Ianthe and the Fighting Foxes: The Fentons Book 4

by Alicia Cameron

  Fox did not come to dinner, and Ianthe had therefore requested that Fenton keep him company.

  'What about the dragon?' asked Fenton. 'Don't you ladies require my protection?'

  'We have decided to brave her fire this evening.' Fenton raised an eyebrow at Ianthe. 'The poor woman will probably expire if she does not get to vent her spleen today. It is best she breathes fire, and then we can go on with our lives.'

  'Even Lady Richards? She does not seem at home with conflict.'

  'She is too happy to feel much else.'

  'Steadman and she — a real love match?'

  'Indubitably.'

  'But you do not seem in the spirits to deal with any more unpleasantness, whatever it was that occurred today.'

  'It is not what occurred today. And do not try to tease me to tell you sir.'

  'Then it is Fox who has laid your spirits so low?'

  'He is too exhausting. I do not know if I can bear his temper.'

  'For a lifetime?' Fenton asked ironically. 'I can see it is a difficult decision.'

  This did bring some spark to Ianthe's eye. 'My decision? I think that it is not mine.' She looked a little more like herself as she added, 'It has never been necessary before, but I may have to learn how to bring a gentleman to the point.'

  'He has no notion, you know,' offered Fenton. 'About how he feels.'

  'Yes. And I am not sure it is for me to tell him. Only—'

  'Yes?'

  'These are more things I should say to Fox before I tell you. From the moment we met—'

  'Ah, coup de foudre?' Fenton teased.

  'Not at all,' said Ianthe. She looked down. 'Do you remember what Papa always said was necessary for us, with the life we led, to survive?'

  'Trust your instincts.'

  'Always. And I always trusted Edward Fox. Even when he tried to hide himself behind his anger.' She smiled at him. 'And I realised that I had never trusted another in just that way. On sight, you know.' She looked suddenly angry. 'But it is not my duty to show him everything. He must come towards me on his own.'

  Fenton strolled off to join Fox in the study for an easy supper. He had, earlier this afternoon, managed to intercept Steadman before he found the baron.

  Hearing Steadman's findings, Fenton frowned. 'It is as I thought. Fox does not need to know all this until Ianthe tells us exactly what occurred. He might murder someone.'

  'She has not done so?'

  'No, she wants to tell Fox first, but he will not speak to her.'

  'Why on earth—?'

  'We are spectators on a difficult relationship.'

  'Relationship?' Steadman frowned. 'Fox and Miss Eames?' Fenton inclined his head. 'Well, why does he not tell her his feelings?'

  'I admire your clarity of vision, Steadman. Not all of us understand ourselves as well as you.'

  'Surely—'

  'I myself had no notion I was in love—'

  'I'll take your word for it, sir. But even so. The comte still has that carriage. Fox should know Ianthe may not be safe.'

  'Don't worry. I know just what to do. Come back tomorrow afternoon. I'll sow some seeds in Fox's temper tonight. He'll talk to her tomorrow. Perhaps with a little more insight.'

  ***

  Dinner might have been completely horrible, so determined was Her Ladyship to make the guests feel their sins. However, it was saved by just how very horrible Lady Fox tried to be, for overreacting can present itself as farce.

  When Lady Fox, in arctic accents, supposed that Lady Richards wished to be congratulated, Emma Richards found that she was buoyed up by two things. One was how extraordinarily happy the mere mention of her prospective marriage made her, however acidly it was referenced, and the other by the lessons she had learnt from watching Ianthe. Instead of withering under the icicle stare, Lady Richards smiled instead. She could not quite pull off Ianthe's nonchalant tone, but she did her best with her shaken but happy voice. 'Oh, thank you, Lady Fox.'

  'Am I to understand that you have known the gentleman only since the evening at Audley?'

  'I have,' said Emma, faltering somewhat.

  'Such a decision, even coming from a woman in your desperate position, should never be taken so precipitately.'

  'Have you heard ill of Mr Steadman, then?' asked Ianthe, interested.

  'I have heard no good of him.'

  Emma Richards sat to attention, but Sally grasped her hand and smiled, mouthing, "Dragon fire!" to her and it made her smile.

