The Fox and the Viscount Page 4

  I nod and step away from the baskets so the next lady in line can get to them.

  I stand opposite my twin, the only difference between us is the ribbons around our wrists. It truly is a good thing we can use our dresses and general fashion to make it clear which of us is which. Denise much prefers lighter colours, while I prefer to go bolder. It works for us.

  I close my eyes and focus on bringing my fox to the forefront. My body shrinks and contracts, going from two legs to four. A long bushy tail protrudes from me, and my snout lengthens, with sharp teeth.

  My shift collapses around me, but falls away in one piece. I suspect that's the advantage of it being loose, and of me shifting into a form smaller than my human one.

  I use my nose to get myself out of the fabric just in time to see one of the other ladies picking up Denise's fallen chemise and placing it in the corresponding basket, before doing the same with mine. She must be appointed to manage such things so we can all shift without losing our clothing in the process.

  Several of the other foxes around us dart off to the trees, their tails bobbing along as they run, with small flashes of white coming from their tails. I turn to follow them, already loving the feel of the dirt under my paws. I don't shift nearly as much as I should. It's always such a relief to enjoy nature in this form, and a completely different experience to when I'm in my human one.

  The ribbon for my basket is barely noticeable, even as I run.

  Around me, blurs of dark orange dart through the trees at the edge of the forest. I make sure to keep one of them ahead of me at all times, but other than that, I give myself over to the sensations of being in this form. I have no idea where Denise has gone, but I don't mind. I know she's safe with the other foxes.

  I don't stop running until I come to a small clearing covered in leaves. I pad around it, enjoying the crunch under my paws as I do.

  A rustling sound sets my instincts on edge and I turn to find a larger fox entering the same clearing.

  I recognise him straight away. We ran as foxes enough times as children for me to recognise his scent.

  The Viscount has arrived.

  Which only makes this whole event even more questionable. The two of us are alone as foxes, which in itself doesn't cause much of a problem, but what's to say we can't shift back into our human forms if we wanted to? Not that I do. I don't see him as anything other than a childhood friend with whom I've become reacquainted.

  He crouches down and sticks his rear in the air, shaking his tail and making a soft growling sound which indicates he wants to play.

  Amusement dances within me. His actions leave no doubt in my mind that he's recognised me too.

  I repeat his movements and give a small yip, indicating I'm willing to play his game too. If the whole point of the evening is to enjoy ourselves in our fox forms, then this should be part of it.

  He pounces, but not quick enough. I dart out of the way and lead him on a chase through the trees. Excitement surges through me as I give myself over to the exhilarating joy of being in this form.

  My paws connect with a slippery patch of leaves, almost making me fall, but I regain my footing quickly.

  It's all the Viscount needs to catch me. This time when he pounces, I'm knocked from my paws. He stands over me with a satisfied expression on his snout. If a fox can look satisfied, and considering what I'm seeing in front of me, it's definitely possible.

  I let out a small growl, but all he does in response is reach out and nuzzle my snout with his.

  It's a surprisingly intimate gesture, but something feels comfortable about it. Like it's the right gesture for the situation. It certainly feels more natural than some of the interactions we've had while out in proper society.

  A bark from one of the other foxes reminds me that there are more of us about and we shouldn't be caught in a position like this. So long as it isn't someone who knows us well, the chances of them working out who we are and what it means that we're in this position are slim. Only my family and a few childhood friends have run with me enough times to know my markings and my scent. Though I suppose any sharp-eyed lady could see the colour of my ribbon and match it to the basket with my clothing.

  I wriggle out from underneath the Viscount and shake myself off. I glance back at him before breaking off into a run, unsure whether or not I want him to follow.

  After a little while, I stop and cock my head to the side, listening for any hints of him following me.

  The silence is deafening, making me realise that I've not only lost the Viscount, but I've moved away from where the rest of the foxes are too.

  I turn myself around and head back in the direction I came, knowing I need to get back to the rest of the party before I lose them completely.

  Eight

  Victoria

  * * *

  My fingers dance over the keys of the pianoforte in a pattern I've played so many times before it's already committed to memory.

  But that's no reason to stop. For one, these things always play more smoothly, but I also find it easier to think while I'm playing, and sometimes, that's precisely what I want to do.

  Especially after events like the Fox Rush. I'm still not completely sure what to make of the event, or what happened during it. Am I supposed to just ignore the playfulness the Viscount showed towards me next time I see him? Or is it something I can acknowledge and use to renew our friendship?

  I push all thoughts of him aside. It was just an act of friendship and nothing more. I should be spending my time focused on the possibility of finding myself an engagement before the end of the Season. Things are progressing pleasantly with Lord Leon, though I can't help but feel as if there's something missing when I spend time with him.

  He seems to be searching for a wife, but not a connection. I don't think that's a good fit for me. I want something more than a shell of a marriage contract. I want to feel as if I know my future husband and that I can play an important role in his life.

