Vixen

by Jane Feather

  “That’ll be nice,” Chloe said somewhat absently. “Are you leaving now?”

  “Shortly.” He strode to the door, “Samuel, I think it’s time young Billy got off his backside and cleaned up the courtyard. He’s been getting away with murder.”

  “Right you are,” Samuel said. “I’ll tell ’im.” A pleased little smile lit up his creased countenance as Hugo left the kitchen, and he nodded to himself with secret satisfaction. “You want coddled eggs, lass?”

  “Oh, no, thank you, Samuel.” Chloe was on her way out of the kitchen. “I don’t think I want any breakfast.” On which extraordinary statement, she whisked herself out of the door, closing it firmly on Dante, left inside.

  “Lord love us,” Samuel muttered. “Now what’s she up to?”

  In her room Chloe threw off her gown and hastily donned her riding habit. She flew down the stairs and waited in the hall until she heard Hugo ride out of the courtyard. Then she ran to the stable. “Billy, help me saddle the mare.”

  The stable lad shrugged but offered a lethargic helping hand. Chloe led the horse to the mounting block and sprang into the saddle. “Tell Samuel that I’ve gone with Sir Hugo,” she instructed. “Tell him right away, Billy.”

  She waited just long enough for the lad to round the corner to the kitchen door and then trotted Maid Marion down the drive. Samuel wouldn’t worry if he knew she was with Hugo.

  On the road she encouraged the roan to a gallop toward Shipton. Hugo had perhaps ten minutes start, and he wouldn’t be making particular speed since she doubted he was in a hurry. She should catch up with him very soon.

  Hugo heard the pounding hooves behind him and at first took no notice. It was a relatively busy highway. When they were almost beside him, he glanced incuriously over his shoulder.

  Chloe beamed at him, drawing rein as she came up with him. “I thought you might like some company.”

  “You thought what?” He was for a moment completely taken aback.

  “I thought that you’d probably regret deciding to go alone,” she said, still beaming. “And there you’d be, riding along, feeling lonely, with no one to talk to. And I don’t mind at all bearing you company, so here I am.”

  The bare-faced effrontery of this sunnily artless justification rendered him momentarily speechless. Chloe continued to chatter, commenting on the warm morning, the beauty of the hedgerows, a red squirrel.

  “Quiet!” he demanded when he’d finally gathered his forces. “You have a very short memory, Miss Gresham. I told you only yesterday that I do not tolerate disobedience from those in my charge.”

  “Oh, but I’m not disobeying,” she said earnestly. “I was most particularly careful not to ask you if I could accompany you, so you haven’t told me that I may not. If you remember, I only asked you if you intended to go alone.”

  Hugo closed his eyes briefly. Of all the scheming little foxes!

  “And then, as I said, it occurred to me that no one would truly wish to be alone on such a beautiful morning, and if you were regretting it, then—”

  “I heard you the first time,” he snapped. “And it was no more convincing then than it is now.”

  “When you’ve stopped being vexed, you’ll realize how much pleasanter it is to have my company,” she said with utter confidence, still smiling. “And I can’t come to any harm from Jasper and Crispin when you’re there to protect me. And I know exactly how we should behave. It’ll be most diverting. We’ll behave as if nothing happened yesterday … as if we don’t suspect anything. We’ll just say we’ve come to buy Maid Marion, and I’ll say that I was sure Crispin would like to know how Plato—”

  “Plato?” He was betrayed into the interjection.

  “The owl,” she said impatiently. “I’m sure Crispin will like to hear that he’s doing so well. Or at least, that’s what I’ll tell him. But I’m sure he doesn’t really give a damn.”

  “You’re sure he doesn’t what?” He seemed to be reeling from one outrage to another. “Give a damn.”

  “That’s what I thought you said. I refuse to believe the Misses Trent can have taught you such language.”

  “Of course not,” she said cheerfully. “I expect I learned it from the poacher or the grooms at the livery stables.”

  “Then you will oblige me by unlearning it immediately.”

  “Oh, don’t be stuffy. You say it all the time.” “You will not.”

  “Oh.” Her nose wrinkled at this, then she shrugged and said equably, “Very well. If you don’t wish it. But what do you think of my plan with Jasper and Crispin? I can’t wait to see Jasper’s face when we trot up to his door … all smiles and politeness.”

