had dutifully driven her back to Town, but at least there were no memories of bitter fights and long cold silences. Those had come later.

But there was one memory at Ashdean which Sebastian would never be able to forget.

Clara.

Sebastian closed his eyes as he dropped his head forward and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and his forefinger. Good God, was it really a year since he had last visited his daughter? It must be. She had been approaching her sixth birthday at the time, and only two days ago, Bingham had informed him that her seventh birthday was fast approaching. Where had the time gone?

Of course, it wasn’t just the time, Sebastian admitted guiltily. He had stayed away, not because he had been reluctant to see Clara, but for reasons which none but himself knew. Reasons which even Paddy had not been privy to. Added to that was the fact that he simply didn’t know how to behave around the child. He was not used to children of any age, let alone a six-year-old. Very few of his friends had offspring Clara’s age, and those who did were more than happy to leave them to the care of their mothers or nannies.

It was ironic really. For all his adeptness at court, Sebastian found himself painfully at a loss when it came to dealing with the wide-eyed stare of his own child. But then, was it any wonder? He’d had no brothers or sisters of his own, and he had seen Clara less than ten times since she had been born, due mainly to Violet’s outright refusal to share the child with him in the early years of her life. She had begun to smother Clara, perhaps in a pathetic attempt to make up for the love that had been missing in her own relationship. It had grown so bad that just the sight of her father was enough to make Clara burst into tears.

Hardly the kind of welcome any new father looked for.

For that reason, and for…others, Sebastian had had virtually nothing to do with the child. After Violet’s death, he had seen to it that the nursery at Ashdean had been luxuriously appointed, and had even hired a governess to look after her. But beyond that, the best Sebastian had been able to do was send Clara expensive toys for her birthday and a special box at Christmas; presents usually chosen by Bingham, and sent from an unknown man who called himself her father…

‘Yes, I shall go down to the country. Just for a few days, mind,’ Sebastian added, aware of a tightness in his throat which had nothing to do with the brandy. ‘You may expect me…within the week.’

Taking care to conceal his surprise, Bingham nodded and slowly got to his feet. ‘Very good, my lord. I shall inform the household of your impending arrival. And I shall contact Mr Huddlesworth and Mr Davlin to set up interviews.’ He paused to glance at the averted face of his employer. ‘You are quite sure you do not wish to meet with either of them?’

‘Quite sure. There will be many other pressing concerns to which I must address myself.’

‘As you wish, my lord. Will there be anything else?’

Sebastian shook his head, his mind already on other matters. ‘I think not. Goodnight, Paddy.’

‘Goodnight, my lord.’

Alone again, Sebastian sat down at the writing table and stared at the neat pile of papers which dotted its top. A trip to the country? He must be mad. No one travelled to the country when there were still so many things to do in London. And yet, what exactly was there for him to do in London? When was the last time he had actually looked forward to going to a ball, or to spending an evening at the theatre? When had he ever anticipated an afternoon filled with nothing more exciting than going aimlessly from one at-home to the next?

What was there in London that he was truly going to miss?

Nothing. And as the reality of that hit home, Sebastian’s mouth began to curve in the first real smile he had experienced in weeks. There was absolutely nothing in London that he was going to miss. In fact, the mere thought of getting out of it for a few days was enough to lift him out of the dismals. He summoned Royce and informed him of his intentions.

Sebastian did not miss the nearly imperceptible quirk of his servant’s left eyebrow. Nor did he fail to recognise that Royce was almost as surprised as Bingham had been. That, if anything, served to convince Sebastian that his actions were long overdue. He had been living the life of a man about Town for too long. It was time he found something else upon which to focus his attention; time he tried to develop some kind of relationship with that little girl in the country—even if he was late in getting started.

He may have failed miserably as a husband, but that did not mean he had to fail at being a father as well! He only hoped that he hadn’t left it too late.



‘Toni, you did it!’ Catherine joyously waved a piece of paper over her head as Antonia walked into the yellow saloon at Shand Hall a few days later. ‘The Earl of Carlyle wishes to see you!’

Antonia blanched, and her hand went immediately to her heart. ‘He does? Oh, dear! I really had not expected that he would.’

‘Well, he does,’ Catherine exclaimed, handing her the letter. ‘Here. Read it for yourself.’

Antonia set her reticule down on the table and reached for the piece of heavy cream parchment which boldly displayed the Carlyle crest at the top of it, and held it between hands that were visibly shaking.

The letter—which had come to Shand Hall at Antonia’s request—was from Carlyle’s steward, Mr Bingham, and it informed Tony Davlin that the Earl of Carlyle would be pleased to consider him for the position of riding master to his daughter, the Lady Clara. It further instructed Mr Davlin to be at the stables at Ashdean at two o’clock the following Monday afternoon.

‘La, Toni, I can scarce believe it,’ Catherine said breathlessly. ‘I never thought that you would actually get it.’

Antonia shook her head in wonderment. ‘No, nor did I, Kitty.’

Her ‘perfectly splendid idea’ had been to apply for the position, not as Miss Antonia Hadley, but as Mr Tony Davlin. As she had explained to Catherine, she was not telling a complete lie by using the masculine form of address. If she shortened her first name to Tony, and employed her mother’s maiden name of Davlin, she was, for all intents and purposes, Tony Davlin.

And because it was hardly to be expected that Lord Carlyle would entertain a query from a young woman, Antonia felt sure that by representing herself as the highly competent Mr Tony Davlin, she would at least have a chance to meet with the steward and to plead her case. And if she could do that with any degree of competency, was he not then far more likely to recommend her for the position than anyone else?

It certainly seemed so. Because here, in her hands, was the proof that she did indeed possess the qualifications the Earl was looking for.

‘Nor have I been granted it yet,’ Antonia reminded her friend. ‘While the letter does not mention my being interviewed by Lord Carlyle himself, it does say that I shall be required to meet with his steward, Mr Bingham.’

‘Do you know this Mr Bingham?’

‘We have not actually met, but I have seen him when I have gone to visit Clara at Ashdean. Surprisingly, he and Clara seem to be fast friends.’

