Lord Fox's Pleasure

‘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?’

Appalled, Prudence gasped, taking a step back. ‘Oh! Oh—how dare you? How dare you say that? You have no right.’

‘Mebbe not—but what I saw yesterday only proves that you’re a better actress than I thought,’ he growled scathingly. ‘Not so angelic now, are you? What do you have to say?’

Something of the venom in his tone penetrated Prudence’s mind. His arrogance and the injustice of the accusations he was flinging at her stirred her ire and her eyes flared. ‘Nothing to you, Will Price. Nothing at all.’ With a toss of her head she made a move to walk away, but seeing her intention, he stepped in front of her, barring her path.

He looked huge and intimidating as he glared down at her, his small eyes glittering hard, the broad expanse of his chest exposed beneath his half-fastened soiled shirt beaded with sweat. Gripping her arm in his large fist, words began to spill from his lips as though a long pent-up dam had suddenly burst.

‘You can’t say I haven’t been patient—watching you come here time after time—wanting you. It isn’t everybody who would have waited to be noticed. And don’t look so surprised,’ he laughed, with more than a hint of bitterness when her eyes widened with astonishment. ‘Ever since I first clapped eyes on you I’ve wanted to tell you how I felt, to declare myself, but I thought you weren’t for me.

‘You’ve tormented me—do you know that? Coming to the yard all friendly like. I could’ve taken you time after time—but no, like a fool I thought, wait, treat her properly, and then maybe there’ll come a day when she’ll notice you. Now I know your pretty words are not to be trusted—your innocence is a sham. Aye,’ he said, looking her up and down insolently, mentally stripping her of her clothing, which turned Prudence’s blood to ice. ‘I should’ve known the bitch was biding her time until those foppish Cavaliers came back so she could flaunt herself.’

Prudence stared at him, trying to comprehend what he was saying. How could she tell him the very touch of his hand repelled her? ‘That’s not true.’

He favoured her with a sneering grin. ‘And would it have made any difference if you had? Aye—I know your brother was in exile, and that your family’s poor—but not too poor to stoop so low as to take Will Price, eh? Not too poor to take to living in a hovel with a man with dirt on his hands, who stumbles and lurches around in his ugly boots.’

Prudence set her jaw and glared her anger at him. His words were as defiling as if he had violated her body. ‘You’re right, Will Price. If you think I would give myself to the likes of you then you are more addled than I thought. Now—let go of my arm and get out of my way.’ She didn’t believe that he would harm her, but she was wrong.

Will’s eyes narrowed dangerously. His face was red and he was breathing like a winded bull. ‘Beneath all your fine ways you’re nothing but one of life’s whores.’ His lust overcoming his common sense, drawing himself up to his full height he hauled her furiously against his chest.

Pain as hot as pincers shot through Prudence’s arms as she struggled against him. Suddenly something welled up inside her, a powerful surge of emotion to which she gave full rein. It was something larger than her own small self.

Because she was small and female Will misjudged her strength. When he planted his mouth on hers there was a sudden pain as her sharp teeth clamped down on his lip. With a yelp he released her and drew back, tasting blood. He raised his hand to wipe it away, just as her fist flew out and delivered a resounding blow to his cheek.

‘You lout. You ill-mannered oaf,’ Prudence cried, hotly irate, her dark eyes narrowed and sparking fury as she met his effrontery with a rage she had not known she possessed. ‘Do you think I am that easy, Will Price? If I were a man I’d—I’d horsewhip you. I’d teach you not to go around ravishing respectable females with your revolting kisses.’

‘Would you kindly explain what’s going on?’ Lucas’s sharp bark came from the entrance to the yard.

Will dropped his arm in amazement, and in unison both he and Prudence looked towards the gates in mute surprise. The figure of Lord Fox, long of limb and lean of frame—six foot two of lean, hard muscle—strode towards them scowling darkly, his eyes flicking with distaste from one to the other. He halted a short pace away. The scene prompted Lucas to draw his own conclusions—Prudence’s cry of outrage, accompanied by a resounding slap to her assailant’s cheek, told him that this person’s advances were not welcome. The young man was quite tall and muscular, with features grimly set and blue eyes narrowed into bitter slits.

‘You are?’ Lucas asked pointedly.

‘Will Price,’ he growled. ‘I work for Mr Rowan.’

‘And where is Mr Rowan?’