Ianthe and the Fighting Foxes: The Fentons Book 4

by Alicia Cameron

  'If you find beggar-girls to your liking, you had best pursue the ravishing one. I'm sure Miss Eames is longing to be mistress of Studham. Although she might do better. She flirted shamelessly with the marquis at Audley!'

  Even as they all gasped, they heard the clatter of something falling to the ground. Ianthe moved quickly in the direction of the study but was restrained by Audley's hand on her arm.

  'I would have done it sooner,' he said shortly. Ianthe gazed at him. 'Let us to the salon so that you may flirt with me once more under the eager eye of Curtis' mama.' Ianthe gave him a half smile.

  The serious Steadman let out a laugh at this, but he moved aside for the group of ladies. 'Ladies, shall we?' he said, his arm gesturing towards the door. Jenkins, his face a mask, opened it and announced the gentlemen to Lady Fox.

  'Come, girls!' said Lady Richards, her head held high as she passed Mr Steadman and moved into the salon.

  Chapter Twelve

  The Fateful Walk

  'You are out of breath, Lady Richards. You should exercise more.'

  The ladies had become somewhat accustomed, on their half hour walk so far, to the serious Mr Steadman's bald remarks. They had ventured further from the house than usual, with a joint need to be far from Studham's polluted air.

  'Once more, ladies,' said Audley resignedly, 'I must apologise for the un-furbished mode of speech of my friend.'

  'Did I offend you?' Mr Steadman asked Lady Richards directly.

  She smiled at him. 'No indeed! I used to walk a great deal as a girl, and I cannot think how it came to be that I now restrict myself to a daily walk around the gardens. I have become a laggard, I fear. You are correct, Mr Steadman. I am sadly out of condition.’

  There was a stile ahead and Mr Steadman ushered her there and indicated that she sat. 'I will keep Lady Richards company while you two walk on,' he informed the others.

  'No, no, gentlemen!' protested Sally. 'I will stay with Mama, and we shall await your return.'

  'It would be more convenient that I stay here.’ Mr Steadman informed them in a bored tone. ‘An old leg injury is plaguing me.'

  Sally looked undecided.

  'Should you have any objection, ma'am?' asked the marquis to the seated lady.

  'No, my lord, for if you mount the hill you will be quite within my sight. But I am so sorry to spoil our walk.'

  Sally regarded her mother's wan face closely. It had been a tiring day for her, but at least Sally could detect no burgeoning hope about Audley and herself. The marquis had addressed all his remarks so far to her mother, and had paid her no attention at all. That is perhaps why the distracted Lady Richards, still smarting from Curtis' cruel words, did not seem to think of this as an opportunity to foster a connection. Sally moved off with Audley, therefore, with a relieved heart. Mr Oscar Steadman seemed like a sensible gentleman who would look after Mama well.

  Lady Richards looked a trifle embarrassed as Mr Steadman lowered himself to the ground, leaning against the fence close to her stile. 'Perhaps we can catch them up in a moment or two when I have caught my breath, sir,' she said, guiltily.

  'No,' said Mr Steadman in that calm tone of command he used. 'The walk back will be sufficient for today. My brother is a physician and holds that exercise should be increased by degrees.' Lady Richards was a little startled by his tone, but nodded agreement. 'You shall have to have some new boots however,' Mr Steadman added in the same resolute tone. He grasped one of Her Ladyship's feet idly and regarded the jean half-boot that poked beneath her dress. Stunned, Lady Richards merely gasped. 'The jean at the top gets damp easily when you walk somewhere other than a cobbled street or a paved path in these. The next ones shall be leather.' He let her foot drop and looked ahead while Lady Richards, startled, gazed at his stern profile. 'I shall ride over in my carriage tomorrow and take you and your daughter to the village to purchase some.'