‘Well, I suppose it was too much to hope that you could be hired without having been seen by anyone,’ Catherine acknowledged, ‘but how will you go on at the meeting itself, Toni? It is all very well to fool someone on paper, but there is no disguising the fact that you are a young lady when it comes time for the interview. What do you think Mr Bingham will say when he discovers who…or rather what you are?’

‘I have absolutely no idea,’ Antonia answered truthfully as she tapped the letter against her chin. ‘I suppose it depends on what his feelings are as regards hiring a woman.’

‘His feelings may have no bearing on the matter, given Lord Carlyle’s antipathy towards women,’ Catherine pointed out. ‘Still, I suppose there is nothing you can do now but go and give it your best. The fact that you received a reply at all indicates that they were impressed with your qualifications.’

The girls lapsed into silence, each intent upon their own thoughts. For Antonia, the letter’s arrival had put her in a definite quandary. To know that she had a genuine chance at the position, solely as a result of her experience with horses and her desire to do the job, was extremely encouraging.

To know that she might lose the position, for no other reason than that she was a woman, was sobering to say the least.



By Friday, Antonia had still not come up with a plan for either avoiding or deceiving Mr Bingham. She had toyed with the idea of dressing up as a man, and had even gone so far as to mention it to Catherine, who had naturally thought it a foolish and outlandish idea. But, friend that she was, Catherine had managed to sneak some of her brother’s clothes out of his room for Antonia to try on.

It had soon become apparent, however, that dressing up in a boy’s clothes simply wasn’t going to work. There was no disguising the feminine curves of Antonia’s figure, nor the shapeliness of her legs in the skin-tight pantaloons and tall boots she would be required to wear. Then there was the problem of her face. It was simply…too pretty. The long curving lashes fanning out over soft grey-green eyes could never have belonged to a man, nor could the high, prominent cheekbones or the decidedly feminine mouth.

As Catherine pointed out as they stared at Antonia’s reflection in the looking glass in her bedroom, if she and Mr Bingham were to stand at thirty paces and meet by the light of the moon, there might be a slight chance of accomplishing the deceit. But during a face-to-face confrontation in the glaring light of day, there was simply no mistaking Antonia for anything but the lady she was.



‘I shall just have to explain the situation to Mr Bingham as best I can,’ said Antonia, as she and Catherine shopped for fabric in the village on the following Monday morning. ‘It is unlikely that he will not have heard Eva or one of the other servants mention my affection for Lady Clara. Perhaps I can use that as justification for my wishing to secure the post.’

Catherine sighed as she turned her attention towards a particularly fine length of Italian silk. ‘You may be able to explain them to Mr Bingham, Toni, but will he be able to explain them to the Earl? And even if you are able to avoid meeting the Earl at the initial interview, no doubt you will be forced into an encounter at some time in the not-too-distant future.’

The timing of Catherine’s statement could not have been more propitious. As the girls concluded their shopping and made their way along the street, they were stayed by the unmistakable sound of a carriage approaching. And when an impressive looking coach-and-four rounded the corner and drew to a halt in front of the very shop before which they were standing, Antonia’s eyes widened in horror.

Carlyle! There could be no mistaking the elaborate coat of arms emblazoned on the coach door or the quality of the four black horses which drew it. Nor could she question that the man who flung open the door and climbed down moments later could be anyone but the omnipotent Earl of Carlyle himself!

‘La, Toni, it’s him!’ Catherine squeaked. ‘The Earl of Carlyle! Oh, upon my word, Cynthia was right. He is handsome!’

For once, Antonia was forced to agree with an assessment made by someone whose opinion she would normally have paid scant attention to. Lord Carlyle was handsome; as handsome as any gentleman she had ever seen. Tall and commanding of stature, his features were classically perfect. A slim, aquiline nose was set above an unsmiling mouth that topped a chin that was firm and slightly square, while dark brows drew together under a shock of even blacker hair. He sported a multi-layered cape over a jacket of dark blue superfine and smooth-fitting buff pantaloons, below which Antonia could see the gleam of highly polished Hessians. He wore no jewellery save a signet ring on the ring finger of his right hand.

Not surprisingly, the arrival of the Carlyle coach and the appearance of the dashing Earl were sufficient to cause quite a stir in the tiny main street of Upper Tipping. A small cluster of girls stood giggling together across the street, while some of the more daring ladies began to cast frankly longing glances in Lord Carlyle’s direction. But it was not until the town’s leading prattle box, Lady Dalrymple, rushed from the mercer’s shop opposite and made a beeline for the three of them, that Antonia knew it was too late for her to try to escape.

‘Lord Carlyle!’ Lady Dalrymple hailed him imperiously. ‘My lord, a moment, pray.’

The gentleman glanced up, clearly nonplussed by the sight of a large and bedizened matron steaming towards him at full charge, and did not smile as he doffed his glistening black beaver. ‘Madam?’

‘Lord Carlyle, how delighted I am to see you home again.’ Lady Dalrymple, winded by the short run across the road, took a few deep breaths before turning the full force of her countenance upon him. ‘I had heard rumours that you were…returning to Upper Tipping, of course, but I had feared them little more than that. One hears so much chatter about Town these days.’

The Earl inclined his head in a gesture that was polite, but nothing more. ‘As you can see, they are rumours no longer.’

‘No, indeed, and how pleased I am that they are not,’ Lady Dalrymple professed heartily. She smiled up into his face—expectantly, it seemed to Antonia—and when no light of recognition dawned in his eyes, added quickly, ‘But surely you remember me, Lord Carlyle? Your dear mother and I were the closest of friends.’

‘Indeed,’ he said, though with no noticeable increase in warmth.

‘Oh, yes. Though I was not in London as frequently as I might have liked, we used to spend a great deal of time together whenever she was at Ashdean.’

Still nothing. Lord Carlyle continued to regard the woman with the utmost civility, but with no more insight into who she was than he had upon her arrival. ‘Madam, I pray you will forgive me, but—’

‘Lady Dalrymple, my lord!’

