by Janet Woods
‘There is no need to make a note since I’m completely trustworthy. Ask my father.’
He chuckled at that. ‘Now, off you go and make yourself presentable. You’re beginning to shiver.’
She kissed his cheek. ‘There, that might make you a little less … serious.’
It did, for she heard him chuckle as she closed the door.
Twenty-One
The storm passed over and the sun shone again. A fine mist floated in the floor of the valley and everything sparkled.
Their guests were invited to dinner.
‘You mustn’t go to such trouble on our behalf,’ Alex protested at first, and rather half-heartedly because he was hungry.
She smiled at him. ‘It’s no trouble, Alex. You can help me if you wish.’
He made himself useful, following her back and forth with plates, and setting cutlery on the table in the small informal dining room, despite her protests.
‘I don’t mind. Eugenie has listed the essential tasks and Dominic and I have our tasks, such as washing the dishes, dusting the furniture and washing the floors. The housekeeper does most of the cooking and laundry.’
‘So you’re the butler at King’s Acres as well as the master?’
‘And the gardener. I just have to swap coats.’
‘The LéSayres brothers seem to be talented in many ways.’
He took a dish from her hands. ‘Let’s just say we manage, but thank you anyway.’
‘For what?’
‘Making light of my lack of wealth. I’d grown used to it, but in London I’m reminded at every turn. Sometimes I feel ashamed when I haven’t the coin to pay for a theatre ticket and they turn up at my lodgings. It becomes obvious that people support me one way or the other, and I never know who they are.’
‘Don’t be ashamed. The sum of a man can’t be measured by how much money he has. If someone supports you then it means they like you and are friends you can rely on.’ She changed the subject. ‘Shall we play a game of chess when we’ve finished the dishes? I promise I’ll allow you to win.’
‘Allow me to win? I won’t hear of it. I’m very good at the game.’
‘In that case I shall give you no quarter.’
‘I warn you, Vivienne, I shall demand a kiss if you lose.’
‘And I shall demand one if you win.’
‘It sounds as though I’m going to be the winner either way.’
They looked at each other and laughed.
The two older men spent most of the time penned up in the reverend’s study. Their voices rose and fell, and there was the chink of glass against glass and laughter.
‘Goodness knows what they’re talking about, but I hope my father doesn’t drink too much, he’s not used to it. I’m pleased my uncle decided to call on us again. I like him, don’t you? They haven’t seen each other in years, and now two visits, one after the other.’ Hands on hips she gazed at the kitchen bench, looking sweetly domestic in an enveloping white apron. ‘I seem to have forgotten something?’
‘Custard?’
‘Ah yes … custard.’ She tipped some cream and milk into a pan, dropped half a pod of vanilla into it and set it on the stove. ‘Come and stir this while I get the rest ready.’
Eggs were cracked and adroitly separated, the right amount of cornflour and sugar measured into the bowl, and seemingly by sleight of hand rather than any real measurement. The resulting white paste was dribbled little by little into the pan he was stirring.
‘Stir gently until it thickens and then set it to one side,’ she instructed.
His mouth had watered with a vengeance as he’d carefully followed her instructions. He gazed proudly at the gelatinous yellow contents of the pan. ‘I think it’s cooked.’
She appeared at his shoulder. ‘That looks perfect, Alex. Come and taste this apple tart, and bring a spoonful of that custard to sit on top … you can tell me if it’s sweet enough.’
His custard was perfect, she’d said, and he wanted to laugh because firstly, she had complimented his effort, which he’d been stupidly proud of … and second, he got to eat the result of his labours. The wedge of pastry, the cinnamon and sugar crusting a sweet contrast to the sharpness of the fruit, filled the empty crater in his stomach.
He had a short, sharp image from childhood, of Eugenie asking the same thing while he and his brother stood like a pair of hungry birds on a branch, watching her cook the dinner and hoping they’d be asked to do the testing. They would stick out their tongues while she dropped a tidbit of something delicious on it.