  Hugo privately admitted that the scheme had a certain appeal. However, he was not going to give his manipulative traveling companion any such satisfaction, and set about dampening her confident high spirits. “This is not a matter for childish games-playing, and your presence is as inappropriate as it’s unwelcome. My business with Jasper most emphatically does not need your input.”

  “Oh.” Chloe seemed to consider this, then she said, “I suppose I could go back, but it’s quite a long way, and I know you don’t want me riding alone.”

  “And just what, pray, were you doing to get here in the first place?”

  The sarcasm ran off her like water on oiled leather. “But that was only a few minutes. I galloped like the wind to catch you up.”

  Hugo gave up. He wasn’t going to send her back on her own. He could take her home, of course, but it would be a waste of a morning. He rode on, maintaining a severe silence.

  Chloe seemed to feel it was her duty to entertain him. She filled his silence with a cheerful commentary on their surroundings, some reflections on the events of the previous day, and anything else that popped into her head.

  He interrupted a minute description of all six of Beatrice’s kittens. “Must you talk so much?”

  “Not if you don’t wish it,” she said, instantly accommodating. “I want to be exactly the companion you would wish, so if you prefer to be quiet, then I won’t say another word.”

  A sound halfway between a strangled sob and a choke of laughter came from her companion.

  “Have I amused you?” Her eyes were brimful of merriment as she looked at him.

  “I am rarely amused by nuisances. If you value your skin, Miss Gresham, you will refrain from all conversational sallies until we get home,” he declared, managing to school his features with some difficulty.

  When they turned up the driveway to Gresham Hall, Hugo wasn’t expecting his own reaction. It had been fourteen years since he’d set foot in this place, and Elizabeth, his unattainable love, had been young and alive. The ruined edifice of Shipton Abbey stood out against the summer sky in a clearing to the right of the driveway, halfway between the road and the house.

  He averted his gaze, then forced himself to look at it, to see in his mind’s eye the steps that led to the crypt. The dank smell of corruption was suddenly vivid in the soft summer air, overlaying the rich scent of honeysuckle.

  “What is it?” Chloe asked in a near whisper, all raillery and mischief gone from face and voice.

  He wrenched his gaze from the scene of past evils. “Painted devils.”

  “You said that once before. What are they?”

  “None of your business, Miss Poke-nose. It’s time you developed some respect for other people’s privacy.”

  “That’s unjust,” she said with quiet force. “And you know it is.”

  It was. He sighed. “Since you’re bearing me company against my wishes, it would be tactful, not to say prudent, to intrude on my consciousness as little as possible.”

  “Oh, pah,” Chloe said. “If you’re unhappy, then of course I’d try to help.”

  “Of course you would,” he murmured. “I can’t think how I could have thought otherwise. However, you may set your mind at rest. I am not unhappy … merely annoyed with you.”

  Chloe clearly didn’t thin
k this worth a response. “I haven’t been here since Mama’s funeral,” she observed next. “Louise was very kind, but then Jasper and Crispin weren’t around, so she wasn’t afraid.”

  Hugo turned sharply toward her. “Afraid?”

  “Most people are afraid of Jasper,” she said matter-of-factly. “Or at least those people he has power over.”

  “Are you afraid of him?” He looked at her closely.

  Chloe wrinkled her nose in thought. “I don’t think so,” she said. “Or at least until yesterday I wasn’t. I just disliked him heartily. But since he doesn’t have any power over me, I don’t have any reason to fear him, do I?”

  “It’s to be hoped not,” he said neutrally.

  Chloe seemed to accept this and changed the subject. “Are we going up to the front door?”

  “I don’t know how else one would approach when paying a social call.”

  “I always went through the side door … because I’m a relative, I suppose.”

  “Well, on this occasion you’ll do as I do.”

  “Of course,” she said demurely as they trotted onto the gravel sweep in front of the house. “Shall I bang the knocker?”

  “If you wish,” he said, giving up his attempt to maintain his severity. It was impossible to stay annoyed with her for more than a minute, and pretending was clearly as much a waste of effort as it was tedious.