  Ah, thought Her Ladyship. He is interested in Sally and wished to display it by concern for her mother. His manner of doing so was most unusual, but he was obviously a gentleman driven by practicality, as his last odd behaviour suggested. He was a little older than her daughter, by fifteen years at least Lady Richards supposed, but he seemed like a strong and considerate man. There was even a little warmth behind those hazel eyes, she felt, too. And he was handsome, though in a quieter way than Audley or young Lord Jeffries. If Sally could be moved to like him, though, a strong man such as he might be her saviour. She must find out more about his situation, as Sally's mama, but his dress and manner bespoke a gentleman of fortune. As the mother of a marriageable young female, Lady Richard's pretty eye could judge the cost of a gentleman's coat to a guinea. Mr Steadman's, though not of a flashy cut, was made of expensive superfine. However, there was difficulty in responding to his mode of conversation and the best Lady Richards could manage was, 'Well, thank you.'

  'We shall walk daily from now on.'

  This habit of command rather than request was disconcerting, but Lady Richards did not wish to depress his intentions, and merely said, 'It is kind of you to include me, Mr Steadman, but it is not necessary. I'm sure Miss Eames would join you two. Or if she cannot, a maid may do so.'

  'We speak of my plan for the improvement to your own health, not your daughter's.'

  Lady Richards could not help smiling at this. 'You are too kind, Mr Steadman. But you need not concern yourself with me. I promise that I shall elongate my morning walks, and so your kind concern will have paid dividends.'

  'There is every need to concern myself with you,' Mr Steadman turned his head, holding her gaze. 'I shall accompany you daily.'

  Lady Richards blinked. There was something disconcerting in his gaze. 'You are very kind sir. If you wish to pursue the acquaintance of my daughter, I have no objections.' His eyes changed colour from hazel to a stormy green and Lady Richards gulped. 'That is your intention, is it not? I must leave it to my daughter to say—'

  He interrupted her. 'Of course, I wish to know Miss Richards better. She seems a charming girl. But it is not Miss Richards who cost me my sleep last night—' Lady Richards blinked again, trying to free herself from that certain gaze, but when her eyes opened, his were still locked on hers. '—but her beautiful mama,' he concluded.

  There was a stunned silence with his gaze still locked upon her. At last she managed, ’But I am forty years old.'

  'Two years ahead of me only.'

  'But women age more quickly. I cannot be a wife again, not to a man of your age. You need someone Sally's age who could bear you children.'

  'I find I do not care.'

  'This is—' Trembling, she frowned, trying to understand, then looked at him again. 'Do you perhaps seek a wife as a companion and no more, and do not wish to offer such to a young girl?'

  He moved then, to kneel directly at her feet. He took one hand and removed her kid glove, looking down at it and playing with it idly. Without raising his head, he took a bare finger and caressed it in the same lazy manner. Lady Richards, unable to move, could not jerk it away, though she knew that this was shocking behaviour that should never be permitted. 'This has happened to me twice in my life.’ He continued, still intent on her finger. ‘One look and it was decided. On the first occasion, fifteen years ago now, we got engaged the next day. But then she died.' Emma Richards found herself clutching the finger he was playing with around his own fingers briefly, and then released the tension abruptly. 'I thought that this was to be my fate, until I saw you last night at Audley.' He looked up, and his eyes had narrowed. Retaining the small finger in his hand he leaned towards her, raising himself, making her look up at him. 'And to respond to your question about companionship, the answer is no,' he moved towards her face another six inches, so that his breath was on her lips. 'I do not want a companion wife.'

  Reeling, Lady Richards stayed still, trying to keep her lips from moving the inch towards his, locked in his gaze. She had ignored the wave of something that had overtaken her last night when they had been intr
oduced, ignored the warmth she had felt when she had found his eyes twice upon her that evening, or the smile that had crossed his serious face as they exchanged words. But she was paying attention now. Her heart might stop at any moment, she might fling herself at him right now, but after the longest sixty seconds of her life, he pulled away and sat back on his heels.

  'Marriage with me will allow your beloved daughter to marry whom she chooses, rather than some merely eligible anyone.' He gave her a brief smile. 'I wish you to marry only for me, but I know well that in your heart Miss Sarah must be your major concern.' He raised his eyebrows. 'I am not above using that.'

  She gave an uncertain laugh at this. 'Mr Steadman, what am I to do with you?'

  'Lady Richards, you must change your name to mine at your earliest convenience.'

  'This is—'

  '—madness. But you know it is right.' He said it certainly, but Emma Richards detected the tiniest of questions in his voice.

  'The only thing I am committing myself to,' she said with an uncertain smile, 'is purchasing new boots.'

