Ianthe and the Fighting Foxes: The Fentons Book 4

by Alicia Cameron

  Wilbert Fenton laughed. 'What are you about to do?'

  'Pay him back.' Fox said.

  'Can you afford it?'

  'I must. To give her ease.'

  'I see. And will she be at ease if her debt is to you rather than the comte?'

  'I will make her be at ease,' Fox said fiercely.

  Wilbert Fenton gave his sardonic laugh. 'Don't sell out the stocks yet. We have some things to discover. I'll get one of Audley's men to stay on the comte discreetly, while he remains in the area.'

  'I never thought of that. Damned intrusive thing to do, but I'll put one of my men on it.'

  'You have someone you can trust?'

  Fox thought about it. Until recently, he had never seen that his stepmother had spies in his own household. But he had grown up at Studham and had known some of his servants as children. 'Never fear. Anyway, you are to go to town.'

  'Perhaps we should all delay until this is settled.'

  'No,' said Fox, frowning. 'Audley's case is desperate. He needs to go.' Mr Fenton cocked an eyebrow at his wife at this. 'You can send me word from London when you get the answer to your express.'

  'I shall. Audley—?'

  Fox met his eye. 'Needs to be somewhere other than here.'

  'Ah!'

  'I do not understand why but this business with the comte has disturbed Ianthe beyond measure. I won't let it do so for long.' He bowed. 'Farewell, sir. My lady.'

  'Do you mean to meet with the comte?' asked Lady Aurora suddenly. 'I should delay until you hear from us. Ianthe may be troubled by it. She may not think it your place.'

  Fox's tawny eyes met the beautiful gaze of the older woman. 'I am not concerned with what Ianthe Eames considers "my place". She has overstepped her place since the hour I met her.'

  Fenton's eyes looked to be in quick thought. 'Hold, Fox. There may be something else behind all this. Until I know, don't seek out the comte.'

  Since this was said in the tone of an order rather than a request, it might be supposed that Fox would take exception, but he only narrowed his eyes. 'I won't. But if he approaches me, or Ianthe, I will not answer for the consequences.' He looked at the clock. 'I must get back for dinner.'

  'You are eager to return to Studham these days,' remarked Audley who had come in time to hear his last remark.

  Fox gave him a grin. 'Yes,' he said as he reached for his hat and coat, 'Novel, isn't it?'

  Chapter Sixteen

  The French Connection

  Since Lord Fox's precautionary measures were not yet in force, and by dint of the comte's intimate knowledge of Ianthe, it was relatively simple for him to get a message to her. He asked a groom to enter the house in search of her maid.

  'Cherie!' he said as that peculiarly upright figure appeared in the small nook of trees where he had summoned her.

  The maid was silent, looking at him with cold eyes.

  'Are you not pleased to see a friend, my dear?'

  Still she was silent.

  'I remember many a night in Bordeaux where you were glad to share a meal with me. Why do you look at me so now?'

  Cherie did not respond.

  He looked down. 'Ah, you suspect my motives.' He looked up again, meeting her eyes with an open expression. 'I just wished to give her what was hers.' He sighed. 'I did not expect thanks, but it is too hard to receive such looks from both of you for only that. Were we not friends, Cherie?'

  'Before you were Comte d'Emillion-Orsay, I believed that we were. What is it that you want, comte?'

  'Deliver this to "Miss Eames" for me.' He smiled. 'It is strange to call her so. For the last few years, she has been Mademoiselle de Fontaine.' He laughed. 'And before that de Vere, and before that … I do not remember.'

  'Did you know us before that? Or are you seeking information?'

  He laughed. 'The war is over, Cherie. What information can I sell these days? And I sold to Joseph, I didn't sell his secrets, or he should not have lived peacefully as de Fontaine these last years.' Something passed across Cherie's face at this, but she made no comment. 'I wanted Ianthe to have her mother's jewels. What sin have I committed?'

  'If that is all you wanted, why are you here? You have delivered them already.'

  'There are still some things I could not give her. What about the amber pendant, and her mother's jewellery box?'

  'And so?'

  But he saw her tremble, and narrowed his eyes. 'The letter tells her where they may be.'

  She held out a hand to receive it. 'I'll give it to her,' she said briefly and turned away.

