Page 22 of Just a Little Daring

“As you wish. It’s your reputation’s funeral, after all. You cannot say I did not warn you,” Miss Steyning whispered, turning away with a contemptuous swish of skirts.

Vivien dared a glance at Mr Lane-Fox. He was rigid with anger, his jaw tight. Tentatively, Viv reached out and laid a hand on his arm. His complexion paled as he turned and realised she had heard the exchange.

“Miss Anson,” he said, looking utterly wretched.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling up at him before he could say any more.

“She’s a small-minded, spiteful little fool,” he said, and the fury behind those few words soothed away any jagged edge of unhappiness that might have lingered.

Viv stared at him, at the obvious concern in his eyes, and at the stance of a man who would undoubtedly have done battle for her if his opponent had not been female. Something in her heart shifted, and the feelings that had begun as a warm glow flared into something hotter and more intense.

“I know that,” she said to reassure him, for he looked so frustrated at being unable to do more to defend her honour. “It’s all right.”

“It isn’t the least bit all right.”

“I know that too,” she said soothingly. “But the Miss Steynings of the world will not have their minds changed. You cannot argue with someone who has no wish to consider any opinion but their own, any more than you could make a blind man see again. It is not worth your time, and certainly not your peace of mind.”

“What about your peace of mind?” he asked gently, laying his hand atop hers where it rested on his sleeve.

He wore fine kid gloves, and his heat seeped through the thin leather, reaching her skin, somehow warming her heart too.

“I am not so easily overset,” Vivien said, which was true, especially in the light of this man and the words he had given her without so much as a moment's hesitation. “Please, let us forget it and enjoy our outing.”

He nodded, and they turned their attention back to the antics of the monkey. In front of them, Miss Steyning had crouched down as Agatha had, and was trying to entice the monkey to her now, but the creature was hesitating, clearly uncertain whether the reward of a nut was worth it.

“Miss Anson,” Mr Lane-Fox said, his voice mild. “Do you still have the nut Miss Knight gave you?”

Viv nodded and raised her palm to show him the monkey nut.

Without a second thought, he took the nut from her hand and dropped it onto Miss Steyning’s bonnet. Her hat was a fancy affair with a large swathe of dark green feathers and the nut nestled comfortably like a little egg in a nest. Viv smacked a hand over her mouth to stop herself from giving a bark of laughter, but she was not the only one who’d seen him do it. The monkey’s dark eyes widened, and he leapt.

Things happened quickly thereafter.

With astonishing speed and dexterity, the monkey landed and snatched up the nut. Miss Steyning screamed and leapt to her feet.

“Get it off me! Get it off me!” Miss Steyning shouted, tugging at her bonnet ribbons.

The screaming apparently upset the monkey, who shrieked indignantly and began pulling the feathers out of the bonnet and scattering them about. By this time, Miss Steyning had undone her ribbons and cast the bonnet aside, monkey and all. The little fellow did not wish to be so cast, however, and grabbed hold of her hair instead. Pandemonium. Women on all sides screamed and fled whilst little boys and grown men both doubled over with laughter. Some of Miss Steyning’s admirers flapped ineffectually at the monkey, who ignored them.

Agatha, who had been watching all this open-mouthed with delight, tugged at August’s sleeve.

“May I have that horrid woolly thing you bought?” she asked, pointing at the red knitted thing Mr Lane-Fox had tried to stuff in his pocket, though it didn’t fit.

“Certainly,” he said, handing it to her.

Agatha collected the remaining monkey nuts in the knitted object and held out the offering to the creature, rattling the nuts before dropping the bundle to the floor. The monkey looked at it with interest and leapt down for a better look. Miss Steyning fainted conveniently into the arms of one of her admirers.

“Oh, you horrid girl! That took me hours to make,” exclaimed a shrill voice, and a moment later a girl of perhaps fifteen lunged at Agatha and pulled her hair, before knocking her to the ground.

“Let go of me!” Agatha shouted, trying to get up as the girl attempted to drag her about by her hair.

The girl failed to let go.

Agatha hit her.

The girl gasped and staggered back, clutching her nose. Louis César leapt between them before things could get any worse.

“Arrêter!” he said, his voice harsh. Turning to Aggie, who had found her feet, he jerked his head. “Go!”