The Fox Hunt

Sir Riley Fenwick hunched over his portfolio trying to make sense of the gibberish written there. Nothing made sense to him no matter how much he tried listening to his inner voice conjuring up the lectures from university days that should shine some light on how to solve the problems of these modern day cause of action or discovery methods.

Maybe frustration with his workload was no more than his mind roamed elsewhere – focused on one incomparable beauty he encountered at the colorful crowded market fair a few days prior. The enticing fair maiden is someone he yearned to summon and hold for questioning and other forms of discovery. Her demur demeanor, coyly sneaking glances at him through her long lashes, surely were grounds for further investigations. As a lawyer he aught to be able to prosecute her for stealing his heart and emasculating him by taking away his power and confidence, turning him into no more than a bowl of jelly simply with her smile.

Why there aught to be a law against how her golden-trimmed white flowing gown clung to every curve of her lithe body with each spring breeze hinting promise of unknown pleasure! Her lingering floral scent weighed heavy as burden of truth that she's unforgettable. Not that a complaint was forthcoming from him.

“Riley, My Friend. You got that motion ready to present?” Sir Carlton Winslow clamped his hand on his partner's shoulder. “You look a thousand miles away. What's wrong?”

“Oh, oh! Nothing a little refresher course in legal jargon couldn't remedy. I, I, uh, am having difficulty remembering tort from breach of confidence. I guess.”

“You don't fool me none. You have your mind back at the fair remembering that little tart of a lady, Charity Farnsworth. You couldn't take your eyes off of her.”

“You were just as smitten with her beguiling aunt, Dowager Countess Dianna Honeyfield. Don't deny it.”

“Voir Dire, speak the truth, are you grilling me for jury selection? We are both in trouble trying to stick to our professional personas if we can't forget their charms. They'll be thorns in our sides until an invitation arrives as promised. It is not proper for gentlemen to pressure their household for a formal invitation. Perhaps Lady Farnsworth's father decided not to invite us to his fox hunt. Perhaps he's not hosting one after all. As we bade them farewell they mentioned a fortnight as a time frame which will be next week. If a big event like that is being planned among the gentry there would be some buzz in the air. Have you heard of any? I dare say I haven't. Our hopes are too high. We must come down to reality and remain focused on our business if we are to be taken seriously.”

“Here, you present the motion to the bench. I'm going to check the post. Maybe we missed something there. If we are invited we must attend to some preparations. We'll have to lease a dogcart and borrow someone's hounds. Do we even have any acquaintances that sport hounds? What were we thinking when we flippantly agreed we would enjoy a fox hunt anyway? Maybe the ladies saw through our bravado.”

A knock sounded at the door to their office. Startled, Riley, about to exit same door, pulled it open to reveal a courier wielding an elaborately embossed envelope with an official looking wax seal. “Message for a Sir Riley Fenwick and a Sir Carlton Winslow.”

“You have found the right recipients.” Riley reached for the package. “Who is it from?”

“Sign here, please.” The runner thrust a delivery document before him. “Not privy to that information. Thank you.” He quickly departed after Riley granted him a tanner.

“Ah, ha! It's what we've been waiting for, My Friend.” Riley waved the envelope under Carlton's nose as he tore into it. “Yes, yes! We've been invited to attend the Farnsworth Estate Fox Hunt! I must go make arrangements immediately. I know where to lease a dogcart but where do I find hounds?”

“Check with the stable where you lease the cart. Perhaps they'll know someone.”

“Hopefully, a cart will still be available. See you later.”

<><><>

The man at the stable had one dogcart available for the following weekend and was able to suggest a fellow that might lend his prize hunting hounds for the right price, of course. Sir Riley thanked him and rushed to the address given him where this dog owner may be found.

<><><>

Riley arrived in his speedy curricle at a rundown estate in the shire outside the city proper. He hoped he would be accepted unannounced. The owner may welcome him once he knew money was being offered. The state of the estate suggested it needed an influx of funds. Perhaps that also could mean the price would be beyond the budget of two young new solicitors. He could only give it a try. Joining this fox hunt was his one chance to ingratiate himself to the father of his dream girl. No matter how good his steed may be he couldn't make a good impression without a decent dogcart and experienced hounds.