  Though I'm not sure exactly how I'm going to go about finding that, especially when I keep finding myself distracted by the Viscount, both in person, and in my thoughts. There's no doubt he'll be a good match for someone. He's handsome and titled, with a large parcel of land and the good manners to match. His playful side will likely make someone very happy one day.

  A pang of disappointment sails through me, along with just a hint of jealousy. I don't think it's about the Viscount himself, but about how difficult it is to meet someone like him, and how very few women will manage to find their perfect match like that.

  And there's also Denise's wishes to take into account when I find a husband of my own. She seems very taken with Mr Beaumont, which means I need to marry someone with a high enough title that my parents will be satisfied enough that she can marry her gentleman.

  I finish my tune and start another one, not having had enough time to collect my thoughts. Though it soon becomes clear that today might just be one of those days that muddled thoughts occur.

  Giving up, I tidy away my music and shut the lid of the pianoforte, deciding instead to take a trip down to the kitchens. I've been meaning to ask the cook to make some of the lemon biscuits even since the Viscount asked for them during our wager. He's not wrong, they are delicious, but lemon has always been too tart for my taste.

  I don't pass anyone other than a couple of the maids in the halls. I'm not sure where my parents are, or what Denise is up to, it's unusual for me to be left alone like this, especially now I'm out in society. While callers aren't supposed to arrive at this time in the day, it doesn't always stop anyone.

  The mouth-watering scent of freshly baking bread fills the air as I approach the kitchens. The cook is barking orders at several of the staff under her command. Despite the fact it's still several hours until the next meal, the kitchen is bustling with activity.

  "Miss Foxe, I didn't hear you there," the cook says, seemingly slightly frustrated by my appearance in her domain, but being careful not to show it too much. "What can I do for ye? The bread isn't ready yet, if you'll be wanting a picnic, it'll have to wait."

  "Oh no, it's not that," I say quickly. "I was talking to a friend recently and he mentioned the lemon biscuits you used to make when we were children."

  "A friend?" She raises an eyebrow. "You don't mean that scoundrel from the neighbouring estate, do you?"

  I should have considered that she'd put the request together with her memories. At least the Viscount doesn't live next door to our townhouse, I'm not sure I'd be able to cope with seeing him every day and managing to maintain a sense of decorum. He seems to bring out the worst in me.

  "Oh, er, no, I don't," I lie. It won't be good if the rumour goes around the staff that I've been talking to the Viscount, especially if they know before my parents do.

  "I don't remember serving them to anyone else," she admits. "But I remember the biscuits. We haven't made them in a while."

  "Would you make them again for me?" I ask. "Not now, just when you need more biscuits."

  "Aye, I suppose I could. If we have the ingredients, I'll make them tomorrow. It'll be next week if we don't, I may have to ask in town for a lemon."

  "Of course, thank you." I offer her a small smile and leave the kitchen just as she starts to shout at one of her underlings.

  I suppose I should have asked for the biscuits Lord Leon requested during our walk, but I didn't even think about that until now. Just like with everything else, my thoughts keep coming around to the Viscount.

  If I'm feeling amicable, I could send him a bundle of lemon biscuits, though I know I shouldn't. It isn't acceptable for me to give a gift like that to an unmarried gentleman, even if I want to.

  The constraints of our society chafe against me as I realise I want to spend more time rebuilding the friendship we had as children. Why shouldn't it be allowed? We aren't hurting anyone.

  I really need to stop thinking about it. I'm going to get myself into trouble if I keep focusing on the Viscount instead of my suitors.

  I round the corner and pass the library, only to hear Denise's voice from within.

  My curiosity gets the better of me and I peer around the door to find her seated next to Mr Beaumont.

  My eyebrows shoot upwards. My proper and well-behaved sister who says she isn't interested in the Season and marriage, is sitting alone in the library with a man she seems to have taken a serious liking to.

  Not wanting to disturb them, I tiptoe away. I have no idea how she managed to get him into the house without anyone noticing, or why she's risking it, but I'm not going to be the one who ruins it for her.

  I'm sure she'll confide in me about what's going on once she's ready, and I can't ask for more than that.

  Nine

  Victoria

  * * *

  Lady Ferrington's ball is everything I imagined and more. It's hard to keep the amazement off my face as I make my way around the room and admire the outfits worn by the various shifters who are in London for the Season, even after I've already been in the room for several hours. Fashion here doesn't follow the same rules as the events where we mix with humans and there's always something more to see.

  Here, we're encouraged to show off what we are. Feathers jut out of the headpieces of the avian shifters, while several members of the assembly are wearing fur. I can't bring myself to do that. I know the fur would only come from a real fox and not a shifter fox, but it feels wrong to wear it. Instead, I've settled for a russet-coloured gown with a white underdress. If anyone cares to look closely, they'll be able to tell it represents a fox, but if not, it's just a dress.

  Denise has gone even simpler, with a necklace containing a jewelled fox instead.

  "Miss Foxe, may I have this dance?" Lord Leon asks, holding out his hand.

