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Overview
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She is a spinster with a secret fortune . . . He is an impoverished earl who must marry money or face ruin . . . Theirs is a love match to be reckoned with
1812. Clever, strong-willed Vivienne Fox is unexpectedly endowed with riches beyond her wildest dreams when a remote cousin dies, leaving her his fortune. Unwed at twenty-four, Vivienne still hopes the right man is out there, but she despairs of ever finding him, and she is determined that rumours of her new-found wealth be quashed, lest she be courted for her purse rather than her heart.
Renowned rake Lord Alex LéSayres comes to an unpleasant decision after the death of his father. If he is to save their family lands, he must marry a wealthy woman – and quickly. Introduced to Miss Fox, his interest is soon piqued. But he must set aside his rising feelings, or else his family will face disaster . . .
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781847516909 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Severn House |
| Publication date: | 12/01/2016 |
| Edition description: | Reprint |
| Pages: | 240 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.40(w) x 8.40(h) x 3.20(d) |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
Foxing the Geese
By Janet Woods
Severn House Publishers Limited
Copyright © 2016 Janet WoodsAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-84751-690-9
CHAPTER 1
Kent, 1812
Vivienne Fox had decided not to get married just for the sake of it. As she told her father at breakfast that morning, a week after he'd informed her of her good fortune: 'I'm twenty-four years old. Until I came into my legacy no man took the slightest interest in me, let alone one with a title.'
'But dear ...'
'Now they're queuing up at the door ... men who rejected me year after year and laughed behind my back. It's humiliating. Aunt Edwina intends to trot me out like the family dog on Sunday, all bathed and brushed so I can simper and flutter and wag my tail, and all to gain the attention of a pack of brainless, chinless ... braying fools!'
'My dear, don't be so angry.'
She waved a handful of invitations in the air. 'Is it because I've suddenly become a more worthy person? Is it because I can dance, play the piano and sing any better than I did last year, or the year before, or all the other years before that? Is it because I've grown to be beautiful?'
She answered her own questions. 'No ... no ... no ... no! It's because Vivienne Fox, eldest daughter of the Reverend Ambrose Fox, has suddenly become endowed with riches beyond her wildest dreams from the ill-gotten gains of a sugar plantation, which was owned by a remote cousin – a cousin we'd never heard of. Moreover, he made the fortune on the sweat of slave labour!'
'Oh, I'd heard of Philip Dubois. I met him shortly after I married your mother. He was considered to be an undesirable relative by her family, but your mother liked the adventurer in him and said he made her laugh. He came to visit you after you were born, and was very taken with you. It was kind of him to leave you his fortune, but then, you're his only blood relative.'
'So although he was considered an undesirable acquaintance, his money does not carry the same stigma, therefore your unmarried and least attractive daughter is suddenly desirable. The whole idea is obscene, and you must promise me that you won't tell anyone of my sudden legacy, especially the size of it.' She scattered the invitations across the carpet. 'There, that's disposed of them. I will not accept any of them!'
Her father smiled at her tirade. 'You're being much too passionate, Vivienne. No man will be interested in having a scold for his wife, whatever the price on her head. You must learn to be a little less forthright, and ... well, try not to be so clever. Ordinarily, men don't like women who can out-think them. It makes them feel foolish.'
'If it does then they are foolish.' She smiled at him. 'You don't expect me to pander to a man's pride by acting like some dizzy miss – not after you taught me to reason and think independently. I don't make you feel foolish, do I?'
'That's different. I'm your father and have different expectations.'
'Then I'll wait for a man who is just like you – one who is extraordinary.'
'And when you meet this perfect gentleman?'
'Because you are so eager to get rid of me, dearest Papa, then I will ask him to marry me and be done with it.'
'You cannot propose to a man!'
She grinned at the shock in her father's eyes. 'Why ever not?'
'It's just not done,' he spluttered.
A lame excuse if ever she'd heard one. 'I will make it done if he pleases me. And if I can't find a man I like, then so be it. Instead I will embrace spinsterhood and become a favourite aunt to my sisters' offspring.'
'Just give a suitor a chance. Be pleasant and well-mannered, that's all I ask, Vivienne. Your sisters went through exactly the same thing and without a penny piece between them. Look how well they did in the end.'
Vivienne's annoyance abated. Bethany and Caroline were her younger half-sisters. They had fallen in love at first sight, and married a pair of cousins who adored them. Her brothers-in-law were partners in a legal practice with offices in Yorkshire, and the possessors of comfortable and considerable self-earned fortunes.
But then, her sisters were pretty, sweet and vivacious as well as being younger than her, which was a humiliation in itself. Neither did they possess a mean thought about anyone to share between them, while her own mind created a whole storm at the drop of a hat. Her sisters took after their late mother in looks. Dark-haired, fair-skinned, blue-eyed and dainty; every perfect feature was positioned in just the right place to create a countenance of great beauty.
