'And my father described his cousin as a wastrel!' exclaimed Lord Fox with a short laugh, loosening his sense of dignity in the face of all this frankness.
'Oh, he was of course,' said the beautiful Miss Eames, laughing, 'a sad wastrel.' She clapped her hands. 'Is that a syllabub? I do hope so. We had an English cook — in Frankfurt I think — who used to make them for me.'
'In what way a wastrel?' asked Curtis, with perhaps some fellow feeling. Lady Fox frowned as the horses seemed to be bolting from her.
'Oh, the sort of wastrel who died and left me not with the inheritance I had thought of, but with a horrendous pile of gaming debts that meant I had to sell up the Paris house lock, stock and barrel and move back to England. Funny, I say move back, but I have never been here before. However, Father was used to call it home, you know.'
'I have to say—' interjected Her Ladyship with an effort at reasserting her control, 'Miss Eames, that your clothes do not befit your new station in life. You will dress more appropriately for our meeting tomorrow morning.'
'Well, I'll try,' that lady returned cheerfully. 'I mean to be very useful to you, Lady Fox, for your great kindness in inviting me to share your home, but my clothes … well, you see I was most disgustingly well-to-do until only a few months ago, and I do not have either simple garb, or the funds to buy some.'
Lady Richards let out a tiny squeak at this, and Sally nipped her beneath the table.
Lady Fox breathed deeply. Her colour heightened. Her brows lowered dreadfully. 'We will talk of it tomorrow.' She got up with great stateliness, 'I have finished my meal and this shocking conversation. I will go to bed. And I will see you at ten tomorrow in the small salon to discuss if your future lies here, Miss Eames.' She moved. 'Curtis!' Her son, still as dazed as the rest of the room's inhabitants, closed his mouth and rose to take his mother's arm, and she went staggeringly from the room.
Miss Eames was the only one still eating.
'Do not fear for your position, Miss Eames,' said His Lordship dryly, 'this is my house.'
'Oh yes, my lord,' Miss Eames favoured him with that dazzling smile, '…and saying that, I have a message from the marquis. He hopes that the whole family come to Audley for dinner on Sunday. I am certain that Lady Richards and her daughter will be included once he knows they are visiting. I shall dash off a note to him this evening.' A choked sound came from His Lordship, preceding, as Sally knew, a roar. But Miss Eames continued, 'And he said to say, quite exactly, if it means I can visit Miss Eames and we can put all this ancient stupidity behind us, tell Lord Fox that I will happily cede the land in dispute and five years of its rents. He will be welcome in my home. Is that not perfectly marvellous?'
Lord Fox's dark and brooding face did not appear to be delirious. 'One must assume that the marquis had a romantic interest in you.'
'Oh, I shouldn't think so. It is just that we are such good friends, you know.'
'Is that how he came to know you were in London?'
'Oh, no! I was driving with Mr Fenton and his wife, Lady Aurora, and we came bang up to him in the park! When he heard where I was off to, he naturally offered to accompany me.'
'Naturally. And how did you come to drive with Lady Aurora Fenton?'
'Oh, well, I know Mr Fenton, naturally, and he brought me from the ship to stay with him for a few days before leaving. He was in the same — had business with my papa and travelled often to the continent. He sometimes stayed with us.'
'You are suggesting that Wilbert Fenton, the most well-known of libertines, excuse my language ladies,’ with a nod to the Richards, ‘was a spy for the King?'
'Now, of course I did not say so.' She smiled again naughtily. 'But don't you think a wastrel — or, or a libertine — could be helpful to the crown in gathering information? There is a general assumption about such men that precludes the guarding of one's tongue around them. And then, I believe Mr Fenton was a dab hand at burglary — so I've heard, of course. And only for sport.' Her eyes were alight with mischief.
'You have lived, as my stepmother would say, quite a different life to us. It may be that this is not quite the place for you. It will be sadly flat, I fear.' His tone was sardonic, but when he looked at her, she had flushed a little. 'Oh, do not fear, Miss Eames, I will, in that case, make provisions for you.'
This seemed, finally, to nettle her. 'Since my father's death many men have offered to make provisions for me, my lord, I scorned theirs as I scorn yours.'