  He nodded, sitting further back. 'That will do for today. I can see the others returning, and you have some things to consider.' He sank back against the fence, but took her bare hand in his, resting on the stile, sheltered beneath the skirts of her pelisse. She tried to pull it away, but at this he jerked it firmly and she subsided. 'Let me have this for now,' he breathed, not looking at her, but straight ahead. 'If you knew how I'm struggling to be calm, you would pity me.'

  'You seem remarkably calm,' Emma Richards remarked, the hand in his shaking.

  'Do not provoke me. I am a second away from doing something that would shock your daughter.' She breathed deeply to steady herself. 'What is your given name, my love?'

  'Do not.'

  'What is it?'

  'Emma,' she said faintly.

  'Ah, Emma.' He breathed her name like a prayer and closed his eyes. 'How lovely!' After a pause, he added, 'Your head must be exhausted. And I do not wish to leave you in that foul house any longer than I must. You have only one thing to consider, my Emma. When will you marry me?'

  ***

  'Are you concerned about your mama, Miss Richards?' said Audley to Sally after they had climbed a little of the way, and Sally Richards had remained oddly silent.

  She looked at him for a second and gave the shortest of wry smiles and then her face became grave again, looking at her path.

  'There seems little point,' the marquis continued, 'in pretending that I did not hear what the obnoxious young cub Fox said, but I think you too sensible to refine too much upon it.'

  'It is not for me, but for Mama. To call us beggars—' she sighed. 'You must, I suppose, know our situation. We have some income, but without the shelter that our friends the Houstens provide willingly, and that Lady Fox provides reluctantly, we should be in a sorry state, I'm afraid. And Mama, who has been so comfortable all her life, and so good, feels it greatly.'

  'It is too common a situation, and I regard the relative who displaced you without providing for you both better a man of no moral worth whatsoever.'

  'As do I, though I am not supposed to say so,' said Sally Richards with some acid. 'It would have taken a very little of Papa's fortune to give Mama a cottage at least. And I happen to know that Mama helped that family in many ways before my father's death. It is for her that I am so sorry. I suppose,' she added, dashing away a tear, 'that we are beggars, of a sort.'

  He was moved, and said quickly, 'Do not be absurd. If it is not right to provide for one's family, what is?'

  'Oh, my mama will be so hurt for my sake.'

  'She hurts for you, and you for her. You carry each other's burdens.'

  Sally let out an angry laugh. 'We had a plan for dinner tonight, you know. Ianthe had stirred us to cheerfulness, as well as a little revenge.'

  'Oh yes? Be careful of Ianthe's plans, I tell you.' Audley sought to lighten the atmosphere. 'Once in Cadiz I followed her plan and ended up in a Spanish jail.'

  'You must both tell me that story one day. I will not hear it from you alone, because I'm sure Ianthe must have had a very good reason to act as she did.'

  'You have too much faith in her. She's a termagant. What was your plan for dinner?' He held out his hand since she was struggling to get a footing on the steep path, and she grasped it quite naturally. He dropped it immediately as she was safe.

  'Well, we have not all been together since dinner last night, and somehow, through Ianthe's teasing, we have all decided to call each other by name.'

  'I noticed. And I am surprised that Fox agreed to any such thing. He has always been somewhat of a stiff-rump.'

  'But Ianthe is a genius! After being accused by Lady Fox of showing distinction towards me, a designing female, he was smarting so much from the insult—'

  'Surely not insult?' laughed Audley.

  Sally giggled. 'He did not call it so, it's true. But I'm perfectly sure he felt it so. Would not you, my lord, if someone misjudged the circumstances of our walk today and accused you of singling me out? Would you not be insulted?'

  He held her eyes for a moment and answered, jerking his head towards her violently, 'Insulted? No, why should I be?' She smiled a little smile at this, as though grateful. He paused and looked at her candidly. 'Tell me what Ianthe fooled Fox into.'

  'Tonight, at dinner, we were all to address each other by name and annoy Lady Fox out of all mind.'

  'It sounds like Ianthe,' said Audley, resignedly. 'She is ever one to poke the bear.'

