An Innocent Deceit. Gail Whitiker
‘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