  'Cherie!' he called after her. 'Do not be so cold with a friend. For Joseph's sake.'

  She stopped at this, but did not turn around. 'For those precious days, I wish you well comte. But for now, my girl has a new life and her past must stay dead.'

  'Don't you want to come home Cherie? Back to Paris? My position there now is secured. I could help you both.'

  Cherie turned to him and laughed mirthlessly. 'After all we have seen, my dear comte, the falling of a king's head and an emperor's crown, how can you talk of security?' She walked off, back upright as ever.

  Once out of his sight, she ordered a gig at the stables and drove herself to Audley. There was something in all this, something that she needed to discuss. She had never hidden truths from Ianthe, or only one, but just now she felt that the strains of the loss of her father might incline the young girl to need sanctuary of a kind. Cherie was not sure what kind of sanctuary Comte d'Emillion-Orsay might be. He could indeed be a blessing, but Cherie needed advice.

  When she reached the stables, she saw a mount she recognised as Lord Fox's being led out and wondered if he had been having the same thoughts. She entered by the servants’ quarters, approaching the butler to beg his indulgence in letting her in to see Mr Fenton. She was still clutching the comte's note. 'I must deliver this into his hand,' she said, but her tone was coolly removed.

  The corpulent butler, Forrest, approved of her manner. A superior maid indeed. He gave her a respectful gaze from his rheumy eye. 'Certainly.' He led the way, with slow dignity, to the salon where Mr Fenton sat writing another letter. Cherie was surprised that the wheezing butler had made it thus far. 'A maid has brought a letter for you, Mr Fenton.'

  Lady Aurora looked up from her sketchbook in mild surprise. Fenton did not look up, but continued writing. When the door closed behind the butler, Cherie said, 'I hope that is not to Sebastian, M'sieur Fenton, for he is already in Geneva.'

  Fenton looked up, eyebrows raised, and a slow smile came over his lips. 'Cherie! I told Ianthe to send you, or I would have raided the Servants' Hall to come to you.' He was standing now, and his wife did not blink as he came forward and held out his hands to the maid. The woman grasped them.

  'Hello again, Wil-bert.' Her pretty accent pronounced it Weel- berr, and she smiled at him.

  'How do you at Studham? Are there rats in the attic?'

  Cherie raised her terrible black brows. 'Do you care?'

  'I cannot bear to think of it. Audley will be sorry to have missed you.'

  'I hear Lady Fox is a terrifying mistress,' said Lady Aurora, with concern.

  Cherie shrugged. 'Lady Fox does not pay my wages, I work for Ianthe only and so I have made it known. I am housed by Lord Fox, not Her Ladyship, and he has now instructed the butler to keep my duties reserved for my girl.'

  'Still, Cherie…' sighed Wilbert Fenton. 'Sit.'

  'I won't. Servants. The comte gave me this to give to Ianthe.'

  'He met you already?' Mr Fenton's mobile eyebrow rose. 'He is a man of laudable talent. And so? You wish me to read it before she does? That is not like you.'

  'Of course not. I will give it to her upon my return, but I cannot like it. I came because I have had a thought.' He nodded for her to continue. 'There was something desperate about Antoine today, Wil-bert. I could smell it.'

  'Wilbert tells me that your instincts were never wrong, mademoiselle.'

  Cherie shrugged at Lady
Aurora with a faint smile, but began to pace, displaying her agitation. 'When we were in London, I told you already that everything was wrong after Joseph died. Tout. I was not myself, I could not think, not even really care. After the letter from the Foxes arrived, securing my dear one's future, I even stopped considering it, much.' She sighed. 'We were very rich this time in Paris. Joseph played hard at the start, but once he had secured enough money, he stopped gaming, I know he did. Or only enough for his social obligations. And yet he died, the lawyer said, with many unpaid bills and a drawer full of vowels, some dating back months. When did Joseph ever buy time to pay debts of honour?'

  Fenton's face was calculating.

  She continued. 'And the gentlemen whose names were upon them. I could swear they were not in his circle. He had been going out a good deal in the month previous to his death, but not dressed for society. He talked to me of being tired of the secrets, but it was as though he were once more in the old intrigue. He spoke of taking Ianthe back to England. I think,' Cherie's voice halted and she controlled it, '… that he was hesitant because he knew what my life would be here. In Europe, the upset of war and the displacement in peoples made it easier for me to pass as anyone he chose — but here there is only one place for me. I told him he should leave without me.'