  'We should not have dared do so before she arrived of course. Poke the bear, I mean. Mama and I would do anything not to be made even more uncomfortable in this situation. But now, as Ianthe puts it, we have them outnumbered. It is wicked of course, but it might have been fun this evening, if a little heart-racing. But now it is spoilt. It would be to confirm every horrid thing that Curtis said.'

  They walked on a little, and the marquis reflected to himself that this was why he avoided young single females. He was moved by her situation and felt a real desire to protect this true young girl. He liked her. He liked her face and figure, her seat on a horse, the way she did not fawn upon him, the way sometimes like this that they could speak as friends. He even liked being insulted by her. He could offer for her in a second and be reasonably sure he would never regret it. He had her character already. Who could regret such a mother for their children? But he did not want the restrictions of marriage to such a woman as this. You could not leave her in the country with your children and go back to town to continue your dissipated life. You would pity her too much. Neither could you take her to town with you, and after the birth of your children, let her enjoy the same freedoms you did — with discretion. She could never bear that, and he could never bear to see it. But that was the kind of wife he would have, if ever he married at all. A lady who knew this game. One could not suggest such a union to this bright, fresh girl. She was too good for that. But it was all Audley thought himself able to offer. He looked over at Sally, brushing the windswept curl back beneath her bonnet, her stride trying to match his and failing, but still lithe and strong. She looked — well, it was better not to think about how she looked. But when he thought about the length of time he had known her, less than a week, he was shocked that this internal dialogue about marriage had been going on with him for at least the last three days. No, it was better not to know a young girl's circumstances lest the knight errant in him escape and lead him to disaster. She tilted her head up at him as he had gone ahead and above a pace and held out her hand naturally for his aid. She was so sweet that it made him ache.

  'Shall we make it amusing again?' he said suddenly. 'Shall I stay for dinner and make all that idiot boy's words correct?' He smiled down at her, taking the outstretched hand at last, and pulled her up. 'I'll flirt with Ianthe wildly, and you can all address each other affectionately, and we will make your mama laugh again today.'

  She was too close to him now, but she smiled
back and said, 'We should have to warn Mama. She has heard that you are a rake, and she will be worried for Ianthe's reputation.'

  'If she did not already think I was a puppy dog, she would not let me walk here alone with her precious daughter.' He paused, looking at the hill and sky. 'I think we should head back now.'

  'Ah, I think I know why she permitted it,' Sally said suddenly, after they had turned back. She grasped his shoulder at the steep part of the incline, as they made their descent, he in front.

  He looked back at her, his russet hair flying in the wind. 'You do?'

  'Did you not see the looks she was giving to Mr Steadman on the walk?' He shook his head.

  'I did. I caught her a few times and found it odd. But really, it is not.' She grinned, now walking by his side as the path widened and was less steep. 'She is doing what mamas do. She has summed him up as a suitable single candidate for marriage, and is even now, I suppose, enumerating my virtues to the poor man, who cannot escape at all.'

  Audley looked down at the distant figures, oddly close, and had a bad feeling. If this was so, he could not partake of the amusement that Miss Richards wished to share with him. He narrowed his eyes. Something about the minimal distance between them, not touching, but not stiffly avoiding, gave him a worse feeling. If Lady Richards was making an attempt to foster a connection between his friend Oscar and Sally Richards, then, quite remarkably, the hermit Oscar Steadman was not resisting. He was a good man, Audley knew. Just the sort of man that Sally Richards should marry. But Audley's heart sank, nevertheless.

  On the ride back home, Audley said to his friend, 'Did you think Miss Richards a pleasant girl?'

  'She seems an open and genuine young lady,' said Oscar Steadman dryly. 'But I did not much converse with her.'

  'Yet you seemed anxious to visit Studham with me today.'

  'I believe it is polite to call upon new acquaintances.'

  'You have not before been diligent about the social niceties, Oscar.'

  'You are correct. But I had my reasons.' Audley thought back to Steadman's interaction with the lovely Ianthe last evening but could remember nothing special. However, Steadman was not a demonstrative fellow. It may have been a disappointment when the Fentons took Ianthe off with them today. But when he glanced over at Oscar, his friend was looking down with a secretive grin. Audley felt impelled to ask again. 'So, you do not admire Miss Richards?'