‘It’s delicious … so is the custard. Try it.’ He dipped the spoon in the custard and held it out to her. Sticking out her tongue she licked the bowl of the spoon clean, and drew the confection into her mouth. A small blob dropped to her chin. Alex lifted it with his forefinger and held it out to her. For a moment her mouth closed around his finger and she sucked it into her mouth, allowing her tongue to curl around his fingertip. That small act was blatantly sensual.
He watched the moment that awareness came over. Her greenish eyes darkened and her lashes hid her feelings from him. She drew in a breath and began to bustle about, avoiding him as she served the meal, a makeshift repast of potatoes stuffed with mushrooms, cheese and chopped chives, and baked in their jackets. It was accompanied by slices of smoked ham, roasted beetroot and pickled cabbage. The meal was both delicious and filling.
Vivienne had cooked and served it, leaving her maid free to unpack her trunks and sort out her wardrobe.
Alex’s clothes had dried, and he felt more comfortable as he watched Vivienne bustle back and forth. She had changed into a cream gown embroidered with primroses. Yellow ribbons were woven into her braid, which ended in the small of her back. It was decorated with a yellow silk rose that made the braid sway as she moved.
She darted a glance his way now and again, shy and intimate. He ached every time he saw her abused face. Although he agreed with John Howard’s plan, which was to hit Simon Mortimer in the pocket rather than the stomach, his own instinct was to batter the man to a pulp. He’d have to be content with watching Matthew batter him.
They departed about seven, after she’d soundly thrashed him on the chess board.
There was a small amount of time when he found himself alone with Vivienne. ‘I’ll be back in about ten days,’ he said. ‘Your face should have healed and regained its former beauty by then.’
‘I’ve never been beautiful.’
‘You are to me. Your face is a perfect oval and your skin is like silk. You have the damnedest eyes, like a lady cat we had as children.’
‘What was her name?’
‘She was called Griselda. One day a handsome tom cat came calling and she packed her bag and ran away with him … at least, that’s what Eugenie told us.’
Vivienne laughed, linking arms with her father who’d just joined them, along with her uncle. ‘Take care, My Lord,’ she said. Then she eyed her uncle. ‘Your visit has been very mysterious and my curiosity is piqued. I enjoyed the little I saw of you though. I hope we’ll see you again.’
‘Be sure that you will, my dear. Perhaps you could come and visit us before too long.’
‘I would love to. Please give my felicitations to your wife and tell her that I hope we can meet again at some future date.’
‘I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.’ He clicked his tongue and they set out.
There were messages waiting for John Howard at the inn, and he disappeared into his room with them.
Alex said later, ‘What do you think of your niece, John?’
‘Vivienne has a way with her, and is sensible on the whole, though she’s still angry and doesn’t know how to handle that anger.’
‘I’m angry on her behalf, too.’
‘Any decent man would be under the circumstances. Despite her injuries her looks are not as indifferent as I was led to believe. With her classic face and high cheekbones she will always appear elegant, even when she’s old.�
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‘Her father said she gets her looks from her mother and the Dubois family.’
‘She does.’
‘And where do you fit into the family?’
‘Strictly speaking, I don’t have any blood tie. Clemency Howard, née Dubois, was wed to Charles Howard, a scribe and moneylender. He took me from the orphanage at the age of five to become his apprentice, and adopted me as his son. Whether I actually was his natural son or not was never questioned. He was a hard taskmaster. A little later I discovered a half-sister born to a woman called Lily Hooper.’
‘Mrs Crawford?’
He nodded. ‘I have given her the means to make a living and provide her with a quarterly allowance. She has a stepson from her marriage to support, as you know. He’s a good-natured lad with manners, but without any real prospects. He will inherit the house when the time comes.’
After a moment, he said, ‘Clemency Dubois had a second cousin who married Ambrose Fox. Jeanne I think her name was. I only met her once. However, I always thought Vivienne resembled Clemency a great deal.’
‘They are related so it stands to reason.’
