Ianthe and the Fighting Foxes: The Fentons Book 4

by Alicia Cameron

  Ianthe took the seat next to the cape, leaving only the seat opposite hers for the comte when he came. Ianthe gave a small smile in appreciation to Mr Steadman. He was offering her respectable privacy. A bustling waiter, wearing a moderately clean apron, came up to know of their desire, saying, 'I shall just put the lady's cape on the hook—'

  'No, you won't,' said Mr Steadman in a voice of command. Ianthe and Lady Richards shared a grin. The waiter, looking aggrieved, bustled off to collect the hot chocolate, rolls and cheese they had ordered.

  A large handsome presence stood in the doorway. D'Emillion-Orsay provided more fodder for the breakfasters' eye, handsome as he was and wearing what must be French clothes. His jacket had enormous padded shoulders, beyond even his own broad build, his linen startlingly white, his silk cravat intricately tied and pinned, his shirt points high against the handsome face, his hair a masterpiece of elaborately careless curls swept forward. His dark-eyed gaze was intense, and landed squarely on Ianthe, over the length of the coffee room. A woman at table nearby audibly sighed.

  Interposing the gaze suddenly was the figure of Mr Steadman, with his hand out in a friendly fashion, saying, 'My very dear comte.' The comte looked down at the hand, but was only a fraction of a second before he shook it warmly. This gentleman was claiming friendship with him for Ianthe's sake. This was not how he had imagined meeting her again, but he was ever adaptable, so he moved forward to the table beside Mr Steadman and with a swift glance, greeted the ladies and took the seat opposite Ianthe's.

  The waiter went for coffee, and then the comte said quietly, 'What is this?' with a side glance at the box on the adjoining seat.

  'Have a roll, comte,' said Lady Richards, stretching her hand with the plate.

  The comte accepted one, smiled, and looked again at Ianthe.

  'They are no longer mine,' Ianthe answered in an under voice.

  Mr Steadman and Lady Richards chatted at the other end of the table, while the comte said, 'Of course they are. And, as I have said, I have recently found the amber pendant your father gave you, and your mother's jewellery box. They will arrive from Paris in a few days.'

  Ianthe looked at him. 'They are no longer mine, Antoine.' Despite herself, her eyes sparkled with tears, but she looked away from the longing in his gaze. He sat back then, crossing his legs, leaning one long arm over the back of the neighbouring chair in disdain. 'So, what will I do with this, then? Shall I walk to the river and toss in the contents? They were never mine, Ianthe. I did this only for you.'

  She stayed silent, and the waiter brought his coffee. Lady Richards, nervous that the meeting remain respectable, said, a little too loudly, 'Do you think it may come on to rain, my dear?'

  Ianthe turned and smiled pleasantly. 'I think not. We have ample time to get back before the clouds shift,' she added, glancing out of the window.

  'Yes, indeed,' agreed Mr Steadman. 'Comte, how is your stay at the inn?'

  'It is very pleasant.'

  'Do you plan to stay long?'

  'I have some business here that is not quite concluded,' he answered, smoothly.

  'Ah yes.' Steadman smiled. 'Well, if I or my friend Lord Fox can be of any help to you during your visit you may apply to us at any time.'

  The comte gave him an ironic eyebrow, but inclined his head. He turned back to Ianthe. 'I am not buying you,' he said under his breath. Ianthe stilled, but looked wounded. Then she met his eye. 'You know, for I told you often in Paris, how I feel.'

  'Yet it was only then that you offered me marriage, comte.'

  'It brought me to the point sooner, is all. I was already arranging to offer for you, but when Joseph died, I could not leave you unprotected.'

  'Arranging? What can that mean?' she asked. 'I can never understand, if you truly meant it, what was the delay.'

  'I needed to secure my life, to have a home for you…'

  'To cast off your mistresses?'

  'There were no women anymore. There have not been for some time. I thought only of you.'

  Ianthe looked down at her saucer. 'Yet you did not tell my father.'

  'I could only tell Joseph when everything was in place, else he would have forbidden me the house. There could be no half measures in my ability to protect you, you know that. He would never have let you go else.'

  'Your words are sweet as always, comte.' She raised her eyes. 'Who did you have to sell to buy these?' Her eyes flicked to the seat beside him.