  He knows I have to say yes. No doubt he's just as aware of what everyone will say if we dance for a second time in the same night. I'm not sure I'm ready for all of the talk of engagements. I know that's the point of me entering society, and that it would win me my wager with the Viscount, but something about the situation doesn't feel quite right to me.

  I push my thoughts aside and smile demurely at him. "It would be my honour, My Lord."

  I take his hand and let him lead me to the dancefloor where several other couples have already taken their places.

  The upbeat music begins to play, and the top couple begins to dance. No doubt it will be Lady Ferrington herself leading. As a wealthy widow, she's in the perfect place to enjoy the balls, while also hoping to make a second match.

  It soon becomes our turn and I hop along through the moves. It doesn't take me long to remember why dancing with Lord Leon is a pleasure. He has boundless energy and is quick on his feet, showing a lot of the grace and strength he needs to prove he'll be a capable husband.

  But is he that to me?

  The dance progresses to take us away from one another and towards different partners. It'll only be temporary, but it may give me time to ponder my thoughts.

  "A second dance with the same gentleman, should I be worried?" a familiar voice asks.

  A small thrill shoots through me as I realise I'm now dancing opposite the Viscount. I lift my hand to meet his as part of the dance and the two of us spin around.

  "Your reputation with London's best confectioner should be," I return. "You're going to be known for having a sweet tooth by the end of the year."

  "I can think of worse things."

  "Like?"

  "Marrying Lord Leon." He dances away before I can come up with a response.

  I have to think quickly if I want to get one in when the two of us cross paths during the dance again.

  "He's an excellent choice," I point out once he's within earshot again. "Rich, titled, polite."

  "Ah, yes. All of the things one wants in a person you want to spend the rest of your life with."

  "Those things are what society deems important."

  "If that's true, then you could marry me," he counters with an amused grin.

  My eyes widen, but the dance takes me away from the Viscount and back towards Lord Leon before I can respond.

  "I'm relieved you're my partner again, Miss Foxe," Lord Leon says. "The lady I was just dancing with has all the grace of an ox."

  Shock runs through me. How am I supposed to respond to that? Insulting another lady isn't an acceptable thing to do for either of us, and yet he's done it.

  "I find oxen to be graceful in their own way, My Lord," I respond, not knowing what else to do. Conversations while dancing are hardly the most private, I don't want to risk anyone overhearing anything that can be construed as rude. It could ruin my reputation.

  Besides, I don't know the lady he's been dancing with. She may be a good dancer and he's just saying what he is to try and compliment me.

  It hasn't worked.

  "I suppose every creature has their own talents. But it's no matter. Oxen aren't worth our attention anyway."

  "I'm sorry, My Lord, I don't understand." Have I missed something?

  I step away from him, following the rules of the dance. While conversations are encouraged with one's dance partner, the dances themselves aren't always the best suited for a continuous one. Perhaps they'd rather we only talk while standing still.

  Lord Leon takes my gloved hands in his and guides me around so we're standing in the same position we started. We're at the bottom of our set now, which gives us a few moments of conversation time before we rejoin the dancing.

  "I mean, they're prey animals. You have to know what that means," he says.

  "I'm afraid I don't." Am I supposed to know about the hierarchy of shifters? I'm not completely sure.

  "They don't have any power. Look at the people with the most in the Shifter Court. How many of them are prey?" Lord Leon's tone is very matter-of-fact. I'm not sure if that makes what he's saying better or worse.

  "There are plenty of Dukes who are prey animal shifters," I point out.

  "True. But their positions are not as high as those who are predators."

  "I didn't realise it was so important."

  "And that is why women aren't part of the peerage," he responds.

  "The Queen is a woman."

  "The Queen is an exception." The way he says it leaves no room for arguments. Not that I have any. I'm not completely sure how these things work. Politics isn't exactly something people bother teaching young ladies.

  The Viscount and his partner reach us. As the next couple in line, their arrival signals that it's their turn to sit out of the set and we should rejoin the dancers.

  I plaster a wide smile on my face and head back in, trying not to focus too hard on what Lord Leon has just been saying lest I get distracted. No matter how much I want to search out Denise and see what she thinks of it all, I know I can't do that. Leaving the floor in the middle of a set is seen as the height of bad manners and I don't want to get a reputation for that.

  Or anything else. I have to keep my reputation as impeccable as possible or I risk ruin. And it's not just me who will pay for that either. Denise will be tarnished with the same brush, whether I want that or not.

  I hop through the steps, not really feeling the same enjoyment in the dance as I've felt before. It would be better if I'd never engaged Lord Leon in conversation after all.

  I turn to head back towards him, only to find myself running straight into another lady. I lose my balance and am at risk of falling. Fear fills me. It doesn't look good to have this kind of thing happen, even if it's not my fault.

  "I'm so sorry," she says, reaching out to help catch me. She steps forward, her shoe catching on the bottom of my dress and producing a loud ripping sound.

  "It's all right," I promise, after she's helped me right myself.

  "I got the steps wrong, I'm sorry."

  "It's all right," I repeat. "We're both fine."

  "But your dress." She looks down at my hem, with horror on her face.