This was undoubtedly a challenge. It seemed to Sally that Lord Fox was not quite up to it and it made him (if that were possible) even more resentful. 'Ladies.' He stood up and bowed stiffly. 'You are welcome to the withdrawing room.'
Sally, who was looking forward to some time with the wonderful Miss Eames, was disappointed when she said, seeing her maid awaiting her in the hall, 'Oh, ladies, I long for us to have a quiet talk, but I am so tired. Might we do so tomorrow?'
The ladies curtsied, the maid led Miss Eames to her room and Sally accompanied her mother to Lady Richard's room with becoming dignity at first, but ran the last of the way to achieve it sooner. She was a trifle worried for Miss Eames after the words of Lord Fox, but her mama was in a different mood, jumping onto her bed like a young girl.
'Oh, did you see her face?' There was no doubt from her mother's gleeful expression that she referred to Lady Fox.
'When Miss Eames arrived in her Paris finery?' joined in Sally.
'Looking so incredibly beautiful instead of the wet and bedraggled supplicant she hoped to scold. She,' said Mama, obviously referring to Her Ladyship again, 'will be terrified that Curtis may develop a tendre for her. She will keep him by her, never fear. And then, when she said she came with the marquis,' added Lady Richards, prone on the bed and stamping her silk-clad feet with delight, 'oh, I could have died and gone to heaven!'
'I know, I know,' laughed Sally, joining her mother on the bed, '…and then she was cut off at every turn because Miss Eames did not seem to hear the disapproval in her voice.'
'Or in Lord Fox's when he complained again about the marquis and said that dreadfully cruel thing about sending her away.'
'What did she mean, Mama, about many men offering to make provisions for her? Do you think she has rejected many offers?’
Her mama supposed so, 'Miss Eames no doubt came to her family thinking to get some solace while she grieves, but instead she's ended up with the Foxes. I understood from your poor papa that her father, a second cousin of Fox, left home after a dispute with his own father, whom he disowned before being disowned. He made his own way in the world after that, but I always believed it was as a gambler. I'll wager Miss Eames is already thinking she had better have taken one of the offers. How dreadful to have ended up here.'
'But Miss Eames is more spirited than either of us, Mama. I think she will be able to deal with Lady Fox more nimbly than we. I would love to be a fly on the wall in the small salon tomorrow morning at ten.'
'Well…' said her mama, naughtily.
Chapter Three
Ianthe's World
Cherie, the French maid with the troubling eyebrows, was waiting to take off Ianthe's dress after dinner and met the young girl's eyes in the mirror as she undid the buttons.
'It is good to sleep early tonight,' the maid said gruffly in French. 'Let me take the pins from your hair, you will have the headache, mon petit chat noir.' Ianthe smiled faintly. The pet name was used for affection and safety, because life with her father had needed many names, and to use the wrong one could be dangerous. Cherie had passed for her mother, her governess and her employer at various of these times, and 'petit chat noir' had been used universally. Now, Ianthe tried to give her friend a reassuring smile.
'I wonder what can have possessed Lady Fox to invite me?' she asked, a little too brightly, also in French, 'She certainly doesn't want me here.'
Cherie pulled at a pin so hard that Ianthe gave a yelp. 'People with a vicious temper need others to take it out on, or how else c
an they enjoy themselves?' The maid looked at her hard. 'Can you bear it?'
'Of course.' Ianthe put a hand over Cherie's. 'Am I not my father's daughter?' Tears filled both sets of eyes.
'You are Joseph’s daughter indeed.'
‘All of those Foxes looked ill-tempered, as I saw.’ Cherie pulled at another pin in her anger, and Ianthe yelped, laughing.
‘I think Lord Fox’s temper is defensive. There is something less ill-intentioned in his eyes.’
‘If you say so. I only saw him frown.’
'Where did they put you?' asked Ianthe. 'Is it too ghastly?'
'In the attic. And it is a good place. I think Monsieur Jenkins runs a tight ship, as they say. The servants’ rooms are simple, but clean. I only share with three others.'
'Put up a truckle bed here, Cherie, but share my bed as we are used to. Tell the servants I have night terrors or some such.'