  For a second his eyes were flint, but all he said was, 'I adore you, Ianthe.'

  'Let us end this here.' She stood up and said to her friends, 'Are you quite finished? En y va. We should leave before the rain.'

  Mr Steadman clapped the shoulder of the comte in a show of fond farewell, Lady Richards curtsied slightly, and they left the room.

  The landlord, who had just caught the last of the breakfast visit, said to the waiter, 'Was that Mr Steadman? He and that French gentleman must be friends indeed. Not one to show affection is Mr Steadman.'

  'Well, if they is friends, Mr Plodgitt, sir, I don't quite know why Mr Steadman was in such a mood. Fair snapped me 'ead off he did!'

  The landlord gave him a slap on the head. 'No doubt you deserved it,' he said and bustled back to his kegs.

  ***

  Sally, eating her breakfast in solitary splendour, wondering what this morning's expedition was about, was interrupted by the entrance of Curtis Fox. He was dressed carefully, his fair hair was tidy, his eyes not ringed with the red of a drunken night. A spoonful of porridge was halfway to her mouth, frozen in mid-air, and Curtis bowed low. 'Miss Richards.' He looked embarrassed and flushed, but determined, and Sally found her voice.

  'Mr Fox.'

  'Might I call you S … Sally, too?' he stammered.

  'I … Certainly!' Sally croaked and coughed as her porridge went down the wrong way.

  'Sally. I hope you will accept once more my apology—'

  'No need,' she was saying automatically and with embarrassment, still coughing a little.

  'Yes, there is. It was appalling, what I said.' Sally blinked at his grammatical syntax. 'I am appalling, most of the time. If I grieved you, I truly am—' Curtis’ blue eyes were shining with something, and Sally sat upright.

  'Mr Fox, Curtis, I can see that you are truly sincere. Pray do not worry over it any longer. You said that, perhaps, to goad your brother and I shall not think of it again. Will you not have breakfast? Shall I ring?'

  'I told Jenkins not to bother. I just wanted to … before the others …' He bowed again. 'Pray tell your mother what I said. I do not think I can bear to. I'm an awful coward.'

  'I'm ringing for coffee, Curtis,' she smiled at him openly. 'Please keep me company.'

  'Can I? I shall just have some meat then. And some coffee.' He joined her, looking more pleasant in expression than she had ever seen him. There was a schoolboy's hunger for acceptance, and a shy gratitude, in his treatment of her.

  'You are very young,' remarked Sally, sometime later, after they had chatted about the food and Curtis' horses.

  'I am older than you!' he said, defensively.

  'I know, but ladies mature earlier, I believe.'

  He looked at her shyly. 'You are right, Sally. But I mean to try to catch up.'

  They smiled at each other.

  ***

  An hour later an angry Lord Fox entered the green salon, where Ianthe was reading. 'You met him without me?'

  'Look how well I have organised this. I am here on my own precisely so that you can shout at me.' She made a gesture with both hands, palms up, indicating he might start his performance. 'Carry on!'

  He advanced into the room, after the pause that had thrown him onto the back foot. 'I don't want you to see him.'

  'I won't.'

  'I don't trust him.'

  'I don't either.'

  He was in front of her.

  'I'll get your jewels back.'

  Her face, which had been in playful mode, turned serious,
looking up at him. 'Do not, Edward. They do not matter.'

  He took her hand, 'They are yours; I want you to have them.'

  'He said so too. But I did not want to be indebted to him. And I do not want to be indebted to you.'

  His face turned harsh, almost as she had first seen it, and he dropped her hand. 'I see.'

  'You do not,' she said sadly. Then in her old tone she said, 'You are the greatest chump imaginable.' He looked confused, but his expression lightened at the insult. She took his hand and put it to her cheek. 'There,' she said as though to a child. 'There, there.'

  'I—'

  'I think we have callers. We'll talk later.'

  Fox stared at his hand after she left, as usual both completely flummoxed and stirred.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Confidences and Secrets

  As expected, Lord Fox was furious again when he sent for Ianthe before dinner. His tawny eyes were stormy, his brows lowered.

  'I seem to be regularly admitted to your sanctum, my lord,' Ianthe said, cheerfully entering.