Vivienne sighed. Her own hair was light brown – her papa described it as honey-brown – with curls that were hard to control, so it never looked quite tidy. She was also a little on the tall side for a woman. Her eyes were several shades, alternating between grey and green, depending on the time of day. Now they sparkled as she gazed at her father. 'Do you never become angry and jealous and have mean thoughts, Papa?'
He smiled. 'Of course I do, but I try to control my temper and see the other person's point of view.'
'What if you can't see it, however much you try?'
He rolled his eyes. 'Then I pray that God will give me the will to impose my own point of view on them before they impose theirs on me.'
She laughed at that. 'Like you're doing now?'
'Exactly as I'm doing now.' He patted her hand. 'It's quite clear, Vivienne, that you need to be loved for your own dear self, and a man with any sense will recognize that. I'm sure it will come to pass if you would but give yourself a chance. But that chance will pass you by if you skulk in your bedchamber and worry about your looks – which, I might add, aren't as plain as you imagine – or seethe about the injustice in the world in a forthright manner that will label you a shrew.'
She kissed the bald spot on the top of his head. 'You are a most unusual man and too manipulative by far. I knew you'd understand, Papa. I have a mercurial nature like yours, and if I had neither the looks nor inclination to become a doting wife before I was wealthy, then obviously I have not had time to acquire pretty manners along with the fortune.'
'On the contrary; judging by those invitations, you're now acceptable to a larger circle of people ... and from much higher on the social scale, so it stands to reason that the perfect man for you is still in circulation and available.'
'So the news is abroad already?'
Her father offered her a sheepish nod. 'A couple of people are aware of it, but I imagine they will be discreet.'
Vivienne was just as sure that they wouldn't be. 'Couldn't we say it's a rumour, or we've given it to the poor ... now that's a good idea. If we gave it away the suitors would fade away with it.'
'It will hold you in good stead for your future. With your permission the poor will get a portion but you must be prudent. I was thinking we might visit your uncle, John Howard, who has made a fortune from his own wits. He knows how to invest money and a sum such as yours needs to be managed.'
'When shall we leave?'
'All in good time, my dear. Goodness, I haven't even informed him of the matter yet. I shall have to send a messenger, and I can't spare more than a week.' He took out his watch and consulted it, as if it would sort matters out for him, then placed it back in his waistcoat pocket.
'Would you like me to arrange the visit, Pa? It's several weeks before I need to be in London, and I could go from there.' She had a memory of John Howard, a man who looked stern. He'd told her wonderful stories. He'd also given her some numbers to add together and had told her she had a sharp mind and it was a pity she hadn't been born a boy, because he would have employed her. He'd rewarded her with a silver florin for solving the sum. She still had it.
'I can barely remember my Uncle John, though I have an impression that he was nice in a growly sort of way. He took me to a big house and there was a man with a loud voice who threw me in the air and made me scream with fright, and some rough boys. I think I would like to see my uncle again.'
'And the boys?'
'Certainly not. They said they didn't like girls, and were bad-mannered creatures that teased me and made me cry. The older one threw me into the pigsty. And they all laughed. I can still remember the disgusting smell.' She wasn't about to tell him that the older one had whispered to her when they were alone that he did like her. He'd kissed her on the mouth in a casual sort of way. 'Don't tell anyone,' he'd said. 'It means I'll marry you when I grow up and become an earl.'
For years afterwards she'd expected him to turn up on her doorstep – and although she'd sent him a letter, he hadn't bothered to answer. It was the first time her affections had been rejected, and it still stung.
Her father said, 'I daresay they would have changed by now, don't you? One thing you've forgotten is that your cousin Adelaide is in need of a companion for the London season, and you are to chaperone each other.'
'Such a bore.'
Vivienne hadn't forgotten. Until now Adelaide had always worn a superior air because she had a substantial dowry at her disposal. But the contents of Vivienne's purse now surpassed that of Adelaide's. Looks were a different thing altogether, however. When compared to Vivienne's own nondescript appearance, Adelaide was a beauty, with dark hair, blue eyes and a rosebud mouth. She had a high-pitched voice though, and an unrestrained giggle that could be irritating. Her bosom was ample enough to attract the glances of men, lustful creatures that they were. Their boldly assessing glances tended to wander past Vivienne to rest on Adelaide, who was shameless at flaunting her charms.
From Adelaide's unseemly confidences about men and the physical effects of their wooing on her cousin's body, Vivienne knew her own flights of fancy were as normal as those of any young woman, though she wouldn't stoop so low as to swoon, just to catch the attention of some buck. Her cousin was much too bold in that way.
Vivienne knew she was being prissy. Nevertheless, she did want to marry and she would make somebody a good wife. She just wanted a man who would love her. That was something she hadn't given up on yet – something to look forward to, she supposed.
'Now, gather up those invitations and we'll go through them. I believe I saw a crest or two on the envelopes.'
