Lord Fox's Pleasure

Chapter Three

U nfortunately Prudence was nowhere to be found. Lucas made his excuses and left to return to Whitehall, unaware that she was on the balcony watching the firework display and saw him leave. Only then did she feel it was safe to return to the festivities. When Thomas saw her he drew her aside.

‘Where is your friend?’ Prudence asked innocently, giving no indication that she had watched Lord Fox leave. ‘I don’t see him.’

‘Do you want to see him?’

‘No. It’s just as well he’s gone. I think he is the most obnoxious man I have ever met.’

Thomas chuckled. ‘I’m relieved to hear it.’

Prudence was surprised. ‘You are? But Lord Fox is your friend.’

‘So he is. But I am truly amazed. Grown men quake in his presence, but here you are, a mere slip of a girl, actually standing up to him. Be warned. Lucas is too much an experienced man of the world, Prudence, for a girl of your tender years. He thought nothing of making a spectacle of you earlier—for which I have berated him—and he would think nothing of seducing you now—if you were anyone other than my sister. You are far too young to challenge him. His skills of persuasion where women are concerned are renowned, so take care. Lucas would break your heart if you gave him a chance.’

Prudence wondered what her brother would say if she told him that her heart was already breaking over Adam, so it was unlikely that it would suffer from the same affliction twice. ‘I won’t, and if Lord Fox is as bad as you say he is, then I am very lucky to have had a narrow escape from certain disaster.’

Thomas gave her a look of reproach. ‘You mistake me, Prudence. Lucas is not evil.’

‘Is he not?’ she declared adamantly. ‘If he is called “The Fox”, then he must have earned the name, and the not-too-flattering words such as cunning, deceitful and perfidious spring to mind—a true Machiavelli, in fact.’

Thomas frowned, not at all pleased to hear Lucas described so unfairly or severely by a girl who could have no comprehension of his friend’s true character. ‘Go easy, Prudence. Do not speak ill of him. Lucas is my good friend. I insist that you are civil to him when next you meet.’

Prudence bit her lip and her expression softened. It was clear to her that a special kind of friendship existed between her brother and Lord Fox, and she must respect that. If she had to endure his company, she would bear it for Thomas’s sake without complaint—but that didn’t mean to say she had to like him. And if he insisted on pursuing her, then by the time she had finished thwarting, frustrating and exasperating this arrogant lord, he would be glad to leave her alone.

‘I shall try, Thomas—I do promise,’ she conceded, knowing it would be difficult, but she was most sincere in what she said…at least, she was at that moment. ‘But the nature of the man is not to my liking. He is far too full of himself.’

‘Prudence.’ There was warning in his voice. ‘Have a care.’

‘I will. And now, if you don’t mind, Thomas, I would like to go to bed. I’ve had enough of the celebrations for one evening.’

Turning over in his mind his encounter with Thomas’s fair sister, Lucas was in a thoughtful mood as he made his way to Whitehall. He was sorry he’d missed saying goodnight to her and sincerely hoped that on their next meeting she would be more amenable towards him.

With a glance he took stock of his surroundings, for the streets of London were a dangerous place to be after dark. Alone and attired in the fine clothes and jewels that bespoke a man of wealth and made him a temptation to the residents of the underworld, Lucas quickened his stride. When dusk fell over the city, once their day’s work was done, decent folk went home and put up the shutters, but tonight, on the King’s return to his throne, when every street flowed with wine, they mingled in their merrymaking with all manner of low life that crept out after dark to inhabit the streets: the preying ground of beggars, thieves and cut-throats, roving bands and bawds and their pimps.

Thinking of all this, Lucas became uneasily conscious of a chill feeling in the pit of his stomach and he had a compulsive urge to look over his shoulder. His hand went to the hilt of his sword, his instinct telling him that someone was stalking him. In a second he assessed the situation coolly, thinking it was most likely a robber, and he gritted his teeth at his own foolishness for not having brought Solomon with him or taken a chair back to Whitehall. He had been a fool once before to walk the streets of a city after dark, which had almost cost him his life. Tonight he had acted on impulse, without giving due thought to the consequences, which was something he had sworn never to do again.

The next moment his sensitive ears heard the heavy breathing of his stalker and the soft scrape of a dagger being unsheathed. The cold deliberation of it cleared his brain and made him think quickly and concisely, responses that had carried him through a thousand similar situations in battle unscathed. Drawing his sword from its jewel-encrusted scabbard he turned, his eyes catching the sinister flash of a blade. Convinced that the fellow’s intent was to murder him, Lucas’s reflexes were quick and he lunged at his assailant like an avenging demon.