  Fox got up from his seat, already raging. 'I am not finished with our conversation. I told you not to meet him on your own!'

  'But I was not alone. Did not Stephens inform you?' Fox looked surprised at the mention of this name. 'I was most respectably accompanied by Lady Richards and Mr Steadman.'

  'Why you must drag a mere acquaintance into this, and not me, is another thing—'

  'Mr Steadman drove back with me from Audley and I could not well get rid of him. He played his part admirably by the way, claimed a warm friendship with the comte at the inn. I was impressed.'

  'So, Steadman encroaches on your acquaintance. There can be little doubt he is pursuing you.'

  'Is he?' said Ianthe, surprised. 'I am not without vanity, but I never feel it to be so.'

  'He visits here every day. If it is not you, it must be Sally.'

  Ianthe put her head on one side, as she did when she was in thought. 'I have been so wrapped up in my own concerns that I have not given it much thought. Steadman and Sally.' She was obviously passing some events through her head. 'Well, all three of the gentlemen we met at Audley's dinner have been very polite. Lord Jeffries, Mr Markham and Mr Steadman.' She smiled at Fox's frown. 'Do you know, I have no idea about their intentions, which is quite unlike me. I only was glad that the house was livelier.'

  Fox looked stricken. 'It is a horrible, miserable prison for you. Don't think I do not know it!' He looked up, determined. 'But do not worry. You shall have next Season in London. And not alone. Sally can go with you. If my step-mama will not present you, my Aunt Dorothea will. She is not really my aunt, you know, but my mama's dear friend. Anyway, she would gladly do it. It would look better if Lady Fox were to … but it would be more pleasant if you stayed with …' He saw her look at him with a fond, pitying smile, and he changed his tack. 'But I meant to rail at you. You should never meet that man on your own. I spoke to Mr Fenton and—'

  'You have been busy.'

  'Why will you not listen to me?'

  She moved to him then and took his hands again, in that gesture that so much confused him. 'Stop being angry, Edward. I know it is just because you worry for me, but—'

  'Worry?' he said furiously, 'Who, who had responsibility for such a headstrong piece as you would not worry? But for the most part I am just furious because you are the most disobedient, foolhardy little minx that was ever born.' He looked down at her hands and pulled his away. 'You've invaded every part of my life and you upend all my peace and you bewitch every servant and gentleman you meet with that smile of yours that you give away as easily as Curtis disposes of guineas.'

  'And do I give that smile to you, Edward?' Ianthe asked, suddenly serious.

  'No. You do not like me.'

  'That is not the reason,' and she was smiling as he looked down at her, his fury still upon him, but her smile was different. It was warm and winning, it was the smile of a doting parent upon an infant. He remembered such a smile from his own childhood, and it warmed him now.

  'Ianthe!' he started, but she shook her head.

  'Let us to dinner, Edward. I have some things left to deal with. You are a surprise that I didn't expect, and I don't quite know—' she stopped.

  'I am a surprise?'

  She gave him that smile again. 'Do not be angry. I will not see the comte again without you.' It was as though she were promising a child. 'But I needed to talk to him today, and you would have been too much in my way.' He looked cross again, and a small hand flew to his cheek, the tips of her fingers landing there for a fraction of a second. This was what she did to him to silence him. Surprised him like this. He never knew what she was talking about. He never knew what she would do. Thus, he was like dough in her hands.

  He managed a resentful look in response, and she laughed and left the room.

  ***

  The next few days were uneventful. Sally had managed to tell Ianthe about Curtis' apology, and to his mother's confusion, Curtis behaved with shy, apologetic good manners on every occasion of their meeting. Edward exchanged a slight smile with him, and Lady Fox, witnessing it, blanched. Sally felt flat. She still enjoyed the morning rides, and shook off some of her depression on them, but was strangely removed on the gig ride home. They were careless enough one morning to be late, and met Curtis, who had come down for breakfast again. He looked astonished to see the ladies thus attired, but Ianthe said casually, 'We usually ride at Audley before breakfast. My mare is there. You may tell your mother so if you wish.'

  Lady Richards, who had also been in the hall, waiting anxiously for the girls' return, had trembled a little at Ianthe's direct attack.

  'I will not,' reassured Curtis. 'But why at Audley?'