  'And I need to know, Miss Eames, why you made such a spectacle of yourself before the servants today. Why did you have the temerity to call the baron in that familiar and impudent manner?'

  'It is very kind of you to protect the baron's dignity. I am very sure he will be moved when he hears,' remarked Ianthe.

  'Every word from your mouth is bile!' said Lady Fox. 'Civility seems beyond you.'

  'I am sorry you find it so.'

  'What business had you with Fox that made you scream in that hoydenish way? You sounded like a London fishwife.'

  'Your ladyship! protested Emma Richards.

  'Oh, quarrelsome business, of course,' said Ianthe, but Sally thought she could hear some strain in her friend's voice. 'The baron and I fight a good deal, you know.'

  'I did not know. You will please me by telling me what this dispute was about.'

  'I cannot quite recall,' said Ianthe musingly.

  'Dissembler! You have no shame.'

  'You are quite right to say I dissemble. I do remember, but I do not wish to tell you.'

  'You are insufferably rude, a woman of no conscience or integrity at all. I am pleased that Fox has apparently seen through your shallow charm. You think yourself a beauty, but neither of the Fox brothers were taken in by you.' She gave a harsh laugh. 'A new experience for you, I might imagine.'

  'Lady Fox, I must protest!' said Emma Richards.

  'You? When you too have deceived me? Have you no gratitude, no feelings of …'

  'Indeed, I am grateful,' replied Lady Richards. 'And I had no wish to deceive you—'

  'Really? Conducting a clandestine relationship…'

  There was much more of the same, and the ladies went to bed early, the worse for wear.

  'The storm will blow over, I am sure, dear one,' said Lady Richards to Ianthe as they left the dining room.

  'Oh, it is not she who gives me the headache.' Ianthe turned an evil eye to the study door. 'I shall punish him, trust me.' She moved off.

  Mother and daughter reviewed the evening, safe in Sally's chamber.

  'Oh dear. Why ever will he not talk to her? His passions are too ridiculous. Ianthe is well and safe — what more does he want?' wondered Her Ladyship.

  'It is what he doesn't want,' considered Sally. 'He doesn't want to know what happened while she was gone.'

  'But why not?' asked her mother.

  'I'm beginning to get an inkling…' said Sally, gazing into the distance. 'But surely not?'

  They sat on Sally's bed and held hands, this new thought riveting both their gazes on each other. A myriad of images ran between them, memories of the tiniest of interactions between their two friends, and their hands grasped tighter, so that Sally yelped.

  'Goodness!' was all she could think to say.

  ***

  Cherie brought word that Ianthe would forgo the ride today, and Sally sent to delay the gig until after breakfast, when she would ride instead.

  Her mama was not equal to the possibility of starting the day with Lady Fox's tirade, so Sally ended by having a solitary breakfast, Fox, Fenton and Her Ladyship still abed.

  She set off in the gig afterwards, accompanied by Stephens, the burly groom. He was of a loquacious disposition and, receiving no rebuff from the young lady, revealed his opinion on all the servants of Studham in a frank and funny manner, so the short distance to Audley was quickly passed. When they entered the stable yard, it was to see a handsome travelling carriage there, being unhitched. Sally jumped down, wondering
if Mr Steadman had sent for his carriage from home, the better to drive her mama on inclement days. She was instructing a groom to saddle Sapphire when she saw a tall figure emerge from the stables, whip still in hand, and move off in the direction of the house.

  It was he! Sally ran forward to intercept him, just as he was about to turn the corner.

  She stood before him, halting him in his tracks, looking up at him with a face so joyous and open. 'Audley!' she cried, delighted. 'You have returned so quickly.'

  He stopped, dropping the whip, and seemed stunned. 'Why are you here?' he said harshly, no trace of a smile on his face. No teasing look to dilute his meaning. 'I made sure you would be gone by now.'

  Sally stepped back, her beatific smile wiped suddenly from her face, the colour draining.

  'I … thought I was permitted … you said I could continue to ride Sapphire.'

  'Of course!' he said, but stiffly.