The man had a small, straggly beard and bulbous eyes, which were obsessed by some grim purpose. He was a burly, lumbering shadow against the wall. He was also clumsy, for in attempting to dodge the deadly grace of the tall man’s swift manoeuvre and the point of his sword, he fell back, placing his foot in a rut and stumbling to his knees with a grunt, dropping his weapon on to the ground. He had been a dangerous man with a dagger in his hand, but deprived of it he proved to be no match against such a powerful and towering adversary bearing a sword. Scrambling to his feet he bolted, disappearing into the underworld of rat-infested, foul and reeking back alleyways, a domain where no respectable man dared venture.

Breathing heavily Lucas sheathed his sword, just as a shower of silver stars burst above him in the sky, diminishing in their splendour as they gracefully descended in a magnificent cascade. The incident had all happened in the space of a moment, going unnoticed by the revellers in the street. Immediately he hailed an empty chair and ordered to be taken to Whitehall. As he sat back his face was grim, his mind going back over the unpleasant incident. He had many enemies, but he could think of only one who would want to kill him.

His cousin Jeffrey.

As Prudence went through the motions of preparing herself for bed, she was so confused as she tried to understand the turbulent, consuming emotions Lord Fox was able to arouse in her when they had only just met, and how he had managed to overshadow Adam in her thoughts by just a look—and a kiss. How could she ever think of him as her friend? Thomas was right. If he set his mind to seduce her, nothing was going to deter him from trying. She would be strong and rely on her courage and determination and her stubborn nature if she was going to avoid him, and she had an abundance of all three, which Lucas Fox had only glimpsed.

Her mind was in turmoil over Adam having married someone else. When he had gone to the Continent she had been just fifteen years old, but she had hoped that he’d noticed her, that he might have had some feeling for her. But he hadn’t, she could see that now. That was all she had been to him—a silly young girl—and as soon as he’d reached King Charles’s Court in exile, he had fallen for another. As she pulled the covers over her head she resolved to banish Adam from her thoughts forever, but as she drifted into sleep her dreams betrayed her.

When she awoke the next morning she despised this weakness, and as she dressed she was determined to conquer her infatuation. She wanted to talk to someone, but she couldn’t talk to Arabella. She couldn’t tell her sister the secret she had carried in her heart for three long years. Arabella would be shocked and grieved to know that Prudence could still want a man who was married to another.

Just as soon as she had eaten breakfast she would go to Mr Rowan’s nursery to see Molly. Molly would listen to her. She always did.

As Prudence was making her way to Covent Garden through streets littered with the evidence of the previous night’s revelry, she would have been concerned to know that Thomas and Arabella were discussing her. Thomas was angrily pacing the parlour with long, determined strides as he insisted on hearing more of her misdemeanours—some he’d already heard from cousin Mary earlier, who had gone out of her way to vilify Prudence.

‘I wish I could say Prudence is a credit to you, Arabella, but I cannot,’ Thomas said with a note of regret. ‘I will admit to you that I am not best pleased. Our sister is a disgrace to our parents’ memory, and I am relieved that neither of them lived to see what she has become—a hoyden, no less. Her behaviour seems to me to be quite reprehensible.’

‘Do not judge her too harshly, Thomas. Perhaps if our parents were alive and you had not been forced into exile, our sister would not have turned out so wayward,’ Arabella said quietly. ‘But beneath it all, Prudence is a sweet girl with a soft heart and a generous nature. She may seem difficult, but she doesn’t mean to be.’

‘Rebellious and unbiddable is how I would describe her,’ said Thomas, his eyes dwelling on his sister. Arabella was fair-haired, pretty and gracious and sweet-tempered, whereas Prudence was an exotic, vivacious firebrand—which brought to mind what Lucas had called her—a shrew and a rebel, which was hardly a flattering description of any well brought-up young girl in his opinion. ‘Can you imagine how shocked I was to hear that her manners are outrageous, that she is the despair and embarrassment of the entire household, and that she frequently roams the streets in the company of a girl we know nothing about? And on top of all that she was seen kissing a youth who called at the house just the other day.’

Arabella smiled softly in an attempt to soften her brother’s attitude towards Prudence. ‘There’s no need to be so shocked, Thomas, and I do try to keep a strict watch over her. The only time I allow Prudence on to the streets is to visit Mr Rowan’s nursery in Covent Garden—and myself or one of the servants nearly always accompanies her. The girl you speak of is Mr Rowan’s daughter, Molly, and the two have struck up a friendship.’

‘Nearly always? So you do admit that she goes out by herself on occasion. She may intend no harm in her promenades, but by doing so she gives amorists the opportunity to meet her. And the kiss?’

