Miss Foxworth's Fate

Miss Foxworth’s Fate

Sahara Kelly

Copyright 2015 Sahara Kelly

Cover art by Sahara Kelly for P&N Graphics

Acknowledgements

This is where I get to thank those important people who encourage, support and allow me to pursue this wondrous idea of thinking up stories and then writing them down and sharing them.

So I need to begin with a heartfelt thankyou to every reader out there, because if it weren’t for you, I’d be miserable and probably unemployed as well. To those folks who love the Regency as much as I do, another extra big thankyou – there’s something special about this time period and I’m so glad I’m not alone in appreciating it!!!

Specific friends need a hug…and I’ve been fortunate over the years, since I’ve made some lasting friendships within the writing community that I cherish. You all know who you are!! 

My partner-in-crime, Scott Carpenter, always gets a very special mention. Besides being my co-writer, he is also my business partner, and my best friend. Fate (and the Internet) helped our paths cross over a dozen years ago, and since then his constant presence has inspired me in my writing and supported me over some dark times in my life. I’ve said it many times before, but there is no better way of expressing my appreciation…thanks, Scott.

(Note: This novella was originally published elsewhere under the title “Sir Philip Ashton’s Eyes” and was also part of the “Mesmerized” anthology. Both those versions are now out of print, and the story has been revised and re-edited for this edition.)

Chapter 1

“No.”

“No?”

“
No
. No, absolutely no. Thank you, but no.”

The earnest young gentleman on his knees before Miss Abigail Foxworth looked puzzled, and then his face relaxed. “Ah. You mean you’d like some time to consider my proposal.”

“No, Lord Reginald. I
mean
thank you for doing me the honor of offering for my hand, but I must refuse.”

“But…but...”

Abby sighed. “Reginald, what part of the simple word ‘no’ do you fail to comprehend?”

Reginald Abernathy wrinkled his brow while he engaged in the challenging exercise of actually thinking about something other than his horses. “Well, Mama said...”

“Hmm. What did your Mama say?” Abby clenched her teeth. Lady Abernathy was the largest, loudest, most self-absorbed woman in London. Who also worshipped her oldest son as unquestionably the catch of the Season.

He wasn’t.

“Well, Mama said...” He rose from his knees, carefully withdrawing a handkerchief from his perfectly cut coat and wiping away any lingering flecks of carpet. “She said that ladies
must
perforce refuse the first offer, while they consider all the advantages of being married. To me. Then they’ll understand why it’s such a good idea. And then they’ll say yes.” He turned his rather vacant blue eyes to her face. “And I’m a nice man, Abby.”

Once again, Abby sighed. “Of course you are, Reginald. You’ll make some girl a fine husband, I’m sure.”
One who had no brains of her own, and didn’t care that her husband had none either. “
But not for me.”

Reginald tried to look desolate at her rejection. But the effort was too much, and he simply looked...well...vacant.

“What am I going to tell Mama, then?” he whined.

Abby took a breath. It appeared that, thankfully, she’d not shattered his heart or his dreams, and blighted the rest of his probably long and boring life. Which assumed some other woman didn’t kill him first, thus sparing herself from years of horse-talk.

“Just tell your Mama that I was a completely foolish woman, who couldn’t recognize the treasure under my nose, and chose not to accept your offer. Then tell her that you rather agreed with me, since it was clear that by refusing you I was demonstrating how very stupid I am.”

Reginald took several moments to digest that rather complex instruction.

Abby’s hands fidgeted as she fought the urge to punch him and perhaps jolt his brain, whatever there was of it, into some kind of functioning order.

It took a few minutes, but finally a satisfied smile crossed his chubby face and he nodded. “Right. Very good, Abigail, very good.”

He looked around, blinking. “Well, I should take myself off then.”

Abigail gritted her teeth. “Yes, Reginald, I think that would be best.”

“You’re still interested in that filly at Tattersall’s, though, aren’t you? Dodsman’s breakdown?”

Now the man’s eyes were focused, and for a moment Abigail caught herself wondering if he should just skip the whole wife business and stick with his horses. At least they brought some animation to the poor chap.

“Yes, indeed, Reginald. If you would take a look at her and send me a note? I’d appreciate it.”

“Happy to, m’dear,” he chortled, bowing to her. He toddled off, grinning like a child who’d been given a treat. No air of the rejected suitor hung over his shoulders—he was now a man with a mission. A horse mission.

Abigail closed her eyes as the door shut behind him and heaved an enormous sigh of relief.

Another man sent off about his business, another proposal rejected and, she knew,
another
round of recriminations from Aunt Eugenia.

And sure enough, within mere moments of Reginald’s exit, the door opened again and a daintily rounded woman tip-toed into the room with an air of buoyant expectancy floating around her, along with a large number of tulle ruffles.

“So, my dear, am I to wish you and Reginald happy? I saw him smiling as he left.” Eugenia Foxworth fluttered to the couch and sat next to Abigail, eyeing her niece hopefully.

“Sorry to spoil your morning, Aunt Eugenia. Reginald failed to persuade me that marriage to him would be anything other than a complete disaster.”

Eugenia permitted herself an unladylike snort. “Well, for heaven’s sake, Abigail. What am I going to do with you? You’re not getting any younger, you know.”

Abigail rose, and commenced her favorite occupation during these sessions with her aunt. She paced. Some bottled-up energy inside her refused to allow her to stay still for long, and she found striding up and down the long salon helped her keep her temper, and her tongue, between her teeth.