  Chloe slipped from her horse and ran up the steps, seizing the great brass knocker and banging it with gusto.

  The door was opened by a footman in a baize apron. He blinked at the visitor.

  “Good morning, Hector. Is Sir Jasper in?”

  “Well, well, if it isn’t my little sister.” Jasper spoke from behind the footman. “That’ll be all, Hector.” He stepped into the doorway and looked down on Chloe, one eyebrow raised. “So what brings you?” His eye flickered over her head to where Hugo still sat his horse, impassive on the drive.

  “I’ve come to buy Maid Marion,” Chloe informed him. “I told Crispin I couldn’t accept her as a gift, but I’d like to purchase her.”

  Jasper put his hands on her shoulders and moved her out of his way. He walked slowly down the steps to Hugo. Chloe followed, not a whit put out by being ignored.

  Crispin came around from the side of the house, and she called out to him. “Good morning, Crispin. We came to buy Maid Marion, and I thought you might like to know how the owl is recovering. The splint is holding nicely.” Her smile embraced the three men with an ingenuous confidence that fooled none of them.

  Hugo’s eye caught hers in acceptance of the scene she was setting. “Stop prattling, Chloe,” he said with feigned exasperation as he dismounted. “Jasper, how much do you want for the mare?”

  “I’m not sure she’s for sale,” Jasper said.

  “Oh, but she must be!” Chloe cried. “You were going to give Her to me, so you can’t say you want to keep her. And I so enjoyed riding her yesterday. I couldn’t bear to give her up.” She turned the brilliance of her smile on Crispin. “It was such a pity we weren’t able to have our picnic, Crispin, but I became caught up in the crowds going into the city for the Reform Meeting, and I couldn’t turn back.”

  Crispin put a hand to his throat. A starched cravat hid the finger bruises from his audience, but the involuntary gesture spoke for itself to Hugo and Jasper.

  Jasper’s eyes narrowed to slits as he looked between his stepson and Hugo Lattimer. “It’s to be regretted you missed your picnic, little sister,” he said blandly, “Crispin had gone to a great deal of trouble to ensure your pleasure.”

  “Yes, I was aware,” she replied. “I was desolated to spoil his efforts.” Hugo decided that it was time he joined the fencing match. Chloe seemed to be running away with herself. “Chloe, I asked you to stop prattling. Jasper, do you have a price for the mare?”

  “Three thousand pounds” was the prompt response. “Since my sister won’t accept the gift, then I’d be a fool not to ask a fair price.”

  “A fair price!” Chloe squeaked. “Three thousand—”

  “Hold your tongue!” Hugo put a heavy hand on her shoulder. “This immoderate behavior is most unbecoming.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Quiet!”

  Chloe subsided, glaring at her half brother. His cold eyes slid over her, and for the first time she read menace as well as the usual dislike in their depths. Then he turned to Hugo, a sardonic smile on his thin lips.

  “Three thousand pounds. Since I now find myself short by such a sum …”

  “Quite,” Hugo said in perfect understanding. He had stopped Elizabeth’s payments to Jasper and was now being required to make up for it. Chloe’s slender shoulder was rigid beneath his hand, and he could feel the currents of tension running through her. Clearly she, too, understood what her brother was demanding. But if he expected her to rush into ill-considered speech at this realization, he was mistaken.

  “We have to see the dam,” she said as calmly now as she’d been fervent before. “I know Sherrif, but I’d like to inspect Red Queen.”

  Jasper inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Crispin, take Chloe to the stables and show her the Queen. I’m sure she’ll be satisfied.” He turned back to Hugo. “Shall we conclude this business in my book room, Lat-timer?”

  “I doubt it’s a business to be so easily concluded,” Hugo commented with an oblique smile. “But by all means let’s discuss terms. However, you’ll understand if I don’t accept your hospitality. Since I don’t extend my own, it would be a trifle hypocritical, wouldn’t you say?”

  He turned to his ward, who’d made no move to accompany Crispin to the stables. “Chloe, if you intend to inspect the dam, I suggest you do so.”

  He and Jasper waited until Chloe and Crispin had disappeared around the side of the house.

  “She always was an ill-mannered brat,” Jasper said with clear venom.