Arabella sighed. ‘Was completely innocent. The youth you speak of was James Lowther, who is just fourteen years old. His mother and Aunt Julia are good friends and James adores Prudence and would do anything to please her. He came to bring her some plants from their garden—for which he was rewarded with a peck on the cheek. That’s all it was, and if Mary implied the incident to have been of a more passionate nature, then it was quite wrong of her.’

Thomas cast his sister a sceptical glance. ‘Nevertheless, she should not bestow her affections so lightly.’

‘Prudence is not wanton, Thomas. She loves life and has a spirit that makes her exuberant. If she has not turned out as you hoped she would, then I am sorry. I’ve done my best,’ Arabella told him, annoyance creeping into her voice at her brother’s readiness to berate her for not rearing Prudence to his satisfaction. ‘It hasn’t been easy for any of us these past nine years. But, as you know, Prudence does have a passion for gardening—which I have had reason to bless, for while ever she is tending her plants she is not getting up to mischief.’

‘I’m sorry, Arabella.’ Thomas relented, seeing his sister’s dismay and admiring her readiness to spring to Prudence’s defence. ‘I don’t mean to sound harsh or judgmental, but something must be done—and quickly. Does she have any suitors?’

‘No—although unconsciously she does draw attention to herself wherever she goes, which is a constant worry. All the youths seem to notice her. There’s something about her that intrigues them—Will Price in particular.’

Thomas glanced at her sharply. ‘Will Price?’

‘He works for Mr Rowan at his nursery where Prudence regularly goes to buy plants and to seek advice on gardening matters. Will certainly seems to find her appealing.’

‘So does Lucas,’ Thomas said with grim amusement, standing still with his hands clasped behind his back as his features settled into thoughtful lines. ‘It seems to me that we will have our work cut out guarding our young sister’s maidenhead, Arabella. It’s also clear that it’s not too soon to think of marriage.’

‘Marriage is not the solution, Thomas,’ Arabella countered quickly. ‘Prudence is not ready for that.’

He smiled grimly. ‘Perhaps if Adam were still free she would feel differently.’

‘So—you know about that, too. I had no idea until yesterday that she was so fond of him. She has given no indication.’

‘Pity. Adam would have been eminently suitable—if a trifle quiet and reserved. Lucy, his wife, being docile and gentle, is just right for him and will make him happy, whereas Prudence is too volatile and would very soon become bored. I think what she needs is a man to gentle her, to take her in hand,’ Thomas went on. ‘A mature man, a man who will stand no nonsense.’

Arabella shook her head, prepared to disagree with him. ‘I cannot deny that I am relieved to turn over the responsibility of Prudence to you, Thomas, but on this I matter I cannot agree. She has spirit, I know, but the kind of man you speak of would subdue that spirit. If you force her into a marriage such as that it would become a prison for her. It would be cruel and I would fear for the consequences.’

Thomas nodded. ‘I hear what you’re saying, Arabella, and I promise not to force her into anything that is distasteful to her. But marriage has to be considered some time—particularly when you and Robert marry and Verity comes to live at Willow House.’ He frowned uneasily when he thought of his wife. ‘I know you will like Verity, and she you, Arabella—but Prudence might very well prove to be a different matter entirely. Be so good as to go and fetch her. I think it’s time I had a serious word with her.’

To Arabella’s dismay, Prudence was nowhere to be found. She returned to the parlour just as Thomas was receiving Lord Fox, who had ridden from Whitehall Palace, where he and his servant had managed to procure rooms. Despite being their neighbour at Marlden Green, whose family had lived at the magnificent Marlden Hall for generations, Arabella had met Lord Fox only once before last night, and at that time she had been too young for him to have formed any deep impression.

The same age as Thomas, at twenty years of age the two young men had left Marlden Green together to join King Charles at Worcester, for what was to be his final battle. And now, like everyone else when they are first introduced to this illustrious lord, she could not fail to be impressed by his presence and bearing. Dreading having to tell Thomas that Prudence had disappeared, she hoped her brother’s wrath would be somewhat tempered by Lord Fox’s presence.

‘Where is Prudence?’ Thomas demanded when Arabella stared at him mutely, waiting for him to finish speaking to Lord Fox. His voice bore an edge of sharpness that bespoke vexation.

‘She—is not in her room, Thomas. One of the kitchen maids saw her leaving the house about ten minutes ago.’

Thomas’s face was almost comical in its expression of disbelief as he stared at Arabella. ‘Not here? Do you mean to tell me that she has been allowed out already?’

‘She must have gone to Mr Rowan’s nursery in Covent Garden to see Molly. I’ll go after her.’ Arabella turned towards the door but Thomas halted her.