  'Your mother forbids us the horses.'

  Curtis flushed. 'I did not know. But surely Fox—?'

  'Yes, but Sally likes to ride Sapphire, so we have found no need to disobey Her Ladyship.'

  'Sapphire?' said Curtis Fox, astounded. 'You never tell me you can ride Audley's Sapphire.'

  'She does, and most proficiently,' Ianthe assured him. 'But we must away to change in case your mother comes down.'

  'Don't worry, she is taken to bed with a sick headache this morning.' He looked rueful. 'She is not pleased with me, I fear. But just this morning, have breakfast in your dirt! I want to hear about your ride.'

  He looked so much like a schoolboy that Sally relented. 'Let us then! We are later than we should be, but we rode a different path and it took us longer to return.'

  They headed into breakfast and afterwards, mounting the stairs, Ianthe remarked, 'That was quite the pleasantest time I have ever spent in Curtis' presence.'

  'Oh, my dear!' answered Lady Richards. 'For me too, and our acquaintance has been much longer. I believe Fox and he have somehow come to understand each other.'

  'His brother's heart is opening,' said Ianthe. 'In no small thanks to you, Cousin Emma.'

  'It is all you, Ianthe. So many things have happened because of you.'

  That afternoon, after their three constant callers had left, Lady Richards put her hand to her stomach.

  'Are you unwell again, Lady Richards?' said Lady Fox in a complaining tone. 'I wished to play cards this afternoon. The Poppers come for bridge on Friday and I wish to practise some plays.'

  'Oh, Mama, do go and rest,' said Sally, worried. 'Lady Fox, I shall defer my drive with Lord Jeffries and play with you.'

  'Curtis and I shall make up a four, shall we not Curtis?' offered Ianthe.

  Curtis Fox began to look sulky. 'Well, I was going to…' he met Ianthe's eye. 'Oh well then, I suppose I shall.'

  'You are ever my good son,' said his mother fondly.

  Ianthe arched a brow at him, and he looked ashamed. 'Yes, Lady Richards. You must rest.'

  But while an apologetic message to the stables meant that Lord Jeffries' carriage did not appear, another carriage drew up at a side door, and Lady Richards, dressed in a hare brown pelisse
and straw bonnet entered it, accompanied by a maid.

  Later, Sally, seeing the little maid Mary with her mother's pelisse in her hand, taking it up the stairs, was somewhat surprised.

  'Oh Mary, did my mama go out for some air?'

  The maid said, 'Yes miss. She just got back with Annie, miss.'

  'Oh, good, she must be feeling better! I'll go to see her now.'

  Sally entered her mother's room and found her regarding herself in the looking glass, no doubt repairing her coiffure after the ravages of a bonnet.

  'Mama! I see you have been out. I am glad. The card game was so dull. The baroness has left me to remember a series of plays for you on Friday. I do not see the point, as different cards will be deployed. But then have little interest in the-' Her eyes alighted on something and she paused. 'Oh, Mama! You forgot to wear your new boots in your walk. And after we went to the village for the purpose of buying them. Did you forget?'

  Her mama had turned on her seat at the looking glass and was gazing at her with a strange expression on her face. She rose and said, as she walked to the bed and sat beside Sally on the silken coverlet, 'I did not walk, but went for a drive. I have been gone all afternoon.'

  Sally was confused, both by the circumstances and her mother's hand, warmly grasping hers while gazing at her in a particular fashion. 'But who drove you?'

  'Mr Steadman.'

  'That was kind of him. I did not hear him ask—'

  'No. He took me to Stone Manor. His home, you know.' Her mama's voice was trembling, but determined.

  Sally was aghast, but remained silent.

  'Mr Steadman wishes for it to be my home, too. That is, a home for both of us.' Her mother's face was concerned, anxious. 'I told him I must ask you, I cannot—'

  Sally as the words dawned on her, suddenly crushed her mama in her arms, then lay back with her on the bed, convulsed with laughter. 'So, it wasn't me or Ianthe Mr Steadman came to visit? I could never decide which of us he came for.' She laughed again. 'How self-interested am I? When my beautiful mama outdid us! Oh, it is too wonderful.' She sat up, suddenly more serious. 'But do you like him, Mama? You must not do something only for my security.'