Ianthe and the Fighting Foxes: The Fentons Book 4

by Alicia Cameron

  'Oh, I did not say that. I admire Miss Richards a great deal.' Audley, with the pall of doom upon him, said nothing. 'But why do you ask, Rob? You are most insistent.'

  'Am I? Did Lady Richards soon recover? We did not mean to walk so long. We kept you waiting.'

  'No need to apologise at all.'

  Audley considered that keeping Lady Richards, however nice she was, entertained for the best part of an hour must have been fatiguing, but he accepted Steadman's good manners. They rode on, Audley feeling strangely rattled. He knew who he had to thank for his present predicament. It was Ianthe Eames. She had drawn Sally Richards into his orbit so that he had no choice but to become friends with her. Ianthe! He could strangle her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Back at Studham

  Sally and her mother parted outside Sally's chamber, Lady Richards apologising for her distraction and pleading fatigue from the walk. Sally was happy to have some time alone. She too needed a rest before dinner. She was full of a warm glow, which must have been from the long walk today. The company had been easy, too. She had still been smarting at Curtis' words, but somehow had found it easy to speak to the marquis, and to have him rail her back into good humour. She knew she should be affected by his rank, and show him more respect, and if it was London, at a party, she would have probably been embarrassed and flattered by any attention he showed her. And wary. She would have been wary. But here he was just the man who had mounted her on Missy, and all honours had thus fallen from his shoulders. Today, for the first time, there had been little dispute and only that warm raillery. She had spent time with a friend today. She would not, remembering his strong hands on hers, be so self-interested as to mistake it for anything else. He said he should not be ashamed to be misunderstood to have singled her out, but he did not single her out today more than any other. It had just transpired thus. And then she had confided in him and felt better. He was a man of the world, of course, and he had a sort of social wisdom in dealing with people. This was not to judge him correctly, however, Sally thought honestly. There was something warm about the marquis. And honest, too.

  The walk had assuredly done her good.

  ***

  The walk was not quite as easily gotten over for Emma Richards. She was shaken to the core, and her own behaviour was causing her grief. She should not have let Mr Steadman pull off her glove, or play with her finger. She should have jerked her hand away. It was burning still, and worse than this was that she had let him secretly hold it. When they made their way back to the house, too, their gloved fingers had touched twice, unnoticed by the other two. She had looked deeply into his eyes for much too long. She had told him her name and let him use it without rebuke. What was she thinking?

  Since her beloved husband's death, Emma had had no thought but the welfare of Sally. She could not, in her grief, consider anything else. She could only do her best so that Sally could have her time in London. Here she had been helped by their friends the Houstens putting them up in the London house and by a bill that arrived from Lord Fox “to buy such finery as is needed for Miss Richards' Season.” She had not applied for this, and it had touched her. Lord Fox was briefly in town that Season and she tried to thank him personally, but he was embarrassed and gruffly refused all thanks. Her own small income had been used to buy the accessories needed to finish any toilette. From ribbons to reticules, gloves to dyed slippers. But Sally, though much admired, had not met anyone prepared to offer for a dower-less female. She had been willing to accept Sir Ralph Eastman had he offered, but Emma had felt that this was only because Sally wished to salve her mother's anxieties and provide for her through marriage. It had not come off, and somehow Emma could not be sorry.

  And now today. Could Emma be the one to provide a home for Sally? Was Mr Steadman serious? What was his situation? All of this was a side issue to the singing in Emma's body at the very thought of him. With her dear Sir Guy, it had never been thus. He had been seventeen years her senior and had quietly admired the pretty Miss Fox and had just as quietly asked to marry her. She had accepted and been contentedly happy for all the years that she had been wed, but this was something else entirely.