This last bit of information was delivered, to Antonia’s way of thinking, with more than a hint of desperation, and its response awaited with equal trepidation. It was clear from the expression on Lady Dalrymple’s face that the interview was not turning out at all as she had expected.

Fortunately, it seemed that Lord Carlyle was nothing if not a gentleman. The merest shadow of a smile touched his lips before he bowed to her and said, ‘But of course, Lady… Dalrymple. How remiss of me. Mother spoke of you…often.’

Lady Dalrymple’s anxiety vanished like a puff of wind. Oblivious to the slight note of sarcasm in the Earl’s voice, she beamed her delight and blissfully furthered her perjury. ‘Oh, yes, we were the closest of friends, she and I. And as such, I am so very glad that I am the one to be on hand to welcome you back.’

‘Thank you, Lady Dalrymple. I must say, I had not expected such an…enthusiastic welcome before even reaching my own door,’ Lord Carlyle drawled.

Fortunately, Lady Dalrymple was both slow to take offence and quick to take advantage of an opportunity. As the mother of two unmarried daughters, she could ill afford to be otherwise. ‘Yes, well, as I said, it is truly fortunate that I happened to be so close. Am I to hope that you will be staying with us for a while, Lord Carlyle?’

‘My stay is of an undecided duration,’ Lord Carlyle remarked carefully, ‘since there are a number of things which I hope to accomplish while I am here.’

‘But, that is wonderful,’ Lady Dalrymple enthused, convinced by the Earl’s carefully worded statement that he must be looking for a new wife. ‘I was only telling my girls yesterday—lovely girls, both of them unwed—that it would be such a pleasure to see a Carlyle in permanent residence again.’

‘And so you shall. Eventually,’ he was quick to point out when he saw the unmistakable look of hope which appeared on her face. ‘Though I do not know whether it will be in the near future or not. And now, if you will excuse me, I fear I must be—’

Sebastian broke off in mid-sentence, having turned and found himself staring into one of the loveliest faces he had ever had the pleasure of seeing. A pair of unusual grey-green eyes stared back at him from a face of alabaster perfection, while rose-kissed lips and a delightfully retroussé nose completed the charming visage. The lady’s rich, honey-coloured hair had been drawn softly up and back, allowing a few wispy tendrils to escape from beneath the brim of the charming straw bonnet to frame her face. She was wearing a simple gown of pale lemon muslin trimmed with white lace, over which she wore a spencer of a deeper yellow hue. Neither were styled in the first stare of fashion, but there was no denying that the modest outfit more than flattered the feminine curves of its owner.

The young woman standing beside her was also very pretty, but as Sebastian waited for the introductions to be made, he felt his gaze drawn back towards the young lady with the beautiful eyes.

‘Lady Dalrymple, perhaps you would be so good as to introduce us,’ he said politely, when at length it seemed that no such courtesy was to be extended.

‘Hmm? Oh, yes, of course, my lord, forgive me.’ Lady Dalrymple quickly made the introductions, taking care to conceal the fact that she wished to do anything but.

Both girls curtsied, as was expected. Lord Carlyle bowed first towards Catherine, as was her due, and then turned to address Antonia. ‘Hadley,’ he repeated thoughtfully. ‘Did I hear that correctly?’

Antonia straightened slowly. She was not surprised that the Earl had asked for clarification of her name. Lady Dalrymple had uttered it so quickly as to render it almost unrecognisable. ‘You did, my lord.’

‘Then…could it be that you are also…Mr Peter Hadley’s daughter, and as such, a neighbour of mine?’

Antonia was astonished that he would remember, but took care not to let it show. ‘Our property adjoins yours to the south, yes.’

‘How strange that we have never met, Miss Hadley.’

‘On the contrary, given that I spend so little time in London, and you so little in Kent, it is not surprising at all.’

‘Perhaps that is a shortcoming I can remedy by offering to call upon your mother and father at the earliest opportunity.’

Antonia stiffened, and her eyes grew cold. ‘My mother died two years ago this November, my lord. Only my father and I reside at Buntings Hill now. I thought you might have heard.’

Beside her, Lady Dalrymple made a faint choking sound but Antonia did not care. The fact that Lord Carlyle was not even aware that her mother—a woman who, by his own admission, was one of his closest neighbours—had passed away that long ago made her exceedingly angry. While he might not choose to live in the country, the very least he could have done was to keep abreast of the lives of the families who did.

There was a brief silence as Lord Carlyle gazed down into her face. ‘Forgive me, Miss Hadley, I was not aware of your mother’s passing. Living in London has left me somewhat…out of touch. I can only say that I shall endeavour to set that to rights by paying a call upon you and your father at the earliest opportunity, in order that I might express my condolences to you both.’

It was a genuinely offered sentiment and, aware that Lady Dalrymple was listening to every word, Antonia managed a small nod of assent. She did not wish news to travel back to her father that she had been rude to the Earl—whether he was deserving of it or not. But she could not bring herself to be any warmer towards him than that.

‘Now I hope I am not rushing my fences, Lord Carlyle,’ Lady Dalrymple said, anxious to regain control of the conversation, ‘but I wonder whether you might consider joining us on Friday evening, for a small intimate dinner to welcome you back to Upper Tipping.’

The Earl reluctantly returned his attention to the speaker. ‘Thank you, Lady Dalrymple, but I fear I must decline your kind invitation, simply because I do not know how long I intend to remain in the area. However,’ he said, observing the crestfallen expression on the woman’s face—and aware that Miss Hadley was watching him closely, ‘if I am still in the vicinity and not otherwise engaged, I would be…pleased to dine with you.’

It was all the lady needed to hear. ‘How very good of you to say so, Lord Carlyle. I know how busy you must be, and I shall only say that we would be delighted if you were able to join us at, shall we say, half past five?’

Lord Carlyle winced and knowing the reason why, Antonia turned away to hide a smile. In London, she doubted that the Earl ever sat down to dine before eight. But this was the country, and here, half past five was the accepted time.

