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