After another moment of thought, John said, ‘Vivienne would make you a good wife.’
‘I know. Unfortunately she has no fortune to speak of and neither do I. If I didn’t have the responsibility and expense of the estate, I could happily live with Vivienne in a wooden shack.’ He sighed. ‘As it is, every time I set eyes on her my affections … surge and I resolve to throw caution to the wind and say, “To hell with King’s Acre.”’
‘It’s always a healthy sign when a woman grabs you by the balls!’ Howard said bluntly, and slid him a sideways grin. ‘So, you must ask yourself, my friend, which is the more important to you: Vivienne Fox … or the King’s Acres estate.’
‘Dominic would make a better custodian for the estate.’
‘Be that as it may, for Dominic to take the title you’d have to die without issue. Your brother certainly doesn’t envy you the responsibility, and will be pleased when you settle down and produce a son.’
‘It’s an impossible choice, you know that.’
‘Perhaps … yet it has to be made. Nothing is impossible if you want it badly enough.’
‘How?’
‘Sell me the King’s Mile.’
Alex sighed. ‘I don’t see the connection. Why do you want it so badly?’
‘Why do you?’
‘Because it’s part of the LéSayres family legacy and it’s my duty to pass it on to my children intact.’
‘I can understand that, but to get those children one needs a wife who is young enough to breed. If you happen to like her as well then it makes life easier, since you can enjoy the task. The alternative is to marry for money and set Miss Vivienne up as a mistress for your pleasure.’
‘Ask Vivienne to become my mistress!’ Alex was shocked. ‘I would not insult her or her father in such a manner, and besides, she would not agree to such an arrangement. I’ll take her for my wife, and nothing less.’
‘Good … At least we know what you don’t want. Then you’d best formally propose before someone else takes it into their head to follow the lead of Simon Mortimer. There are plenty of rakes out there with an eye on the main chance.’
‘Not many would be foolish enough to believe Miss Fox is worth such a huge amount of money. There is nothing about her that signifies an excess of wealth.’
John Howard shrugged. ‘You’d be surprised how many people do. I have heard that Simon Mortimer’s book is doing exceedingly well … but the small timers are getting in on the act.’
‘Mortimer has wagered all he has on rumour, and he will be relying on his own boxing skills. Winning a couple of sporting cups at university and bashing the daylights out of a woman in a drunken rage is one thing. Out-boxing an experienced prize fighter is another thing all together.’
‘Matthew is a prize fighter?’
‘Have you ever heard of a pugilist called Scarlet Fury?’
‘No … but it’s a ridiculous title to assume. Surely not Matthew?’
‘When you’re the recipient of his fist then the words “Scarlet Fury” will take on a new meaning. Simon Mortimer has inflated himself to the point of bursting, which is a dangerous place for him to be. Apparently, Lord Statham is acting as his manager for the affair. He could be sorely out of pocket when this is over, and it will serve him right.
‘Another ale,’ Alex called out to the landlord, and then said to John, ‘I still don’t feel right about allowing someone else to take up my fight.’
‘It’s only yours because you wanted it to be.’
‘Someone had to champion Vivienne. What if Matthew loses?’
‘He won’t. Matthew intends to open a gentlemen’s academy and I’ve offered to invest in it after he wins this fight. I only bet on sure things, remember that. He will also have the money from the nobbins, which as you know will be a generous share of the money thrown into the collector’s hat.
John slid a folded paper sealed with wax across the table. ‘Now … on a different note, I’ve taken the liberty of assessing the sum of money needed to get your estate on a level footing. Inside is my offer for the King’s Mile, which I consider to be generous. I will not negotiate.’
Twisting a smile at him, Alex said, ‘I believe it was you who stated … and not so very long ago … that everything is open to negotiation?’
John laughed. ‘In my case it depends which side of the negotiation I’m on.’
When Alex went to open it John stopped him. ‘Don’t read it until we’ve got this Simon Mortimer affair sorted out.’