‘Thank you, Lady Dalrymple, I shall…endeavour to attend,’ he said finally. ‘But if circumstances warrant a change, I shall send a note round at the earliest opportunity.’

‘I hope there will be no need for such a note, my lord. However, if you are unable to join us, I know that it will only be as the result of a matter of extreme urgency,’ Lady Dalrymple said, not wishing to appear too desperate. ‘And now, I must be off. I did promise my girls that I would pick up a few items for them. La, there are just that many things to do when one has young, eligible daughters,’ she trilled.

Again, Antonia took pains to hide her amusement. Lady Dalrymple was no more likely to buy lace for her daughters than a hare was to sit next to a fox. No doubt the errand she intended to set out upon was the informing of as many of the female residents of the neighbourhood as possible that the handsome and eminently eligible Earl of Carlyle had returned to Upper Tipping and of her good fortune in being the first to secure him to dine.

‘Interesting woman,’ Lord Carlyle remarked carefully as Lady Dalrymple took herself off, her feathered bonnet bristling with excitement. ‘Is she always so excitable?’

‘I think she was somewhat…overwhelmed by your arrival,’ Antonia informed him drily.

She knew that her tone was somewhat sarcastic, and was not at all surprised when he addressed his next remark to Catherine. ‘Forgive me, Miss Shand, but I fear my arrival has prevented you from going about your business. May I, perhaps, offer you and Miss Hadley a ride somewhere?’

At the unexpectedly kind gesture, Catherine blushed and promptly forget where they had been going. Antonia, who was far more in control of the situation—and bothered with an entirely new concern—gave him a polite but dismissive smile. ‘Thank you, Lord Carlyle, but our carriage is waiting just there.’

Carlyle stared at her for a moment with eyes that were sharp and assessing. Antonia knew that she had sounded as unimpressed by his arrival—and by him—as Lady Dalrymple had been overwhelmed by it. But whether as a result of breeding—or simply a complete lack of interest as to what she thought—Lord Carlyle merely smiled and offered them a polite bow. ‘Then I shall detain you no longer. I bid you good day, ladies.’ With that, he walked into the merchant’s behind them and disappeared from view.

As the door swung closed behind him, Antonia closed her eyes in relief, aware that her body was trembling all over. Beside her, Catherine merely let out a long, ecstatic sigh. ‘La, is he not the most handsome of gentlemen, Toni? And so very gallant. He does not seem at all like a rake to me. Does he to you, Toni? Toni!’

‘Hmm? Oh, no, I suppose he does not,’ Antonia muttered. ‘But I cannot believe what bad luck our running into him like this is.’

‘Bad luck!’ Catherine turned to regard her best friend in astonishment. ‘Antonia, have you windmills in your head? We have just been amongst the first to be introduced to the Earl of Carlyle upon his return, and you say that it is bad luck?’

‘Goose! Of course it is! Have you forgotten that I have an interview with Mr Bingham this very afternoon? As Tony Davlin? What if the Earl should decide to attend?’

Catherine gasped in dismay. ‘Oh, dear, yes, I had forgotten! But what on earth could have induced Lord Carlyle to come down to the country so early? The Season is not yet over.’

‘I have absolutely no idea,’ Antonia said thoughtfully as the girls made their way back to Catherine’s curricle. ‘All I know is that he has chosen an exceedingly awkward time to make his obligatory visit to Ashdean—as if things were not awkward enough before!’




Chapter Three


At precisely fifteen minutes before the hour of two o’clock on Monday afternoon, suitably attired in her most formal habit of dark blue Georgian cloth—and with her stomach tied up in knots—Antonia waited for the stable boy to saddle her dapple grey mare in preparation for the ride over to Ashdean. She had been in a positive fidget all morning. Ever since meeting the Earl of Carlyle in town, Antonia had suffered agonies of uncertainty, wondering what she should do if the Earl chanced to be present for the upcoming interview.

She had toyed with the idea of saying that a friend had written the letter in jest, and that upon discovering the ruse she had felt honour bound to make her presence known to Mr Bingham, and to explain the situation as best she could. Alternately, she had thought to say that she had written the letter on a dare, never for one moment expecting that she would receive a reply, and that she had come to apologise for her imprudent behaviour.

Finally, Antonia decided that the best approach was simply to wait and to see what happened. After all, what was the point in fretting? If the Earl did not appear, then all of her worrying would have been for nought. And if he did…?

Well, as Catherine had said, she would just have to take her chances when the time came. And so, gathering her skirts in one hand, and her whip in the other, Antonia prepared to mount—and to boldly meet whatever Fate held in store for her.



The stables at Ashdean were located well behind the main body of the house. They were accessible only by the road which ran alongside it, or by a path which meandered through the heavily wooded area to the south of it. It was a path which had been cut there years ago, no doubt by neighbouring children who had travelled back and forth between the houses in an effort not to be seen by their elders.

It was this very path which Antonia chose that day, preferring to avoid the main part of the house altogether. She had travelled it many times, and had often found solace in the lush greenery, and its abundance of wild flowers and rich, verdant grass.

Coming to the end of the path, Antonia broke cover about a hundred and fifty feet behind the paddock area, and then quickly headed her mare in the direction of a large clump of trees about forty feet to the left of it. There, her presence concealed by the overhanging branches, Antonia turned her attention to the grassy paddock where Lady Clara was already seated atop her sturdy little Welsh Pony, Teddy, and walking him around the ring. A man was standing in the centre of the paddock. Mr Bingham, Lord Carlyle’s steward, leaned against the fence, quietly watching the performance.

The Earl of Carlyle, Antonia noticed with relief, was nowhere in sight.

The man in the centre of the ring was tall and thin, and reasonably well dressed, Antonia noted. He called out a series of instructions to the little girl as she circled, and for the most part, seemed quite competent in the way he conducted himself. But there was something in the tone of his voice that Antonia could not bring herself to like—a feeling evidently shared by Lady Clara. Even at this distance, Antonia could sense the tension in the little girl’s body. Her arms and legs were as stiff as pokers. So much so that, if she were to tumble from the pony’s back now, Antonia knew that she would hurt herself.

