The Trouble with Virtue: A Comfortable Wife / A Lady By Day. Stephanie Laurens

      “Indeed, m’lord.” Before Lady Castleton could reclaim the initiative, Sir Miles drew her arm through his, then offered his other arm to his daughter. “Couldn’t agree more. Let’s go, what?”

      Without a backward glance, Sir Miles ushered his ladies up the steps.

      Philip waited until they were out of earshot, then glanced pointedly down at the ladies on his arms. “Might I suggest, my dears, that we get this exhausting, exceedingly well-organised event underway?”

      They saw Henrietta settled in her seat at one end of the long table, then Philip escorted Antonia to her chosen position halfway down the board. “I never thought to say it, but thank heaven for Ladies Archibald and Hammond.”

      As she sat, Antonia glanced at the head of the table where the two ladies in question, imposing matrons both, flanked Philip’s empty chair. Settling her skirts, she cast a questioning glance up at him.

      Philip bent close. “They take precedence over Lady Castleton.” With a glint of a smile and a lifted brow, he straightened and moved away.

      Antonia disguised her grin as a cheery smile; she hunted for Lady Castleton and found her seated on the opposite side, some places away, her exquisite features marred by an expression of disaffected boredom. Her ladyship’s disdain, however, was not evinced by others; as the food, laboured over by Mrs Hobbs, Cook and a small battalion of helpers, appeared on the crisp damask cloth, genial conversation rose on all sides. As Fenton and his minions filled goblets and glasses, the festive atmosphere grew.

      Philip proposed a toast to the company, then bade them enjoy the day. When he sat, the feast began.

      From the corner of her eye, Antonia kept watch over the steady stream of maids carrying platters to the lower tables. To her mind, Philip’s tenants were, in this instance, as important if not more so than his neighbours. Neighbours would be invited on other occasions; this was one of the few when tenants partook of their landlord’s largesse. Trestles groaned as trays loaded with mouth-watering pastries, succulent savouries and roasted meats, together with breads, cheeses and pitchers of ale, were placed upon them. The company seemed in fine fettle; she could detect nothing but unfettered gaiety around the tables on the lawn.

      She had wondered whether the noise from the lower tables would prove overwhelming. As she returned her attention to the conversations about her, she dismissed the thought; those on the terrace were more than capable of holding their own.

      The long meal passed without incident, bar an altercation which arose at the table set aside for the tenants’ children, which their fathers promptly quashed. When the fruit platters were all but empty, the boards were drawn; the dowagers and others ill-inclined to the games, contests and feats of skill slated to fill the afternoon, settled in their chairs on the terrace to enjoy a comfortable cose and possibly a nap in the warm sunshine.

      The more robust of the guests adjourned to the lawns.

      Straightening from having a last word with Henrietta, Antonia found Philip by her side.

      When she looked her surprise, he raised a brow. “You didn’t seriously imagine I’d brave the dangers of the lawns without you to protect me?”

      “Protect...?” Antonia temporarily lost her track when he drew her close, trapping her hand in the crook of his elbow. He was very large—and very hard. She was not yet accustomed to his nearness. “What am I supposed to protect you against?” She managed what she felt was a creditably sceptical look.

      Her nemesis merely smiled. “Piranhas.”

      “Piranhas?” Antonia cudgelled her brains as, with an elegant nod for the dowagers, Philip led her down the steps. “I thought they were fish,” she said once they gained the lawns.

      “Precisely. Social but carnivorous and definitely cold-blooded.”

      “On your lawns?”

      “Indeed. Here comes a young one, now.”

      Antonia looked up to see Miss Castleton bearing down upon them, arm linked with Honoria Mimms.

      “Ah—Miss Mannering, is it not?” Miss Castleton came to a halt directly before them. “Poor Honoria seems to have ripped her flounce.”

      Looking thoroughly puzzled, Honoria was twisting about, trying to see her trailing flounce. “I don’t know how it happened,” she said. “I felt it rip but when I turned around there was nothing for it to catch on. Luckily, Calliope was standing close by and told me how bad it was.”

      “Perhaps, if you would be so good, Miss Mannering,” Calliope Castleton glibly broke in, “you might take poor Honoria up to the house and help her to pin up her lace?”

      Honoria blushed beet-red. “Oh, I couldn’t—! I mean, you have all your other guests...”

      “Exactly,” Philip calmly interjected. “As you’ve been such a good friend to Miss Mimms, Miss Castleton, I know you won’t mind helping her to the terrace and asking one of the maids for assistance.” He bestowed a smile of calculated charm on Honoria Mimms. “I’m afraid, my dear, that I have great need of Miss Mannering’s talents at present.”

      Miss Mimms was dazzled. “Naturally, my lord.” Her eyes were wide and shining. “I wouldn’t dream of...of discommoding you.”

      “Thank you, my dear.” Philip took her hand and bowed over it, his grateful smile enough to turn any young girl’s head. “I am in your debt.”

      Honoria Mimms looked as if she would burst. Her round face alight, she grabbed Miss Castleton’s arm. “Come on, Calliope—I’m sure we can take care of this ourselves.”

      Beaming, Miss Mimms towed Miss Castleton towards the terrace. The sound of Miss Castleton’s protests died behind them.

      Antonia opened her eyes wide. “Miss Castleton didn’t seem all that taken with your suggestion, my lord.”

      “I dare say. Miss Castleton, as you will have noticed, is somewhat enamoured of her own path.”

      Antonia’s eyes lit; her lips quirked.

      Philip noticed. “Now what is there in that to make you laugh?” Mentally replaying the conversation, he could see nothing to account for the laughter he sensed welling within her. He lifted one brow interrogatively. “Well?”

      Antonia’s smile broke. “I was considering, my lord,” she said, shifting her gaze to the crowds before them, “whether your last comment might not be an example of the pot calling the kettle black?”

      She glanced up at him; he trapped her gaze, both brows rising. For a long moment, he held her mesmerised; Antonia felt a shiver start deep inside, spreading through her until it quivered just beneath her skin.

      Only when awareness blossomed in her eyes did Philip glance away. “You, my dear, are hardly one to talk.” After a moment, he added, his tone less dark, “I suspect that we should mingle. When are the archery contests scheduled to start?”

      The hours passed swiftly, filled with conversations. They strolled the lawns, stopping every few feet to chat with their guests. Antonia was of the firm opinion that Philip should spend at least five minutes with each of his tenants; it transpired he was of similar mind; she was not called on to steer him their way. A fact for which she gave due thanks.

      Her control of the fête and its associated events might be absolute; it did not extend to him.

      To her surprise, he held by her side, even waiting patiently while she exchanged recipes with one of his farmers’ wives. Despite the years, the majority of his tenants were still known to her; they were keen to renew their acquaintance as well as catch up with their landlord. After every encounter, Philip drew her close before moving on.

      Exactly as if she did indeed provide the protection he claimed.

      While most of the mamas had read the signs aright and consequently made no effort to put their darlings in his