‘Stay where you are. I’ll go myself. That young whelp has just over-stepped the bounds of my endurance. I’ll teach her how to behave. It’s high time somebody did.’

Anticipating that Thomas was going to unleash his wrath on Prudence the moment he clapped eyes on her, Lucas attempted to defuse the highly charged situation.

‘Perhaps you will permit me to go after her,’ he suggested calmly. ‘My horse is saddled and I can be at the nursery in a matter of minutes. Besides, the mood you’re in, Thomas, I don’t reckon much to your sister’s chances when you get your hands on her.’

Thomas threw his hands up in the air in frustration. ‘Thank you, Lucas. You may go if you wish. But stand no nonsense. You have my full permission to drag her back to Maitland House if necessary.’

When Arabella had given Lucas directions on how to find Mr Rowan’s nursery, he left the house.

It was still early, and Prudence was thankful there wasn’t the usual crush of traffic to slow her down as she walked in the direction of Covent Garden, having no doubt that most people would still be sleeping off the effects of the previous night’s celebrations. Covering her nose with a scented handkerchief to ward off the putrid smells rising from the gutters where dogs scavenged among the filth, she moved out of the way of a late reveller going towards Charing Cross in a fine carriage, escorted by liveried servants.

Shopkeepers were slow to open this morning. She heard the yodel of a milkman down an adjoining street, and a chimney sweep carrying a bundle of rods and a long broom scurried past. Water-carriers, their shoulders stooped from the weight of their yokes bearing buckets, went from house to house.

Leaving the Strand, the timber-framed buildings on either side of the narrow street were blackened by pitch and the smoke of sea-coal, the upper storeys jutting out and almost touching, shutting out most of the light. It gave the impression of passing through a tunnel. She managed to avoid the rubbish thrown out of upper windows and side-stepped worse.

At last, down a narrow twisting alleyway in Covent Garden, she reached Mr Rowan’s nursery, which was closed in by high walls. The wooden gates stood open, indicating that Mr Rowan, who specialised in the supply of plants and seeds, flowering trees, fruit trees and shrubs, was already about his business. The yard where he could usually be found at this time of day was quiet. Only Will was there, watering some tender plants in tiny pots from a clay receptacle, which had tiny holes all over it to allow the water to sprinkle out so it did not drown the plants. Wishing there was someone else she could speak to, reluctantly she walked towards him.

‘Hello, Will.’ She was smiling as she drew closer, but gradually her smile faded. Normally Will welcomed her cheerfully, but today his face was drawn into sullen lines. His blue eyes looked dull and were almost hidden by folds of puffy flesh. Perhaps he was suffering the after-effects of the previous night’s celebrations, she thought. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d arrived at the nursery to find him red-eyed and rubbing at his brow, as if to ease the persistent ache that throbbed there, caused by drinking too much liquor the night before. He didn’t stop what he was doing and she could tell from the surly glance he gave her that he had something to say. ‘How are you this morning, Will?’

‘Me? Never better,’ he grunted. ‘What the hell do you want coming here?’

Prudence’s eyes widened and her lips parted, surprised by the viciousness of his reply. ‘I’ve come to see Molly.’

‘Then you’ve wasted your time. She isn’t here.’

‘Where is she?’

‘Highgate—delivering some fruit trees with Mr Rowan.’

‘Oh—I didn’t know,’ she said, disappointed. When Will looked away and carried on watering the plants, she edged a little closer to him, puzzled by his behaviour. ‘Will—what’s the matter? Has something happened to upset you?’

Will looked at the clay receptacle in his hand and suddenly flung it from him. Never had Prudence seen his eyes burn with so much wrath as they did at that moment when he fixed them on her accusingly, feeding on his own righteous rage.

‘I’ll tell you what’s the matter—you slut,’ he hissed. ‘Did you think I didn’t see you yesterday—pushing yourself forward to be seen by those bloody Cavaliers?’

Prudence was momentarily shocked into paralysis by his aggressive behaviour, but then she forced a small laugh and tried to sound nonchalant. ‘I think you may be letting yourself be influenced by a purely personal resentment, Will. I know you have no liking for Royalists and do not welcome their return.’

‘You’re damned right I don’t. I’m sick of you pretending to be little Miss Puritan—whiter than white—when all the time you have the morals of an alley cat. Shameless you were—flaunting yourself like a strumpet at the line of strutting peacocks. Did the memory of the kiss from the arrogant Lord Fox keep you awake all night,’ he shouted, thrusting his face close to hers, ‘or did you spend the night rolling around with him in his bed?’