The gentleman also seemed to be having trouble getting Clara to do what he wanted. Antonia was not able to hear exactly what he was saying, but it was clear from the inflection in his voice that he was not pleased. And when he suddenly raised his voice and shouted at her, Clara screwed up her face and burst into tears.

‘Right, thank you, Mr Huddlesworth, that will be all,’ Mr Bingham said abruptly. His mouth was tight as he vaulted over the low fence and made his way to the little girl’s side. ‘There, there, Lady Clara, there’s no need to cry.’ He pulled a large white handkerchief from his pocket and gently dried the child’s tears. ‘You don’t have to ride any more.’ Stuffing the handkerchief back in his pocket, he gently lifted Clara out of the saddle. ‘Why don’t you go and play with Bartholomew while I have a word with Mr Huddlesworth?’

In spite of the tears rolling down her cheeks, the child’s huge blue eyes suddenly brightened, and without a word, she ran off to find her puppy, obviously content to leave the irascible pony where he was.

Antonia did not need to hear what the steward was saying to know that he was not pleased with the gentleman’s performance. It was apparent from Mr Huddlesworth’s posture that he was not being complimented. Nor should he have been, Antonia reflected dimly. The man obviously knew nothing about the instruction of young children. His methods might have worked on older girls, or on boys who were easier to bully, but it certainly wasn’t the technique to use on a six-year-old girl who was just getting started.

Fortunately, it seemed that the steward was of the same opinion. After a few minutes more, Mr Huddlesworth turned and left the paddock, his drooping shoulders indicative of his lack of success.

Now, it was her turn.

Taking a deep breath, Antonia gathered the reins in her gloved hands. After casting her eyes about one last time for a glimpse of Lord Carlyle, she lightly flicked the crop against the mare’s withers and urged her forward. Once clear of the trees, she pushed Foxfire into an easy canter and made directly for the man who was still standing at the edge of the paddock.

The steward, having turned at the sound of a horse approaching and assuming it to be Mr Davlin, stopped short at the sight of a lovely young woman riding towards him. When he saw who it was, he smiled and respectfully tipped his cap. ‘Afternoon, Miss Hadley. Can I help you?’

‘I certainly hope so, Mr Bingham. I—’

‘Toni!’

The childlike cry of delight rang out before Antonia had a chance to say more, and it caused Mr Bingham to turn around in confusion. ‘Tony?’

‘Toni’s here, Paddy!’ Lady Clara cried. She flew down the field towards them with the spaniel yipping noisily at her heels. ‘Toni’s here.’ She came to an abrupt halt next to the steward and then stood gazing up at the lady on the dapple grey mare with an expression of adoration. ‘Toni!’

Mr Bingham’s expression was considerably more guarded. ‘Tony?’

‘It’s…Antonia, actually,’ Antonia stammered, colouring a little. ‘And the reason I have come is to see you about the position of…riding master to Lady Clara.’

The steward’s eyes narrowed fractionally. ‘There must be some mistake, miss. I was expecting a Mr Tony Davlin.’

Knowing it was too late to back out now, Antonia offered him a tentative smile. ‘Yes, I know. But as strange as this may sound, Mr Bingham, I am…Tony Davlin.’

It was quite clear that this was not the explanation Paddy Bingham had been expecting. He took off his cap again and scratched his head until Antonia felt sure he was in danger of rubbing a hole in it. ‘Well, I’ll be dam—that is, would you mind telling me what this is all about, miss?’

‘Yes, I certainly owe you that.’ Antonia unhooked her leg from around the crutch and, placing her hand in the one Mr Bingham offered, gracefully slid down from the saddle. After bending to give Lady Clara an affectionate hug, she straightened again, and then looked into the steward’s face. ‘I think perhaps I should start at the beginning.’

‘I think that might be a good idea,’ Mr Bingham agreed carefully. ‘Shall we take a walk?’

‘Before we do, might I ask if…Lord Carlyle is…likely to come down?’ Antonia enquired anxiously.

Mr Bingham shook his head. ‘His lordship is not at home this afternoon, miss. I doubt he’ll be back before dark.’

More relieved than she cared to admit, Antonia nodded and fell into step beside him. ‘Well, you see, Mr Bingham, it all started last Christmas, when I met Lady Clara at the children’s party at the vicarage…’



By the time Antonia had finished explaining the situation to Mr Bingham, they had walked fully twice around the ring. The steward had not made any interruption and Antonia had been able to relay her story in a clear and concise manner. At its conclusion, however, she paused and turned to regard the Earl’s steward with an expression that was decidedly apprehensive. ‘So you see, Mr Bingham, it was not my intention to deceive anyone. I merely wanted an opportunity to speak with you about teaching Lady Clara to ride, and I felt quite sure you would not have entertained a letter from a Miss Antonia Hadley.’

‘You’re right about that, miss, I wouldn’t,’ Mr Bingham agreed ruefully. ‘Nor do I know that I should even be talking to you about it now. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you the reasons why.’

‘No, I can appreciate your concerns,’ Antonia was quick to assure him. ‘But is not the point of this exercise to find someone who has the skills and temperament necessary to teach Lady Clara how to ride?’

‘Well, yes, but…’

‘And were you impressed with the gentleman you just saw?’

Mr Bingham sniffed disparagingly. ‘Not a bit, but…’

‘Then will you not at least allow me to show you what I can do?’ Antonia implored. ‘I am a very good rider, Mr Bingham. I have studied with Captain Fozard in London, and I know that I have the skills to teach Lady Clara how to ride. She likes me, you see. More importantly, she trusts me, and you and I both know how important that is if she is to learn to ride well.’

Antonia glanced towards the little girl who was, even now, giving the pony a wide berth. ‘Look there, Mr Bingham. Lady Clara is already afraid of her pony and, if she does not learn to overcome that fear, she may never enjoy riding. That is why she needs to have trust in the person who is going to teach her. She needs to know that she will not be asked to do anything that she is not capable of doing or ready to undertake. And by trusting me, Clara knows that I will not push her.’