  'I … I beg your pardon,' she said, and ran away to a gig which he had not noticed being parked behind his carriage. She jumped up and took the reins from a groom who was about to lead it away, and began to turn the horses, jumping up and driving swiftly out of the gates.

  'Miss!' cried a burly groom, running after it belatedly. Audley had found his mobility too, and had run over to watch the gig disappear. 'She forgot me, your lordship,' the groom, Stephens, informed him.

  'Alone!' Audley exclaimed distractedly. 'I need a horse.'

  Sapphire was being led out and Audley said 'He will do…'

  His head groom informed him, 'Side saddle, sir.'

  Audley pulled himself up nevertheless, and tried to throw a knee over the pommel. 'Drat!' he said. 'How on earth do they—' Several grinning grooms were regarding him. 'It is no use,' he said furiously, sliding to the ground, 'I cannot. Somebody get me a horse!'

  The Head Groom had already signalled for this, and it was not many minutes before his black stallion arrived.

  He rode off precipitately, grooms murmuring to themselves in the yard behind him as they watched.

  He only managed to catch up with the gig a mile from Studham, but he rode his horse past nevertheless, and obliged Sally to pull on the reins and slow the carriage to a halt. Audley jumped off his horse, casting reins over a handy bush.

  'Miss Richards!' he began on reaching the gig, and then he noticed something. Her face, her lovely face, was wet with tears. He jumped on to the box beside her. 'I'm deeply sorry!'

  'Please!' Sally Richards was shaking now, because his cruelty had broken through her denial, and she recognised the utter joy she had felt in seeing him again. Saw what that meant. Saw that he was disgusted. And now she could not stop the tears, the terrible, terrible revealing tears. Bad enough that she felt this way. How awful that he was witnessing it. He had taken the reins and tied them, then possessed himself of her shaking hands.

  'Do not!' he cried to her. 'Please, my dear sweet girl, do not.' He was holding her gloved hands tightly, grasping them and changing the position in a frantic manner as though he too were wringing them, to stop himself from something more.

  Sally was trying to master herself, and his words were going over her head for the present, in the search for something to say to him — some words she could conceal herself beneath. 'You have no manners,' she finally said, feigning anger.

  'What?' Audley, regarding her, was confused.

  'It is only that you were so rude when I thought we were friends. Pray do not refine any more upon it.' She hiccupped, then took back her hands from his frantic ones, clasping them together and regarding them.

  'Yes,' he agreed flatly. 'That was it. It was my insufferable rudeness.'

  'Yes,' and then, 'Why did you follow me?'

  'You left your groom behind. You should not drive alone.'

  'You could have sent him.'

  'But I realised that I had been insufferably rude,' he said carefully. 'And I thought I needed to apologise.'

  'Oh!' She took a glance at his troubled face and said, 'You can get down now. Follow me to Studham on Night if you must.'

  'I must,' he said — but did not move.

  Sally ventured, in a very small voice, 'I was not so very glad to see you.'

  'No.'

  'You mistake if you think so.'

  'Yes.'

  Another hiccup and a sob escaped her, and he took back her twisting little fingers into his. 'Do not. Please,' he said, looking down at them in despair. 'It would not do. I have thought and thought these past days and it would not do.'

  'What … you have thought what?' A new idea was occurring to her. The words he used earlier. My dear sweet girl. His.

  'I am not a good man, my dear. I have never coveted a wife. It would interfere with my pleasures too much you see,' he added, but the sardonic note rang false, and his voice was broken.

  The dawning was flushing over her. Not just she, but he…

  'You thought of me in London.' It was not a question, but a realisation. 'You thought and thought.'

  'I could think of little else. But—'

  'Your pleasures?' she said reflectively, as though no longer listening to him. 'What are they? Female pleasures?' She flushed, thought of Lady Sophia Markham at that dinner, and began to understand.

  'There are other things,' he said curtly. 'I am nothing if not diverse in my pleasures.'

  'You are, perhaps, a gamester?' she ventured, not looking at him, but gazing into the distance as though calculating something.

  'Yes.' He did not want this to continue, but hardly knew how to stop it.

  'You wager huge sums, I imagine?'