  She knew nothing of Mr Steadman, she should not be thinking of him as she was. When his gloved finger brushed against hers on the way to Studham her legs had lost all strength and she had had to put a hand on a nearby tree trunk to steady herself. She dared not glance at him at all. She was drunk and heady with every word he had said running in her head. Waves of heat swept over her. How was she to meet him tomorrow? Why on earth had this lovely young man settled on her? But when he'd said it was right, she knew it too. She had felt and repressed the frisson of their first meeting. She had lain in bed and thought of him, berated herself, then finally mocked herself. She, a mother, to have such thoughts! Her will was strong and she had slept and had done no more than steal glances at Mr Steadman the next day in Lady Fox's sitting room and calculated his behaviour to her daughter.

  But now there were a great many things to consider. Things she must consider, as a mama. She could not let her urge to run off with him, even if she found out he was a scoundrel, overtake her.

  He had not said affectionate words, though he had called her by that name "my love", she still did not know what he meant by any of it. It was ridiculous, wasn't it? Whatever his serious demeanour might suggest, he must be of unsteady character. It was only a day ago that they had met.

  Her head in a whirl, she was surprised later to find that she had dropped off for an hour and woke up refreshed.

  Safe, she thought to herself, could it be that she felt now that she and Sally were finally safe?

  ***

  The butler himself delivered Miss Eames' message to Lord Fox's bedroom at the hour when he was dressing for the evening.

  'Miss Eames is in your study, my lord, and wishes a word with you before dinner. She will await you there.'

  'No one enters my study without my permission, Jenkins. Why on earth did you permit it?'

  'Well, I thought you meant Miss Eames to be an exception, my lord. She has been in your study a number of times now and you even called her there yourself when Mr Henderson…'

  'Yes, yes.' Fox looked thunderous. 'Tell her I will arrive when I have dressed.' Jenkins bowed low and turned to leave. 'And Jenkins. I may be ten minutes. Is the fire lit?'

  'I shall see to it at once, my lord.' As his back was to his master, Jenkins permitted himself a half-smile.

  When Lord Fox came down, rather earlier than ten minutes later, he found Ianthe very much at home there, with her knees raised before her on one of the winged leather chairs. If he cared for such things, he might have thought that her dark ringlets had been arranged perfectly, her French silk gown elegant, and her face and figure perfection, but he just looked annoyed. She seemed to be regarding a ledger and looked up as he came in saying, 'I had no notion how much saddle soap costs a quarter. It seems a prodigious amount.'

  Fox strode forward and took the book from her roughly, saying, 'What is it that you want, Ianthe?'

  'Practice for this evening? You said my name very naturally. Well done, Edward!'

  'If you could stop trying to annoy me and tell me what you wish to say, I would be obliged.' He sat on the edge of his desk, one leg bent, looking under his brows.

  'Something occurred that you should know, well two things actually, but I am not sure I should tell you about the second. Mr Fenton will advise me.'

  'Mr Wilbert Fenton has not the reputation of a steady and sensible adviser.'

  'But he is the master of intrigue, which is what I need advice about.'

  'Tell me,' ordered Fox.

  'Of course — but not today, I think. Another issue has arisen. The Richards overheard your dispute with Curtis.' Fox looked appalled. 'Do not be too concerned. They know Curtis and do not make much of it. But to be called beggars…'

  Fox walked around the room, his head bent back as if in supplication to the heavens. 'I
do not know what I can say — Lady Richards would be mortified if I were to mention it. I would drag Curtis to his knees before her to apologise if I didn't think it would humiliate her more!' He paced about the room again, and Ianthe looked at him. That repressed, sometimes grim, exterior hid this depth of feeling that she was watching right now. Then he stopped and turned to her, his face full of concern for her. 'And you! You did not hear what he said—?'

  'About my designs on Audley?' She smiled down his concern. 'I have no delicate feelings to spare on whatever such a sapskull as Curtis might say. Do not fear.' He came forward to her abruptly, taking her by the shoulders, and she looked up at him, smiling. 'Really!' she said reassuringly. Then, with some mischief, 'Really, Edward dear.'

  He threw her from him then and said, 'You are despicable!' but his tone was resigned, not angry. 'But you are my guest and that you have heard this insult is outside of enough. Curtis will, at least, apologise to you.'