‘That’s all very well, miss, but—’

‘Oh, please, Mr Bingham, please say that you will give me a chance. At least let me show you what I can do. Then, if you are still in doubt as to my capabilities, I shall leave and not bother you again. What do you say?’

Mr Bingham, who was nothing if not fair, found himself in a definite quandary. Hiring a lady definitely went against the grain. But if Mr Huddlesworth was, by Bingham’s own admission, the best man that he could find for the job, did he not owe it to the young lady and to himself to see what she could do?

‘Lady Clara,’ Mr Bingham called. ‘Come here a moment, will you, sweetheart?’

Obediently, Clara rose from the grass where she was playing with the brown and white spaniel and hurried to his side. ‘Yes, Paddy?’

Slowly, the steward bent down and smiled into the little girl’s eyes. ‘Now, my little cock sparrow, how would you like Miss…that is, Toni, to take you around the ring on Teddy again?’

In spite of his reassuring voice, Lady Clara glanced at the pony with a dubious eye. ‘I don’t think Teddy likes me, Paddy,’ she replied in a small voice. ‘He…put his ears back and pulled the reins away. And then the man shouted at me.’

‘I know,’ Mr Bingham said with infinite kindness, ‘but Teddy’s fine now, and Mr Huddlesworth is gone.’

‘And you know that I am not going to shout at you, don’t you, Clara?’ Antonia said gently.

Lady Clara looked up into Antonia’s familiar face, and smiled brightly. ‘Yes.’

‘Good. Then will you try riding Teddy one more time, just for me?’

Lady Clara glanced at her pony again, but this time cautiously nodded her agreement.

Antonia didn’t even attempt to hide her relief. ‘That’s my girl.’

Mr Bingham resumed his place at the rail while Antonia led Lady Clara back into the paddock and across to where the pony stood peacefully grazing. She took up the reins, but instead of placing the little girl directly on the pony’s back as Mr Huddlesworth had done, Antonia put the reins in Lady Clara’s hands and encouraged her to lead the pony around the ring, talking to him all the while. Antonia herself stood at the other side of the pony’s head, just in case it became necessary to quickly take hold of the bridle.

As it turned out, it was not necessary, because Teddy behaved like a perfect gentleman. He walked quietly between them, never once tossing his head or pawing at the ground, until gradually, Antonia saw the look of tension in the little girl’s face begin to disappear. She even started to smile as she realised that the pony was not going to hurt her, and fed him a carrot which magically appeared from the depths of Antonia’s pocket.

In fact, it was not until Antonia felt completely sure that Lady Clara was comfortable at being so close to the pony, that she finally stopped and lifted the child on to its back, settling her gently into the saddle.

By the end of the demonstration, Mr Bingham took off his hat and scratched his head again. ‘Well, I’ll give you your due, miss. There’s no doubt in my mind that you’re the one to teach Lady Clara to ride,’ he acknowledged as Antonia and Clara walked towards him. ‘But I have to warn you, I don’t know how the Earl is going to take to this.’

‘I know that, Mr Bingham, but does the Earl…have to find out?’ Antonia inquired, embarking on what she knew would be the most difficult part of her plan.

Mr Bingham glanced at her sideways. ‘Beg pardon, miss, but what exactly are you suggesting?’

Antonia quickly bent down. ‘Clara, why don’t you walk Teddy around the ring while I talk to Mr Bingham? That way he can cool down a little before we put him back in the stable.’

Sweetly obedient, Clara did as she was asked. As soon as she was out of hearing distance, Antonia turned back to face the steward. ‘Mr Bingham, how would it be if you were simply to tell Lord Carlyle that you had hired…Tony Davlin, and leave it at that? You would not be telling him a lie because it is my name—in a manner of speaking. And Lady Clara will confirm it if he asks, though hopefully not with any details. You see how she already calls me Toni.’

‘I see that all right, miss, but it’s not quite that simple,’ Mr Bingham said. ‘What happens when his lordship asks to see you? How am I going to explain that Mr Tony Davlin is actually a Miss?’

‘Oh, come now, Mr Bingham. Do you really think the Earl of Carlyle is going to trouble himself over meeting his daughter’s new riding master?’ Antonia said, trying to make it sound totally implausible. ‘I am quite sure that, on the few occasions when the Earl is here, he is far more concerned with the business of the estate, or with spending time with his daughter than he is with meeting new servants. And when you consider the infrequency of his visits, is he not far more likely to cancel Lady Clara’s riding lessons altogether than to encourage them?’

‘And what if he doesn’t cancel them, miss?’ Mr Bingham persisted, having more insight into the Earl’s mercurial personality than this young lady ever would. ‘What if the Earl not only wishes Lady Clara to continue with her lessons, but insists on coming down to watch?’

‘Ah, now that is a problem, Mr Bingham,’ Antonia admitted, ‘and one with which I am going to need your help. It may be necessary to…vary the timing of Lady Clara’s lessons, if you catch my meaning.’

‘I’m not sure that I do, miss.’

‘Well, the Earl is hardly going to spend all of his time waiting for me to come and give Lady Clara her riding lesson,’ Antonia said, ‘therefore, if you can keep me apprised of his timetable, and we can schedule Lady Clara’s lessons at a time when you know he is going to be away, Lord Carlyle and I need never actually…meet.’

‘I see. And if he asks to see you at some other time of the day?’

‘You shall have to tell him that I have secured…other employment which occupies the remainder of my time,’ Antonia said, rapidly thinking it through. ‘You can tell him that…I am not available to meet with him at any other time. I am quite sure that he will accept that. And besides, if the Earl knows that you are satisfied with my work, surely there will be no need for me to meet with him personally. After all, I shall be nothing more than a paid employee in the Earl’s household.’

Mr Bingham winced sharply. That nearly made him call the whole thing off then and there. It was madness to think that this scheme could work. There were just too many holes in the fabric of the deception.

‘There’s one other thing you don’t seem to have taken into consideration, miss,’ Mr Bingham said, the grooves in his forehead deepening.