'It is better that I get to know the household first.’ Ianthe looked at her with troubled eyes and Cherie added with Gallic pragmatism, 'I saw no rats at least. Remember the rooms in Rue Saint-Cécile de Fauberg?'
'And the lice!' Ianthe laughed and shuddered while her nightdress was slid over her head. 'Stay here, please mon Lou-Lou.' She moved to the canopied bed, slid beneath the covers and held out her arms. Cherie jumped up beside her on top of the bed cover and pulled Ianthe into an embrace. 'Jusqu'à ce que tu dors, mon chaton.' The young girl trembled in her arms before quietening down into her chest like the very child she had protected all these years. In the strange household of Joseph Eames, Cherie had been the only other constant. Held by the power of her love for both master and child, she had adventured with them, and though their lives would shock the world perhaps, she had protected the little one's innocence through it all.
As she looked fiercely at the darkened canopy, Cherie knew that now that they lived under the "protection" of the Fox family, there would be little she could do for her own one. She understood Ianthe's spirit, and that she had her own resources, but Cherie had hoped for some comfort and respite for her darling, some recognition of the pain and grief she concealed so well. As soon as the maid had set eyes on Lady Fox, she had known that hope to be dashed.
If nought else, Cherie would watch. She could write to Lady Aurora Fenton if need be. As they left London, Her Ladyship, knowing more of the household they were entering than they did, had instructed Cherie to do just that. 'If Ianthe suffers in her new home, you have only to write to me at once. Indeed, you must do so.' Ianthe would hate it if she did so, but Cherie would brook her wrath if need be. If this were just another move, with her beloved M'sieur Joseph due to arrive soon, they could bear it all and laugh. But there was no master now, and perhaps this place was for the rest of their lives. Should they have stayed in Paris? Ianthe might have married there easily. But to accept an offer at the time of her father's death had been impossible, to live respectably under the aegis of her English family infinitely preferable.
Cherie had already discovered from the staff that the other family guests at Studham, the Richards, were treated little better than servants by Lady Fox and her son Curtis and largely ignored by the master, Baron Fox. It did not seem likely that Her Ladyship would help seek Miss Ianthe's place in the world, or further her interests. This could be a dead end, where all her darling's beauty and brilliance would be hidden from the world and they must continue to exist amongst the Fox's family resentments.
However, as she had seen many times before, whatever situation Ianthe Eames arrived in could become radically changed within a few days of her being there. It was her special talent. No, perhaps it was the Foxes who had better watch out. She would trust her little black cat. Feeling Ianthe asleep, Cherie gently removed her arms and went off to her attic.
***
Nothing much happened in the house before ten the next day. Lord Fox had gone out riding, and by something Jenkins implied, it was in one of his rages, so that meant he would not likely be home before the afternoon. Miss Eames was having a light breakfast in her room and would not be down, the Richards were informed. Since the mistress of the house generally took breakfast in bed, and Curtis never arose before twelve of the clock, Lady Richards and her daughter ate a hearty breakfast in peace. There was ample time to set up their little trick, and they moved their sewing baskets from the green salon to red, where Jenkins was pleased to have a fire lit for them. A door adjoining the small salon was slightly ajar. Jenkins looked at it, and then into Sally Richards' eyes.
'That will be all, Jenkins.'
'Very good, miss,' the butler said, and left.
They heard Lady Fox, sometime later, install herself in the small salon, and Sally looked at her mother, the two silently adjuring silence to the other. For if they could hear, no doubt they could be heard.
Miss Eames arrived on time and they heard her cheerful 'Good morning, Aunt!' and the unmistakable sound of a kiss on the cheek. Her mother stuffed the linen she was working into her mouth so as to trap the laugh trying to escape. Sally's eyes watered in sympathy.
'Sit, Miss Eames,' Lady Fox said, in her coldest tone.