  'You shall not make him!' She held his arm and he turned to her again, his look dangerous. 'What good is an insincere apology from an empty-headed bone-box that has been fed ill-will from his mother's milk?' He glowered at her. 'I tell you, I do not need it.' She laughed. 'And at least he did not call me despicable.'

  'You are despicable,' Fox said shortly. 'Then how shall we bear dinner? I can excuse myself, but you will have to sit with them.'

  'Isn't Curtis at a cock-fight? He won't be back for dinner! And no, you may not excuse yourself, my lord, you will offer support to the spirits of your guests.' She reached for his arm again, pinched the fabric of his sleeve and shook it a little, like a child arguing for a treat. 'Yes?'

  He looked down at her, his Fox's eyes on hers. 'I say yes to you too often. I am not an obliging man. How is it that you make me do so?'

  Their eyes held a little too long before she answered briskly. 'That is because you have realised the wisdom of my designs.'

  'It is definitely not that. Merely, on this occasion, that you remind me of a duty to my guests.'

  'Let us to the drawing room before the others come.' She put her arm through his and he looked at it, but made no reproof. 'We shall claim the field before the enemy arrives, as General Napoleon would have it.'

  'You do not say you have seen him?' said an astonished Fox on his way to the salon.

  'I have resided for some years in Paris. It would have been odd if I had not done so.'

  Ianthe dropped his arm as they reached the salon threshold, and they entered the room to find Lady Fox in solitary dignity (excepting, of course, her maid, two footmen and the butler in close attendance) on a chair by the fire. She wore a tall turban of violet satin and a purple silk gown, bedecked by a surfeit of black lace. She held onto a silver topped cane, from which purple and violet ribbons fell. Dressed for battle, thought Ianthe, with the cane a token of her fragility. But she said to Fox in an under voice, 'The field has been already claimed.'

  'I beg your pardon, Miss Eames?' said Lady Fox.

  'She was speaking to me of Napoleon, your ladyship,' Fox informed his step-mama. 'Apparently, Ianthe is acquainted with him.'

  'Really, dear?' said Lady Richards coming behind them with Sally. 'You have lived the most interesting life. Were you not terrified?'

  'We will halt all speech until we achieve the table,' said Lady Fox in stentorian tones. She shot a look of inquiry at the butler.

  'Dinner is served, your ladyship.'

  In a stately manner, Lady Fox led the way to the dining room, her tall cane before her like the staff of Moses, and affected to be unaware of a stifled laugh (issuing from a sorely-tried Lady Richards) behind her.

  'Lady Richards!' she said with a frown as soon as she was seated. 'You were long gone this afternoon. I did not know you would walk so far. I had a fancy to play cards and you were not present.'

  Lady Richards flushed and began an apology for this dereliction of duty, but Fox interrupted. 'Was it pleasant exercise, Cousin Emma?'

  Lady Fox's fork clattered upon her plate.

  'I was sadly out of breath, I'm afraid, Cousin Edward,' answered Lady Richards, only a slight tremor betraying her agitation. The knife fell too. 'But it has firmed my resolve to extend my walks in the afternoons so as to improve my strength.'

  'An excellent plan.' Lord Fox turned and added to Ianthe, 'And your drive with your friends, Ianthe? Catching up on the London gossip from Lady Aurora?'

  'You forget that my stay in London was but a few days, Edward d—' Ianthe coughed as Fox's eyes dared her to call him dear, 'd-ue to my coming here. It would do little good to tell me any on dits since I know no one.'

  The stunned Lady Fox was speechless.

  Sally had, as usual, been moved to wrath at the tone that Lady Fox had used to her mama, but this time it was not impotent wrath. Ianthe had given her the weapon and she set about using it. 'Before that, Edward, we had a great many visitors today. The Marquis of Audley came, and Mr Steadman, whom we met at the marquis' house, you know, as well as the Fentons.'

  'I do not recall when we have had so many visitors, Sally,' replied Fox conversationally. A gasp from his step-mama made it hard to hold back a smile, but he continued, in a railing tone that was not at all like him. 'I suspect that the local gentry have discovered what a charming trio of ladies I play host to.'