‘Oh?’

‘What if Lord Carlyle happens to pass by when you’re giving Lady Clara a lesson? It won’t take him long to realise that you’re no gentleman.’

Antonia nibbled at her bottom lip. As much as she hated to admit it, this time Mr Bingham had a valid point. What good would all of their planning do if all Lord Carlyle had to do was catch sight of her? She had already attempted to disguise her looks by wearing a boy’s clothing, and it hadn’t worked. Catherine had told her as much—

Abruptly, Antonia stopped. Yes, Catherine had told her that the disguise would not work. But she had also said that it could work, if she was only to be seen from a distance!

‘I think I can take care of the matter of my appearance, Mr Bingham,’ Antonia said slowly, ‘and since I can ride side saddle or astride equally well, my presentation on horseback should not prove to be an obstacle either for the brief period of time required. After all, we both know that the Earl seldom spends more than two or three days here, and I feel confident that we can foo—that is, make…alternative arrangements for the brief time necessary. What do you think?’

Mr Bingham sighed. ‘I think I must be dicked in the nob for even thinking this will work. If the Earl should stumble on to any of this, you’ll likely be dismissed, and me right after. I suggest you be very careful that no one, and I do mean no one, hears about it.’

‘I shan’t tell a soul, Mr Bingham,’ Antonia promised. ‘Other than my father, of course. And my dearest friend, Miss Catherine Shand.’

Mr Bingham looked pained. ‘That’s two more than I was hoping for. Do you absolutely have to tell them?’

Antonia blushed. ‘I am afraid they already know. I could not proceed without my father’s consent, and it was Miss Shand’s idea to give me the fictitious address. I do, of course, live with my father at Buntings Hill.’

Mr Bingham shook his head again. ‘This will never work. Mark my words, it’ll never work. I’ll be looking for a new position, and with not a reference to be had.’

‘Now, Paddy, of course it will work,’ Antonia said, not sure why she suddenly felt compelled to address him by his Christian name. ‘With my planning, and your invaluable help, I do not see how it can fail. And you have to believe me when I say that we are not doing this to deceive the Earl. We are doing it to help Lady Clara. Oh, please say that you will help me, Paddy,’ Antonia said, bringing all of her persuasive powers to bear. ‘Are we in this together?’

She turned her most dazzling smile on the Earl’s steward and, hardened campaigner though he was, Paddy Bingham was lost. He had never been the recipient of female cajolery before and, coming now as it did from the beautiful and sweet Antonia Hadley, he didn’t stand a chance.

‘We are, though Lord knows I must be cork-brained for saying so. All right, we’ll give it a try, miss. Can you be here at quarter past ten next Monday morning?’

Antonia thought for a moment, and then nodded. ‘Yes, I’m sure I can be but…why are you waiting a week before we start?’

‘Because the Earl doesn’t usually spend more than a few days in the country, and I want to make sure he’s gone before you conduct your first lesson.’

Antonia nodded happily. ‘All right. Then quarter past ten next Monday it is. Thank you, Paddy. Thank you very much!’

‘Don’t be thanking me just yet, miss. If his lordship should chance to find out about this, there’ll be the very devil to pay,’ Mr Bingham said ominously. ‘And don’t say that I didn’t warn you!’



As it turned out, Sebastian was still in Upper Tipping on Friday, though his reluctance to leave was due more to the presence of the beautiful Miss Antonia Hadley than it was to any matters of business. He was aware of a growing feeling of curiosity about the young woman he had chanced to meet in town, and had been unable to forget the striking loveliness of her face.

He was also hopeful that he would be able to breach the wall of reserve which seemed to have sprung up between them. It had been clear from the tone of her voice that he had offended her by his careless remark about her mother, and he truly wished that he had known of the situation beforehand so that he might have avoided it. But Sebastian refused to believe that Miss Hadley would continue to hold a grudge against him. If he took pains to call upon her and her father, and to make his apologies in a sincere and meaningful way, surely she would relent. He did not like to think that the lady held him in any personal dislike. They had not known each other long enough for that kind of enmity.



The ride to Buntings Hill was not a long one, but Sebastian’s thoughts were suitably occupied the entire way there. There were a number of matters which he needed to review in his mind: the cost of improvements to several of the older tenant cottages, the wisdom of clearing another field for the purposes of increased crop production and, of less importance, the commencement of Clara’s riding lessons with Mr Tony Davlin.

Bingham had informed him of his decision with regard to the riding master that morning, in fact. He had said that, after watching both of the applicants at work, there had been no doubt in his mind that Davlin was the one more suited to the post. It seemed that Lady Clara too preferred Mr Davlin to the other gentleman, and that they were already on a first-name basis.

Sebastian had been satisfied with his steward’s decision, though he had been somewhat surprised at the vagueness with which Bingham had responded to his questions regarding Mr Davlin. It seemed, for example, that Clara’s lessons were not to be held at a fixed time each day, but that they would, out of necessity, fluctuate, given that Mr Davlin had suddenly secured other employment.

When questioned as to the nature of this other employment, however, Bingham had been rather vague, saying that he had not thought to ask. He was, however, quick to assure the Earl that Davlin was both a conscientious and likeable person, and one whom Bingham felt sure would not disappoint them in any way.

Now, as Sebastian made his way up the long, tree-lined drive leading to Buntings Hill, he could not help but wonder at his steward’s peculiar behaviour that morning. It was almost as though he had not wished to discuss the matter. Indeed, when the conversation had ended, Bingham had moved on to the next subject with surprising alacrity.

Still, every man was entitled to his moments, Sebastian conceded. Even the unflappable Paddy Bingham.



Antonia was in the music room when Sebastian arrived to pay his first social call. He was shown into the drawing room upon his arrival, but when he heard the strains of a well-loved sonata, he decided to go in search of the source, suspecting it might be Antonia.

He found her at the instrument soon after, looking absolutely charming in a gown of pale pink muslin, into the bodice of which was tucked a dainty lace fissu. Her gleaming hair was styled in a loose cluster of curls around her face and, as she played, an enchanting smile hovered about her lips.