According to the books, the estate had paid for itself long before they’d acquired the King’s Mile. If an avenue of trees were planted between the sites, none would be the wiser if a house were situated there or not.
He couldn’t choose between what was clearly his familial duty, and the woman he loved. He knew he had no choice where duty was concerned. He did with Vivienne. He could live in poverty with her if his situation dictated, as Eugenie had with his father. They’d been happy together. Then again, he could let Vivienne go and wed someone with wealth.
The thought of letting Vivienne go was too painful to contemplate. The thought of being wed to another woman was twice as painful, and the thought that Vivienne might end up married to someone like Simon Mortimer was unthinkable! When set up against King’s Acres, he really had nothing to lose, just a strip of land that would still be there after they’d all gone.
He stopped thinking.
John Howard was offering him a solution of sorts, and Alex had a great deal of respect for the man, his mind and his ability to out-think all who stood in his way – but Alex wasn’t going down without a murmur. What would Dom advise him to do under the circumstances? He wondered, but not for very long.
Drawing in a deep breath he took a great leap of faith, which afterwards made him wonder if he’d inherited his father’s nature in the need to gamble. ‘Whatever the offer might be … double it and we’ll shake on it.’
John shrugged, and then smiled rather ruefully and held out a hand.
Twenty-Two
The morning was humid and sticky.
Crowds had gathered outside the ring in Hyde Park. The streets leading to the park were crowded and choked with carriages. Men milled about, their hats resembling bobbing chimney pots. Collective voices sent an expectant buzz into the air to join the flies.
Alex had woken with a throat that tickled and itched, and he had a slight fever. Mrs Crawford made him a concoction of willowbark, lemon and honey mixed with brandy. Combined with the atmosphere, the tincture made him perspire, and his skin prickled uncomfortably.
There were several women in the crowd, some showing their wares in more ways than one, and others dipping their fingers into unguarded waistcoat pockets as they wandered through the crowd. Some women were obviously of the upper classes, and attended with their lovers or a retinue of servants. The
y wore veils so they couldn’t be recognized.
Alex and his party unobtrusively made their way to the organizer’s tent, where Matthew stripped down to his breeches. He slipped his red satin mask over his head and a red satin cloak about his shoulders. He adjusted the loo mask over his eyes. The garment was designed to keep the flies out of his eyes as well as acting to disguise the top half of his head. The cloak was purely for show.
Simon Mortimer came into the tent a little later with Freddie trailing after him. Freddie nodded, then shrugged, seemingly reluctant to be there. He held out a hand, which Alex took. ‘Good morning, My Lord. May the best man win.’
Simon looked Matthew up and down and sneered. ‘What have we here, the Scarlet Fury? He looks more like a wilting poppy to me. Was that the best you could get?’
‘Excuse me, My Lord,’ Matthew murmured, and placed a hand on Alex’s arm when he gave an involuntary twitch that would have ended up as a punch to Simon’s jaw if it had not been stopped in mid-air. They moved away.
Alex remembered a ladies match was next in the program. They were popular with men, but the main attraction this day was the first fight. It was a grudge match featuring a boxer called Scarlet Fury. He was billed as being promoted by Lord LéSayres, and in defence of the honour of an unnamed lady who’d been subjected to an unprovoked attack by the opponent, Simon Mortimer, leaving her considerably disabled.
Prolonged boos and hisses came from the crowd when Simon Mortimer put in an appearance with a doleful-looking Frederick in attendance. Surprisingly, Viscount Statham joined Simon Mortimer’s party and was billed as his sponsor. He paraded Simon around the ring, holding his arm aloft, piercing the crowd with fierce eyes. Alex received a long, bristling stare from under his bushy brows.
‘What the devil is Statham doing, supporting Mortimer?’ Alex said, before remembering Vivienne had turned down a proposal from both men. Statham was a bad loser, and being petty about it.
Matthew told him, ‘In your absence the Scottish Viscount succumbed to the charms of Miss Mortimer, who is almost as desperate as he is to wed. Miss Mortimer has taken advantage of that, I feel.