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“She loves you.”
“I know.” Cassie sent her a guilt-ridden glance. The resentment drained from her voice. “I’m so tired of being stuck in bed. Honestly, some time on my own would do me good.”
“As you wish.” Antonia poured a fresh glass of water and placed it on the nightstand. “Don’t be mean to Bella. She hardly slept while you were ill.”
Cassie grabbed Antonia’s hand. “I’m a witch.”
Antonia’s lips flattened on a fervent agreement. Instead she answered less contentiously. “We’re all stretched to our limits.”
Cassie’s hold tightened. “I don’t deserve you.”
Antonia met her cousin’s eyes and spoke nothing less than the truth. “I owe you and your father a debt I can never repay. But I look after you because I love you. I know you want some entertainment. I can’t blame you. But it’s neither my fault nor Bella’s that your strength hasn’t returned yet.”
Cassie flushed and glanced away. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you,” Antonia said quietly.
Cassie looked at Antonia. “But seriously, Toni, don’t you want to get out of this room too? Leave me be for the evening. Bella will bring up my supper, then I’ll sleep.”
“You need rest.” She injected a lighter note. “Especially if you soon mean to dance the night away.”
“I hope so.” Cassie lifted the glass and sipped. “I was having such a marvelous time. I’d hate to think it ended.”
Antonia wandered toward the open window. Cassie’s room overlooked the formal gardens to the side of the house. No summerhouse in the distance to remind her of Lord Ranelaw. She glanced up at the evening star in the moonless sky, shining alone in the deepening blue. The view was beautiful, serene, calming, and suddenly, yes, Antonia did want to breathe air untainted by illness and pique.
Cassie was right. She fussed. Antonia turned and caught an assessing look in her cousin’s face. She was puzzled, then decided she must mistake the expression in those limpid blue eyes.
She headed toward the door. “I’ll be walking in the grounds if you need me.”
“I won’t need you,” Cassie said with unflattering confidence. “If anything happens, Bella’s here.”
Antonia slipped onto the terrace where she’d encountered Lord Ranelaw the day he arrived. She wore one of the few dresses remaining from her life as Lord Aveson’s daughter. She’d made numerous alterations to the blue muslin gown, but no new braiding or fresh buttons could hide the woefully outmoded style. Or that it was an extravagant garment utterly beyond a humble companion’s means.
In spite of her crushing weariness, she was edgy and restless. She needed to get outside, move about. And for a moment, reclaim Antonia Hilliard from the unending drudgery of playing Miss Smith.
She glanced into the clear sky. After a beautiful day that she’d seen only through Cassie’s windows, it was that magical hour before full darkness. A nightingale trilled from the thick shrubbery beside the terrace. Otherwise the world was hushed.
She felt trembling, expectant, like anything could happen.
Inevitably Antonia’s feet led her toward the summerhouse on the far side of the lake. She’d discovered the building early in her visit when she’d still enjoyed the luxury of long walks.
Twilight deepened into night as she traced the faint path under the trees to the small building glimmering white ahead of her. A bizarre mixture of Egyptian and Greek taste set back from the water and perfectly private.
For a rendezvous, Lord Ranelaw couldn’t have chosen better.
Or worse, if one took a moral standpoint.
She smiled faintly. Morality never impinged on Ranelaw’s considerations.
When she rounded the side of the building, she glanced across the silent lake. Stars shimmered on the still blackness, turning it into an inverted sky.
“Good evening, Antonia.”
She wasn’t surprised to look back at the summerhouse and see Lord Ranelaw watching from the shallow flight of steps. His presence seemed part of the enchantment. Or perhaps she was so tired, she drifted in a blur where nothing seemed quite real.
“Lord Ranelaw,” she said softly. A breeze across the lake ruffled her loosely arranged hair.
“Nicholas,” he said equally softly. He leaned against one of the four Corinthian columns that supported the portico and folded his arms.