Sebastian stood in the doorway of the room and silently watched her play. This was no stumbling miss who dutifully learned her music so that she might entertain at musicales. This was a truly gifted young woman who played for the sheer pleasure of making music. Her fingers danced nimbly over the keys, never stumbling once as she played the complicated piece completely from memory. It was not until the sonata came to an end and Antonia’s fingers stilled, that he finally made his presence known. ‘Exceptional, Miss Hadley,’ Sebastian said softly. ‘You do the instrument proud.’

Antonia spun around on the bench and gasped. ‘Lord Carlyle!’ Her cheeks flushed crimson as she quickly got to her feet. ‘My lord, forgive me, I had…no idea that you were standing…just there.’

‘The fault for which is mine entirely,’ Sebastian said smoothly. ‘In truth, I did not wish to disturb you for fear that you would not finish the piece. You play exceedingly well, Miss Hadley.’

‘Th-thank you,’ Antonia said, struggling to regain her composure. ‘It is…kind of you to say so, though I am sure that you have heard…far better from the many accomplished ladies in London.’

‘In point of fact, I have heard none better,’ Sebastian told her. ‘You combine a learned skill with a true love of music. That in itself is a rare combination. You must bring a great deal of pleasure to your family and friends.’

‘She does indeed, Lord Carlyle, though I would warn you not to compliment her too grandly,’ Mr Hadley said upon entering the room. ‘I have told my daughter that too much flattery turns the head.’ He walked across the carpet to stand in front of their visitor, and bowed. ‘We are honoured by your visit, my lord.’

Sebastian inclined his head apologetically. ‘Pray forgive my not remaining in the drawing room to greet you, Mr Hadley. When I heard the music, I felt compelled to go in search of it.’

‘No apology is necessary; it would not be the first time that Antonia has drawn a crowd.’ Mr Hadley’s pride and affection for his daughter was evident. ‘She is a gifted performer, for all her protestations to the contrary.’

Relieved by her father’s arrival, though somewhat embarrassed by his flattery, Antonia moved away from the instrument. ‘Now, Papa, you know that it is you who are guilty of complimenting me too much. You embarrass me when we are in public by insisting that I play far more than I should, thereby preventing the other ladies from exhibiting their own talents.’

‘Had the other ladies any talents which deserved exhibiting, I would be the first to encourage them to do so, my dear,’ Mr Hadley told her with a smile. ‘But I think I speak the truth when I say that I have yet to hear anyone who is more accomplished than you.’

‘I hope I will have the opportunity of adding my compliments to your father’s when we are next at a gathering together, Miss Hadley,’ Sebastian said. ‘I would not wish him to be accused of being your sole devotee.’

He was amused to see that his compliment did nothing to diminish the colour in those lovely cheeks. ‘Perhaps we should…adjourn to the drawing room,’ Antonia said quickly.

Sebastian inclined his head, and stepped aside to allow Antonia to take the lead. He fell into step beside her father and enjoyed an amiable conversation relating to parliamentary matters and affairs of the church. Once in the cheery parlour, however, he kept the topics more general so as to include Antonia in the discussions.

‘Mr Hadley, may I say how very sorry I was to hear about your wife,’ Sebastian said as he sank into the wing chair beside the fireplace. ‘I truly regret that I was not made aware of her passing until my return a few days ago.’

‘It is not to be expected that you would, sir,’ said Mr Hadley. ‘London is a long way from Upper Tipping in more ways than just distance. But I thank you for the sentiments none the less.’

Aware that her father had echoed her own words, though in a much more charitable way, Antonia went to preside over the tea things which the servant had just brought in. ‘Will you have tea, Lord Carlyle, or would you prefer a glass of wine? I believe Papa has a very fine Madeira which you might enjoy.’

‘Thank you, Miss Hadley, but tea will be fine. As you know, I am engaged to dine this evening and I do not think it would do for me to arrive a trifle bosky. I fear I may be feeling that way when I leave, though not as a result of anything I might have had to drink,’ he said ruefully.

Antonia intercepted her father’s quizzical gaze and hastened to explain. ‘Lord Carlyle has been invited to dine with Lady Dalrymple this evening, Papa.’

‘Lady Dalrymple? Well, in that case, perhaps you had best have something stronger,’ Mr Hadley advised. ‘It will no doubt help you get through an evening spent in the company of Lady Dalrymple and her doleful daughters.’

Antonia gasped. ‘Papa, really! Eugenie and Caroline are very…pleasant girls.’

‘Yes, I am sure they are, my dear and, in all fairness, Lady Dalrymple does put on an excellent table. Unfortunately, I suspect that a good deal more than just the roast will be sliced up at her table tonight.’

Lord Carlyle’s quickly smothered cough sounded suspiciously like a laugh, but there was no hint of humour on his face as he cleared his throat and accepted the cup that Antonia held out to him.

‘Papa, did you not caution me just the other day to be mindful of what I said about others?’ she reminded him.

‘Yes, my dear, I did. And perhaps by informing Lord Carlyle of Lady Dalrymple’s propensity towards gossip, I am guilty of telling tales out of school,’ Mr Hadley admitted. ‘But you know as well as I do that before the end of the evening, she will have methodically cut up every person she knows—and even a few that she doesn’t.’

‘Well, yes I know, but it is not the thing to—’

‘Miss Hadley, please,’ Sebastian interrupted with a laugh, ‘there is absolutely no need to reprimand your father on my account. With everything we say so couched in flowery language, it is often difficult to know what is fact and what is not. For myself, I find it refreshing to hear someone speak the truth so openly.’

Suitably absolved, Mr Hadley sat back in his chair and smiled. ‘Thank you, Lord Carlyle. You will find that I have little time for hypocrisy, or for those who practise it. However, I will venture away from the topic before my daughter has cause to reprimand me again. But before I do, perhaps you would tell me how Lady Dalrymple managed to secure you to dine so quickly. From what I understand, you have not been in Upper Tipping above a few days.’




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