“Aunt, you have pointed out my age, my lack of a husband, and my obvious shortcomings often enough. I know them by heart. Can’t we just say that I refused Reginald, it’s done with, and move on?”

Eugenia sighed dramatically and fluttered her handkerchief. “You know I love you dear, as if you were my own. I just worry about you so.”

Guilt swamped Abigail and she moved to the couch, dropping a light kiss on her aunt’s elegantly, if improbably colored, head. “I know, Aunt, I know. And I’m sorry to be such a trial to you.”

Eugenia straightened a little. “You’re never that, my dear. I cannot tell you how glad I am your parents allowed you to come to London and ease my loneliness after your dear uncle...” She pressed her handkerchief to her lips.

Abigail wasn’t fooled. “Aunt Eugenia, you and I both know that there are any number of eligible gentlemen who’d be happy to ‘ease your loneliness’. Why just the other evening, Colonel Dagenham was commenting on your good looks.”

“He was?” Eugenia’s eyes sparkled and she turned with a smile. Then she recalled the subject under discussion and straightened her face. “Well, that’s nice, but neither here nor there at the moment. We’re discussing
you
, Abby.”

Damnation. Distraction hadn’t worked. She was in for it now.
“Do we have to?”

“Yes we do.” Eugenia settled her ample bottom comfortably between the cushions. “This makes how many now? Five? Five offers you’ve turned down flat?”

“I don’t keep count,” answered Abby wryly.

“Well, there was young Fotherby. You said he was too short.”

“He was, Aunt, even you must admit that.”

Eugenia permitted herself a slight nod. “Well, I do confess that it would be disconcerting to spend one’s life talking down to one’s husband whose face was exactly level with one’s...um...” She trailed off with a blush. “But there was nothing wrong with Charles Marshfield or Sir Roxburgh deHaven.”

“Charles is a gambling idiot who lives for the next turn of the cards. Sir Roxburgh is twenty years my senior and wants heirs. I don’t want to be someone’s brood mare, Aunt.”

“Well, good gracious, Abby, what
do
you want?”

Silence fell as Abby paced the floor, struggling with the answer to the question that had plagued her mind from the minute she’d arrived in London and started suffering through this long parade of would-be suitors.

“I want...I want...” She bit her lip, trying to find the words to explain to her aunt. “I want a
man
, Aunt.”

“Well, my dear, all of them so far have fit
that
particular qualification,” giggled Eugenia.

Abby ignored her, and continued her own train of thought. “I want a man who makes me
feel
things, who challenges me to
think
things. Who makes me want to—”

“Toss up your skirts and spread your legs for him?” The words shocked both women, coming as they did from out of the blue.

Eugenia gasped and fell back on the couch, reaching for her ever-present vinaigrette and waving it under her nose.

Abby laughed and turned to see an elderly woman, carefully leaning on her cane and standing in the doorway. “Grandmama, you were eavesdropping.” She grinned.

“Bet your boots, sweetheart. Only way to find out anything interesting. I hope this means you’ve sent that ass Reginald off with a flea in his ear?”

“Yes, indeed,” chuckled Abigail. My, how she loved this cantankerous old woman.

“Good gel. He was as useless as a pile of droppings from those damned horses he goes on about. Tried to talk me into one, for God’s sake. At my age. As if I could still ride
anything
, let alone a horse.”

Eugenia gasped again. “Mama Wetherford,
please
. Such conversation is not fit for Abby’s ears.”

“Damnation, Eugenia. Don’t be a nitwit. Abigail is telling you precisely what she wants, and you’re not listening. What she wants is a man who’ll wake up the woman inside her.”

Abby’s jaw dropped.

“A man who’ll make her think about how what’s between his legs would feel between hers. A man with some fire to him, and a brain that might even outstretch the length of his cock.”

Eugenia looked like she might faint at any moment.

“Well, gel? Am I right?” The Dowager Duchess of Wetherford glared at her granddaughter fiercely. “You’re possessed of brains, a handsome dowry, and a body that makes men’s mouths water. But as yet, not one man’s done the same for you.”

Abby stared.

The wrinkled face smiled back at her. “He’s out there, Abby. Never fear, the right man’s out there. You’ve too much to offer him to let it all go to waste on some slack-pricked nincompoop.”

Eugenia gave up the battle, and tossed her vinaigrette aside. “Good Lord, Mama. You speak as if...as if...
intimate relations
...were the only important thing.” She blushed.

“Well, and aren’t they? Gel’s got to lie in her husband’s bed and breed him heirs. Damn well ought to have fun doing it.” A wicked grin creased the folds around the Dowager’s mouth. “I certainly did.”

“I’ll wager you did too, you reprobate, Grandmama,” smiled Abby.

“’Twas a different age, a different set of values, Abby. None of this go off and marry an idiot for his title, bear him a couple of sons, and
then
start looking for passion. We knew how to do it right the
first
time. Or maybe the second or third...”

Abby laughed. “You mean I should experiment beforehand, Grandmama?” she asked cheekily.

“
NO
,” squawked Eugenia. “No, no, a thousand times no.”

“Oh cease your frabbling, Eugenia. Don’t think we need worry about our Abby here. She’ll keep her thighs together. And if she doesn’t, well then, she’s found the right man.”

*~~*~~*

The right man.

Her grandmother’s blunt words rang in Abigail’s ears as she dressed for the evening. Was the
right man
out there waiting for her?