  'He never could have done so.'

  'But his tone was urgent, Wil-bert. There was some upset coming … We had almost settled on Cadiz, because he said he wished to avoid "the next change" as he called it. I have no idea what he meant.' She paused. 'I'm not sure if much of this matters. Everyone was shocked when Ianthe sold the jewels, including me. She did so before I knew it. There were those who thought our circumstances made it the perfect time to claim her beauty for themselves. Some who were rich enough to bear the brunt of even Joseph's debts. Some offered marriage, some protection,' Lady Aurora winced, 'but she would not have them, and paid back every penny with those treasures. I was triste, for we had carried those baubles the length of Europe, in sacks, hidden in the lining of coats, in many ways. Joseph meant them to be Ianthe's last securité. At times they were all he had. But not, I thought, for these last years.' She looked into the distance, remembering, thought her onlookers, a happier time. 'Anyway, the comte was one of those who offered for her.' Cherie paused her pacing, looking at them both. 'As a girl, when we were in Bordeaux, or one earlier time in Paris, I think Ianthe admired Antoine very much. He saw her as a child then, and treated her much as Audley or you did Wil-bert, but my girl blushed when she saw Antoine d'Arcy. I thought, when Joseph died and she confessed his offer to her, that she would marry him. But all she said was, "Why now, Cherie?" Ianthe is no fool. She thought something was wrong. But it broke her heart anew.'

  'I see,' said Fenton. 'And now you do, too? Think there is something wrong?'

  'Il y a quelque chose. Something. Someone was in Joseph's study in the Paris house. Things had been moved out of place. Someone was searching.'

  'You suspected even then?'

  'I saw, but I could not piece together myself or my dear girl, never mind such petty conundrums. I concluded it was perhaps some servant not long in our employ scavenging his dead master's goods.'

  'Perhaps the person did not take away, but put in.'

  'The vowels? I had that thought today. But it could have been Antoine, the lawyer de Farge, or any of a dozen other visitors. I cannot say.' She laughed. 'At the time, I even asked Antoine to look into it.'

  'He may have done so.'

  'He is too eager. It is something else, Wil-bert,' she said in that French fashion. 'Something makes him more desperate. Perhaps he is here for Ianthe's heart and perhaps I should trust him as I did in the past.' She shrugged, locking eyes with Fenton. 'Talk to Audley. He knew him, too.'

  Mr Wilbert Fenton walked the strange maid to the stables, no doubt to give her further instructions, considered the servants who passed by. As they reached the stable yard, the maid turned to the elegant gentleman.

  'There is another thing, Wil-bert.' He looked down at her, eyes serious. 'The jewellery box was sold too. You know that there is a compartment in it…'

  'Yes. But Joseph was not so dim as to—'

  'No, it is something that I placed there. But it is a thing I do not wish Ianthe to see.' The look in those large dark eyes, still as beautiful as the first day he had seen them, moved Mr Fenton to take a step towards her as though to offer comfort. A slight gesture with a fluttering hand held him off and he stood, waiting. 'I placed our wedding lines there.' The imperturbable Mr Fenton's jaw dropped a little. 'In truth, Joseph and I were married for many years.' Fenton blinked. 'A year after I came to care for my little one. He wanted to tell our close friends, but I would not. At first, it was because of the way we lived, adopting different lives. What good would it have been to have Ianthe know I was really her mother now? She would worry if I aped being a maid, or a governess, or whatever. Later, it was because I knew this day would come. We might move back to England, and what will an adventuress such as I lend to Ianthe's reputation in society? I will stay by her until she marries, and then I will disappear. But I do not want the comte to find the box before I do. Will you help me Wil-bert? For Ianthe's sake?'

  'For your own sake alone, Mrs Eames,' Mr Fenton bowed.

  Cherie's eyes filled and her head rose a little. 'Thank you. You are the first, besides my husband, ever to call me so.' She smiled sadly. 'And, I suppose, the last.'

  'Leave your worries with me, my dear. We shall see if Antoine is still our friend, and I will find the box and bring you the document. We will solve the puzzle. But this must be a trying time for our girl. You see to her.'