Sir Riley stated his name and reason for his visit to an aging butler. The butler left him outside the door as he took his card and request to his master. When he returned the old gentleman led Riley to a parlor that had seen better days. The owner stood to his full stunted height to shake hands with his visitor before asking him to have a seat on the worn brocade settee. Riley had to do a double take at the sight of his host. The stranger seemed eerily familiar.

He was a small, pencil-necked man, with paunchy mid-section and spindly legs. His title was 'Baron' but the name, 'Dudley Bragg', rang no bells. Riley started imagining the scraggly gray hair covered by an in-fashion white wig and that triggered a memory of an extreme bouffant peruke with a tiny three-corner hat sporting a rainbow plume over a powdered pinched face.

Yes, the very same dandy seen running for his life and reputation after a stray spark from a fire-lit baton set his do ablaze during a spectacular performance at the fair. Doused with water, he steamed out of the tent leaving the two ladies he was escorting stranded. That's when Carlton and I stepped in thus saving the day for the charming damsels in distress. That's what led to me needed these hounds. Do I dare ask for them now? Will he remember me? Never before have I felt so tongue tied!

“Uh, Lord Bragg. My name is Sir Riley Fenwick.” He held out his hand. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. Thank you so much for receiving me without any notice. You kindness is much appreciated.”

“What can I help you with today?” Shaking the offered hand. “My butler mentioned you wish to enlist my dogs into your service.”

“Exactly. I received short notice to participate in a fox hunt and would be embarrassed not showing up with a set of hounds. I have it on good authority that you possess a fine team of hunting dogs that you may agree to lend out. I am prepared to offer a reasonable sum to borrow them for next weekend. That is if you are not in need of them yourself.”

“Um, that is short notice indeed. What kind of experience do you have running experienced hunters? And I will require references, of course, Young Man.”

“My partner may actually be more adapt than myself. His uncle raised and trained bloodhounds in his day. He'll speak their language.”

“These are extremely valuable English foxhounds so I demand a high fee. I don't get out running them myself anymore but I don't want them to become glorified pets. They may enjoy a challenging outing.”

Some bantering over the price ensued as expected. Naturally, Riley had to sing his and Carlton's own praises by assuring the owner they were responsible, capable, kind, reasonable, and, of course, gainfully employed. But within a couple of days all was secured. Imagine Carlton's amusement when he found out with whom they were bantering and beholden to now.

They never admitted where this fox hunt would be held or to what the stakes may amount. Better to not rile the competition. Even though they doubted the pompous deserting gold-digger was still in the running for the Countess' hand. She made that abundantly clear on the day he ran out on them forgetting all about their safety.

Finally, the much anticipated day arrived. Dressed in long red coats, short tan breeches and tall black boots the sportsmen were lined up on their mark. The fox was released and ran for his life. 'Release the hounds' rang out loud and clear along with bugle calls from the Master. They scrambled through hill and dale, brush and bramble. The horsemen followed in hot pursuit jumping hedge and steeple, water obstacles and sand traps. The exhilarating chase ended with the fox safely burrowed so was declared a success.

Even though they naturally excelled in any physical endeavor and struck handsome figures astride their steeds, the young blades never assumed they would be any match for the genteel gentry engaged in pursuing the hapless fox. They were interested in pursuing the two real prizes in their eyes. They anxiously awaited for the opportunities presented at the afternoon tea to dazzle the damsels once again, smoothly speaking their language of innuendo and intrigue hinting with knowing looks and promising suggestions. And, of course, winning the favor of the key holder, Lady Charity's father and Countess' brother-in-law, Viscount Farnsworth, who would grant them permission to formally court their choices.

<><><>

Once the hunt concluded, the expensive canines returned to their Baron home, and the full court press was on, the couples got a good-humored laugh how Sir Riley managed to smooth-talk his way, nearly having to induce black magic to convince the demon dandy, to procure those priceless hounds. All without setting the flamboyant Baron afire once again..