  'I do, but that is not the—'

  'And you could lose your whole fortune on the turn of a die?' she supposed lightly.

  'I said I'm a gamester, not a fool,' Audley said dryly. 'I'm good at it. I play the odds.'

  'You … I suppose you also drink then? Some gentlemen do, more than others.'

  'I drink a great deal. But Miss Richards—' Somehow though, her honest eyes held his.

  'Mr Housten, our family friend you know, told me of his misspent youth,' she recalled. 'He drank a great deal, he told us, and sometimes even awoke in strange places. It was not quite polite for him to tell us that of course, but we are such close friends.' Audley looked at her, even though she did not meet his eye as she talked, not understanding what she was about, but hardly able to move since he was so close to her. Sally continued in a conversational tone. 'He was once robbed and beaten in a tavern he frequented.' She turned her clear eyes on him. 'You too?'

  'Again,' Audley said, still dry, 'not a fool.'

  'And there are women.' Her voice shook a little on the last word, but she met his eye again and asked brightly, 'How many?'

  He held her gaze. 'Too many,' he said darkly. Then he tried for insouciance. 'Are we papists? Are you taking confession?'

  'Because like gaming or drinking,' she replied, not attending to the latter interjection, 'you stop before you are a fool.'

  He looked down at her. 'Sally!' he breathed.

  She looked up at him, managing a half smile as she said, 'Do something to excess, Audley. Be a fool — for me.' Her voice caught and she looked down once more, not daring to look into his lost eyes longer. 'I love you so very much, you see. Though I have only known it for ten minutes.'

  He touched her face, lifting her chin to him and tears poured down his own cheeks now. 'It is not fair to you, my lovely, lovely … I cannot—' but his eyes were searching hers, his body was moving ever closer, of its own volition.

  She had somehow got the reins in a quicksilver move. 'Get down!' she ordered in a bark he had never heard from her. A second’s pause, and he obeyed. She waited, eyes staring straight ahead, as he mounted his horse. She manoeuvred the gig past him and drove away, not regarding him at all.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Miss Richards is Enraged

  Jenkins was astounded. First, Miss Richards had entered from one of her supposedly secret rides (which of course h
e had known of from the first day) by the front door, not the side, and second, because she stood in the Hall in a towering rage, taking off her kid gloves as though she were strangling each fingertip as she did so.

  'Where is everyone, Jenkins?' she asked, not the retiring young lady of his acquaintance, but a Valkyrie in full battle armour. She was removing pins from her bonnet with remarkable ferocity and yanked it from her head, dislodging some curls from her coiffure.

  'The ladies are in the green salon, ma'am, and the gentlemen are, I think, in Lord Fox's study.'

  'Still not talking? Men!' said the young woman fiercely. She marched to the study, flinging open the door.

  'Sally!' said Fox, standing up from a chair by the fire in surprise.

  'Audley is coming in shortly. He is seeing to his horse now. It is injured because the fool rode him ill.' Mr Fenton, sitting on a chair opposite the one that Fox had just vacated, raised his eyebrows and sat back, as though to enjoy the spectacle.

  'I—' began Fox, but the gentle maiden interrupted him.

  'When he comes, don't let him appear before me. I warn you.'

  'What—?' asked Fox, but she was gone. He looked at Fenton for explanation.

  'It seems the dam has broken,' remarked that gentleman, crossing his legs. 'We shall have to see where the water floods.'

  ***

  Jenkins witnessed Miss Richards leaving the study, slamming the oak door behind her with gusto, only a minute after she had entered, and now she marched purposefully towards the green salon. He was too late to open the door for her, which he regretted. A light straightening of the room might assuredly have been necessary and would have allowed him to see what next occurred — but his curiosity would be salved soon enough. William was in there, (along with James, of course), but William had a keen eye and a gift of relating all the details he saw for Mr Jenkins to hear later. He was also a gifted mimic, so the butler looked forward to the show.

  Sally's entrance into the room was purposeful enough to cause three heads to look up from their tambour frames swiftly.

  'Ianthe,' Sally said briefly in a terrible commanding tone, 'Come! I need you.'