  Hugo raised an eyebrow and said quietly, “Too ill-mannered to make a suitable wife for your stepson, Jasper? Or would her fortune compensate adequately for any faults in character?”

  Jasper’s florid complexion deepened, but his eyes were almost opaque as they skidded away from Hugo’s direct gaze. “Are you trying to say something, Lattimer?”

  Hugo shook his head. “What would I be trying to say, Jasper?”

  Jasper smiled his thin smile again and observed with soft insult, “Something seems to have sobered you up, Hugo. I wonder how long it’ll last.”

  “Long enough to see you in hell,” Hugo responded pleasantly. He turned his back and remounted his horse. “I’m not interested in the mare at any price. I’m not interested in any dealings with you, Jasper … unless you should be foolish enough to meddle again in my bailiwick.”

  Jasper’s tongue flickered over his lips. “You are mistaken, Hugo. It’s you who are meddling in my bailiwick. You did it once before, and I’ll be doubly avenged, make no mistake.”

  Hugo nodded. “So we understand each other. It’s always as well to be certain of that.”

  Chloe and Crispin reappeared, and he called her sharply.

  She hurried over. “Are we leaving?”

  “Yes, but without the mare.” He held down his hand. “Up you come. Put your foot on my boot.”

  Chloe showed neither surprise nor disappointment at this abrupt, unexpected conclusion to the negotiations. She took his hand, put her foot on his, and sprang upward as he pulled her. She settled on the saddle in front of him.

  “Good day, Jasper … Crispin.” She smiled down at them with such friendliness, one would believe only pleasantries could ever take place between them. “Thank you for lending me Maid Marion … and for showing me Red Queen. She’s beautiful.”

  “And to think your brother called you an ill-mannered brat,” Hugo remarked with a dry smile as they rode off. “When it suits you, you can be impeccably polite.”

  Chloe chuckled. “I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of thinking I was disappointed. I’m sorry abou
t Maid Marion, but I certainly wouldn’t have paid three thousand for her.”

  “I’m relieved to hear it, since I had no intention of doing so.”

  “Would he not negotiate?” A hint of wistfulness crept into her voice.

  “I didn’t attempt it.”

  “Oh. I suppose you had your reasons.”

  “I did, lass. But we’ll buy you a horse this afternoon. Squire Gillingham has a good stud in Edgecombe. I’m sure he’ll have something suitable.”

  His arm encircled her lightly as he held the reins, and she leaned back against him, fitting herself into his shoulder as naturally as if she always rode in such fashion. The seeming artlessness of her proximity produced a riot of confused and confusing responses in both mind and body, and Hugo had the unnerving suspicion that Chloe was quite aware of her effect. Every time he persuaded himself she had to be protected as an ingenuous young innocent on the verge of womanhood, she did or said something that proved beyond doubt that in all important matters she had crossed the line long since.

  Samuel came out to the courtyard as they rode in. “Took me by surprise, you did,” he said gruffly. “I didn’t know Sir ’Ugo ’ad said you could go along wi’ him.”

  “I hadn’t,” Hugo said, dismounting. He reached up to swing Chloe down from her perch.

  “He didn’t say I could go with him, Samuel,” Chloe explained with a sunny smile. “But he didn’t say I couldn’t either.”

  Samuel stared at her in bemusement, shaking his head like a dog with a flea in his ear, his mouth ajar as he looked for words.

  “Don’t even try, Samuel,” Hugo said with a wry grin. “When it comes to logic-chopping, the lass can produce the finest examples since Eve ate the apple.”

  Hugo was playing the pianoforte before dinner that evening when Chloe came hesitantly into the library. He turned as the door opened, offered her a smile of greeting, and continued with his playing. It had been a long time since he’d played simply for the pleasure of it … a long time since he’d been sufficiently at peace to enjoy the musk for its own sake.

  Chloe curled into the big wing chair by the window, where she could watch his face as she listened. She was enthralled by the play of emotions flitting across his face as the long, slender fingers drew deep feeling from the notes, bringing the music alive in the room. Dusk encroached as the sun left the last corners of the library, and his face fell into shadow, but she could still see the mobile mouth, relaxed and half smiling, the long lock of hair flopping over his wide brow.