  Chapter Seventeen

  Times Past

  It had made nothing to the servants in the Rue Saint-Jacques in Paris that the lady’s maid shared the master's bed. It was a usual situation after all. Gentlemen took their amusement where they may. That even le majordome of the house (the butler) referred decisions to Cherie was unusual, as was the evident affection that the Chevalier de Fontaine's daughter showed to her maid, but then the maid had been a favourite since the girl was a child. Cherie's beauty had obviously held their master, it was true, but everyone knew he visited many of the revels of Paris, and was a gamester. Still, wages were paid, and the household was a joyful one, and the servants accepted the situation unremarked. After the death of their master, some of the more jealous of the maids predicted the comeuppance of the master's mistress, now sure to fall back to her rightful place in the house. But they were wrong. Ianthe insisted that Cherie still sleep in the master's bed, and for the first three days she too had slept there, wrapped in the arms of her maid.

  Eventually they had emerged, to face an army of debtors and also mourners. It was Cherie who began to order things, somewhat listlessly, and who behaved in short like the lady of the house. Mademoiselle de Fontaine, catching some slight to Cherie from a jealous maid, rounded on the girl in fury and no other voice lifted against her. When visitors came, Cherie stood in the room as chaperone-maid. When they left, she took her seat beside Mademoiselle as usual, the girl often in her arms.

  ***

  Ianthe told herself to behave like her father's daughter. This weak-kneed behaviour was not to be borne. Antoine was just … Antoine, an old friend. She could not deceive herself that he alone brought back memories of her father. Actually, so did Audley and Mr Fenton, so it was not merely this.

  Antoine's real family name was obscure to her. He had lived, for at least some of the time, as they had — an adventurer with different identities. She had therefore called him by his given name, Antoine, and her father had called him friend. He was handsome, so handsome, and Ianthe's heart had admired him since she was twelve years old and began to feel a tender attachment to his teasing smile. Audley had been handsome, too, but his teasing took the form of cuffing her head, or upending her when she was very little and throwing her onto a haystack. He generally criticised her, in the way of a brother, when they met, and so she had bee
n immune to the marquis' charm. Antoine’s teasing had been gentle and playful, and she had fallen for him completely. Later, for fun it seemed, the marquis had taken to paying Ianthe fulsome compliments, often to ape and amplify some kind comment of Antoine's, she'd felt, and Ianthe had merely thrown cushions at him. Ianthe noted that this seemed to rein in Antoine's sweetness to her somewhat, and then it was only at odd moments, when they were one step removed from the company, that Antoine had paid her such compliments.

  As time passed, Ianthe could not but know that her beauty had affected others. She became sought after in Paris, and she had received a flattering number of proposals, all of which she had refused in a heartbeat. None were right for her, but when Antoine appeared again, perhaps after some months of absence, her heart skipped a beat. Over the years she had overheard, though she should not have been party to such conversations, of his women. Antoine had a short engagement to a rich Italian contessa, some Parisian mistresses that she knew about, and no doubt many more she had not known of. Why this added to, rather than subtracted from, his attraction Ianthe could not say, but it did. It had fuelled her first jealousy when in her adolescence, and confused her too, since he still found the time to say such sweet words to a mere girl. 'Your hair is as pretty as the night sky,' he said carelessly to her once, and she had slept on these words for a year. His affairs, then, in her earlier years, were none of her business, as she well knew. But when Antoine crossed their paths again after she was fifteen and a woman grown, and once more paid her compliments, she had held back.

  'You are the most beautiful woman in Paris, my sweet mademoiselle,' he had said to her once, and she had not smiled.

  'Tell it,' she had said, meeting his eyes squarely, 'to la duchesse.' She had been referring to his latest flirt. He had raised his eyebrows at this, and bowed formally to her for the first time as she walked off.

  After this, Antoine's affairs were not talked about in Paris. She tried hard not to make too much of this, but it had given her hope. He appeared at Ianthe's side from time to time, he took her aside to say pretty things. He implied a great deal. She knew the work he was engaged on, he told her. He could not come to her as yet, but if only she would wait for him… Ianthe had given no promises, but she had waited for him even so. But she noticed he kept his devotion a secret from her father. Only Cherie guessed, Ianthe thought, though she never discussed it. But Cherie could read every mood of hers.