'Thank you,' said Miss Eames. 'What a charming room this is. I do hope you like my dress better today. I have worn the plainest one in my boxes, which I had when Papa and I had to travel as a parson and his daughter, when we were fleeing Spain. The Spanish are mostly Catholic, of course, but are still superstitious when dealing with clergymen and—'
'Allow me to speak!' demanded Her Ladyship. 'I do not wish to hear any more of your dreadful upbringing. It is clear it has left you quite without manners. When I asked you here, it was at the request of your cousin, Fox, who had been informed of your situation — by your father's majordome, I believe. I supposed that you might have been of use to me as a sort of companion, as my son is so often in London these days. But I see that you are quite the wrong sort of woman for that. You have shocked me to my core, and your lack of respect is not to be borne. You will leave as soon as you pack a bag. As for the rest of the baggage, if you ever find anywhere to send them on to, I shall do so — if you also send the shillings,' she ended cruelly.
The eavesdroppers gasped.
'In that case, what shall I then do?' said Miss Eames, musingly. Somehow, she did not sound as crushed as Sally and her mother's shocked looks at each other had anticipated.
'That is not my affair,' answered the icicle tones of Lady Fox.
'I suppose I must accept the carte blanche offered to me when I was in London by Lord Ransom, then. I thought him a trifle precipitate, having only known me two days, as well as insulting. But it might, at least, be amusing.' There was an audible gasp from Lady Fox, which thankfully masked the one given by Lady Richards. Something shocking had been said, but Sally was not sure what. Lord Ransom was known as a rake, but surely marrying even such a man would be preferable to staying at Studham, thought Sally. But her mama's look said something else.
'You would not!' cried Lady Fox. But there was panic in her voice, thought Sally.
'You would leave me with little choice, my dear aunt. And who is to say that the ton would not find out that the latest light o' love of Ransom was a direct relation to the noble house of Fox?'
Now Sally understood what had shocked her mother. Ransom had not offered marriage.
'You are a wicked, wicked, woman!'
'Now, how can you know that? You have not yet spent time with me. I too, suspect that you are wicked, but I am willing to give us the time to find out for sure.'
There was a stunned silence. Then a noise in the hall and Sally heard a door open and the urgent voice of Lord Fox. 'Miss Eames, I cannot permit you to go, whatever my stepmother has had to say to you.'
There was a rustle of fabric. Perhaps Miss Eames arose. 'Thank you, Lord Fox. But your stepmother and I were just discussing how much we wish to pursue our acquaintance.' They heard her move and a door opening.
Without more ado, Sally went over to the open door and shut it silently, then b
oth mother and daughter rushed to follow Miss Eames.
***
Fox had gone off in a rage that morning, it was true. There was no doubt that the arrival of Miss Eames shook him, as it had all of them in their different ways. Seeing his stepmother at a loss was naturally entertaining, but he could not but acknowledge that he, too, had been bested.
When he replayed it in his head, he could not account for it. At first, he had sought to reassure her of the security of the invitation to make her home here, but when she had so confidently relayed the marquis' message, he had been pricked to annoyance. She was rather too self-possessed for his liking. Arriving looking not only like a fashionable young lady but a wealthy leader of fashion, not just young and pretty (like Miss Richards, for example) but ravishingly beautiful. Not to his taste of course, he preferred blonde beauties, but still. This accounted for her confidence, and so he had made the unpleasant and intrusive “romantic interest” remark to her, thinking to set her back on her heels.
This made him angry with himself, but angrier with her — for she had not sat back on her heels at all. She had told him about her connection to Audley and Fenton and it was apparent that she was not without friends, which should have pleased him. The mischief in her eyes when she told him was perfectly friendly and had invited him in to share. That, for some reason, had infuriated him and he had then uttered the unforgivable line about Studham not being the place for her.
This to a girl just come to his home, at his invitation. He could not understand himself. It was beyond the bounds of honourable behaviour. However confident and beautiful Miss Eames was, however different her life had been, she was still a woman without income, a young girl whose father had died barely nine months ago. A member of his family that he was bound to protect.
She would be seeing his stepmother now. If he had been roused by Miss Eames' lack of fawning gratitude (the sort he took for granted after housing the Richards) he could hardly imagine what wrath Lady Fox would have stored and simmered in the night, ready to spew all over the girl this morning. He turned his horse around and headed back to the house to save her, thoroughly ashamed of himself.
Ianthe and the Fighting Foxes: The Fentons Book 4 Page 2