  Sally was almost flummoxed by this, as being much further than she had expected him to extend the joke, but Ianthe kicked her, and she managed to reply. 'Flatterer!' with a smile.

  Lady Fox gagged.

  'It is clear,' said Ianthe brightly, 'that time spent with the marquis is having a beneficial effect on your charm with the ladies, Cousin Edward.'

  'What,' uttered Lady Fox, at last catching her breath, 'is the meaning of this?'

  All four of the others were stopped for a second by her venom, but it was the quiet voice of Lady Richards who said, 'Oh, you must be referring to our mode of address, Lady Fox. It is just that Lord Fox —' she smiled at him, 'that is, dear Cousin Edward, suggested to us as we rode home from Audley last night, that as we are family who have known each other all our lives, you know, we should be more familiar in our address. I agreed whole-heartedly.'

  'And Miss Eames? She we have never seen before this week. It is quite beyond the pale to be so familiar on such a short acquaintance.'

  'She is family, stepmother, and it would not have done to exclude her,' said Lord Fox in a mock serious tone.

  'I know the genesis of this change. I know you well enough, Edward, to know that you value your family's dignity better than a girl who had knocked about Europe doing who-knows-what.'

  Fox made a sound in his throat that might be the precursor to anger but was interrupted.

  'Oh, your ladyship,' said Ianthe enthusiastically, 'do you wish to know what I did in Europe? Please do ask me, I would love to tell you of my adventures.'

  'I do not wish to know what shocking tales you might tell.'

  'Do you not?' Ianthe's eyes glittered, and Sally Richards intuited that her friend was looking for the most shocking tale that she could find to tell Her Ladyship. Sally wished to head her off from actually sending Lady Fox into an apoplexy, so she asked.

  'Napoleon! I cannot believe that you have breathed the same air as the monster of Europe.'

  'Well, Papa was one of his new nobility, you know.' The table gasped — even Lady Fox, whose outrage had no words. 'About two years since,' Ianthe explained, 'Papa wished to move back to Paris and he acquired,' Ianthe's eyebrows rose as a parenthesis around the word, 'the papers of one Marcel de Fontaine, who was now deceased. It turned out that M. de Fontaine's brother was a fallen comrade of the general, and he sent out emissaries to seek out his only family, Marcel, to reward him on his brother's behalf. They found us where we were living in Angers in the Loire Valley. It was a close call, but thankfully no one suspected Papa was not the real Marcel de Fontaine and he was awarded Chevalier de Fontaine, with a small annual allowance. The prestige allowed Papa to return to Paris and to be abl
e game with the elite once more. It quite restored our fortunes, for Papa was a talented gamester. I saw the general — I do not call him Emperor — briefly on but two occasions. I was too young to be of interest to him, but he stopped and talked to me out of respect for his dead comrade.'

  'He spoke to you?' asked Sally. 'What did he say?'

  'He told me he had beef for breakfast.'

  'How disappointing!' said Lady Richards.

  'Yes. His manners with men were a trifle abrupt, for one must suppose he had to deal with too many supplicants, but he was always charming to the ladies, in his fashion.'

  'So I've heard,' said Fox cynically.

  'Shocking,' agreed Ianthe with what Fox had dubbed her dangerous innocent look that preceded something awful, 'but I've heard he could not rival Lord Wellington in that department, who made it his business to … em … meet all of Napoleon's mistresses when he first came to town.'

  A deathly silence greeted this, and only Ianthe Eames continued with her meal. The word 'mistress' would have been shocking enough to part from the lips of a young lady, but the substance of the insinuation was so far from polite dinner conversation as to have left her audience stunned.

  Lady Fox was the first to find her voice. 'England's hero! How dare you speak his name, you dreadful girl? You are beneath my contempt. You do not know, Fox, for I kept it from you, what this creature confessed to me when first she came, threatening the family with scandal when I asked her to leave…'

  'You had no right to ask her to leave, your ladyship. She is my guest and a member of this family.'

  'So I have no rights in my own home? Is this what you wish to inform me of, now that your poor papa is in his grave?'