Her father had made her feel horribly selfish. Yet Vivienne sighed as she thought of the humiliation of being looked over in the marriage stakes once again. True, she did now have a fortune at her disposal to make her a more desirable prospect, despite her indifferent looks. What if she took the first man who asked her? That would put her season of torture to an end before it had begun. No, it might be that silly Freddie Lamington with his derogatory remarks and his loud laugh. Doubtful, since Vivienne suspected that he admired her cousin.
Worse was the lecherous Simon Mortimer, who'd cornered her in an alcove the previous year. He'd told her that her mouth resembled a squashed peach and had tried to kiss her. She shuddered. A squashed peach sounded a bit messy. His mouth had been moist and his breath smelled of brandy. She'd quickly turned her head to one side and his kiss had slid across her face. It had taken all of her strength to push him away and to escape. To make matters worse he'd apologized later for taking such a liberty, saying he'd mistaken her for Elizabeth Carter, who was known for being fast.
What was clear was that her father was determined to get her before the altar with some man, and then eventually provide him with a houseful of grandchildren to dote over ... just like her sisters were doing.
Vivienne wondered if Jane Bessant had anything to do with it. Her father had been a widower for five years now. Jane was quiet and intelligent, and Vivienne had long thought that Jane would make a perfect match for her father.
Vivienne had told him earlier that she'd propose to a man if she met one she happened to like. She hadn't meant it at the time, but was being provocative, making light of the situation. However the idea had begun to take root in her mind. Why shouldn't she do the proposing? She might meet a man she found presentable ... one she liked and felt she could rub along with. Then the stupid protocols of husband-catching would be over and done with. It would save having to play games. She wouldn't have to flirt with her eyelashes from behind her fan and make small talk ... and there wouldn't be large gaps in her dance card. That would be a plus, because she quite liked dancing. Besides, whatever she'd thought or said before about spinsters, she didn't really want to become that most unfortunate of creatures – a tabby.
She determined to keep a book on any man who approached her, and then list their good and bad points before she made her choice. Someone taller than herself would take number one position. Dancing at number two ... no ... a sense of humour could go there. Dancing wasn't really important because it could be taught, but she didn't want a miserable man for a husband.
And she wouldn't have anything to do with the men who'd turned their noses up at her before fortune smiled upon her. To confuse matters, she might even start a rumour denying she had a fortune.
When she chuckled at the thought her father turned an enquiring glance her way. 'You're scheming, Vivienne.'
'A little, Papa. Having a fortune has gifted me with a sense of confidence, but there still might be a man out there who is willing to relieve you of your spinster daughter, and without fortune. If that fails, having an extra element to attract suitors might not be too bad after all. At least I'll be able to pick and choose. But I warn you ... I'm going to be very discriminating.'
'I certainly hope so, Vivienne my dear. I would hate it if you made a hasty decision, because marriage is a lifelong commitment. I love you dearly, and I want you to be happy. Promise me you'll take care.'
'I certainly will. Any man I choose must meet with your approval.'
'I wouldn't expect anything less than that courtesy from you, but in the absence of a mother I must caution you. When love exists between a man and a woman reason is often ignored. Listen to your heart by all means, Vivienne, but remember you will have to live with your decision for the rest of your life. Now pick up those cards and start making arrangements.'
'It will sound more official if you write to my uncle ... write "urgent" on the outside, and tell him the matter is strictly private. I will ask Jane Bessant to move into the house to keep the cat company while we're away. She would do anything for you.'
A tinge of colour stole into his cheeks and he stuttered, 'That's nonsense.'
'Is it? Jane Bessant would make you a perfect wife, and in case you think your children might not approve, we all like her.'
Kissing him lightly on the cheek, she departed to make arrangements for their visit.
CHAPTER 2King's Acres, Dorset, 1812
After days of deliberation, Alex LéSayres had made up his mind. 'I must find myself a wealthy woman to wed. Our finances are in a mess and unless I act now we'll have to sell land to pay Father's debts – there's no other choice.'
His brother, Dominic, keeper of the family fortunes, or what remained of them, gazed at Alex, deferring to his elder brother as the earl and the undisputed head of the LéSayres household. 'We could sell Howard the property he wants.'
Alex ignored his brother's grin and dropped his gaze to his scuffed black hessians, wondering when he'd be able to afford a new pair. Eventually he looked up at Dominic. 'If you're referring to the King's Mile, you know what my answer is. John Howard wants to pull down the cottage and erect some damned monstrosity of a house in its place. I'd rather go bare-arsed for life.'
Dominic shrugged. 'That's become a distinct possibility, Alex. Bear in mind that the family owes John Howard a great deal of money, and he's offering a good price for the land.'
They were alike, Alex thought. Olive-skinned, their hair as dark as night. His brother had a quiet if somewhat sinister elegance about him. The difference lay in their eye colour. Alex had inherited the deep blue eyes of his father, while Dominic favoured the calm grey of their mother.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Foxing the Geese by Janet Woods. Copyright © 2016 Janet Woods. Excerpted by permission of Severn House Publishers Limited.
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