by Bush, Holly
“Morning sickness, Mrs. Pendergast?” Mrs. McClintok asked.
Elspeth nodded and blushed. “It seems to have gone away, just as the doctor said it would.”
“Oh,” James said. “This is normal for ladies who are expecting?”
“Not all ladies, Mr. Thompson, but many.”
“That is not why I came over this morning,” Elspeth said and looked at James. “Truly, I feel fine now, and the doctor said it is very common.”
“What do you need, then?” James asked, relieved that his sister was fine and that he did not need to know any more about the subject.
Elspeth stirred sugar into her tea and took a sip. She looked up at him. “Mrs. Emory told me you fired MacAvoy. Is that true, James?”
He stared at his plate, moving the last of the eggs onto his fork with the crust of his bread. It hadn’t occurred to him until recently that his family may have something to say about that subject, as they were nosy and opinionated.
He shrugged. “It’s not anything for you to be concerned about.”
“Not anything for me to be concerned about? How ridiculous! MacAvoy is as much a part of the Thompson family as any of us. What are the two of you arguing about?”
“Boxing, is all. Nothing really.”
“I don’t believe that for one second, and neither does Alexander. What has happened?”
James pushed back from the table, his eyes on the coffee cup he held in his hand. How could he tell her, or any of them, but especially her, who’d always had a special place in his heart? How could he tell her he was terrified of what the future might bring? That he’d imagined he’d always be twenty-five years old and handsome and fit and unbeatable in a ring? Could he tell anyone that he recognized a massive change in his life on the horizon and could not accept it? Would not accept it. Would rather ignore it, regardless of what a fool it made him.
“There’s nothing to say.” He shrugged. “We had a parting of the ways. It happens, Elspeth. People drift apart.”
He glanced at her face, at the pity he saw there, and the love too, and lurched to his feet. “I’ve got to be going. Got to get ready for my next match. How are you getting home, Elspeth?”
She stood and touched his face. “I love you so dearly, James. You’re always concerned about me and all of our family. My carriage is outside. I’ll be fine.”
He watched her leave the kitchen, his throat aching, his heart pounding. Mrs. McClintok was staring at him steadily when he turned his head. “More eggs or toast, Mr. Thompson?”
He shook his head, hurried up the steps and through his bedroom door. They all had to stick their female noses in his business, and he did not care for it. He pulled on his jacket, ran down the steps and out the front door, heading to the workout rooms without saying a word to anyone in his family. He would punch heavy bags and maybe some poor idiot’s face until he felt more himself.
Chapter 9
“Perhaps we shouldn’t say anything to her about it,” Lucinda heard her aunt say as she stopped by the parlor doorway to fix her hem that had caught on the buckle of her shoe. She and Aunt were at the Pendergast house again with Susannah Delgado, enjoying an afternoon visit. She hadn’t visited Edith for weeks and was the better for it, she was convinced. She straightened and flounced her skirts, making sure they would not catch again.
“Although James would not care for it, I think Miss Vermeal should know. I think she may be able to talk some sense into him,” Elspeth Pendergast said.
Lucinda walked in and noticed Susannah at the far end of the room, stretched out on the floor with several books. Lucinda glanced at her aunt and Elspeth before sitting down.
“If there is any doubt in either of your minds, I did hear part of your conversation,” she said and reached for her tea on the small table beside her. “What should I know?”
“Perhaps you should tell her, Mrs. Pendergast,” Aunt said.
“Have you been introduced to Malcolm MacAvoy, Miss Vermeal?” Elspeth asked after a long moment.
“I have,” Lucinda said and thought back to the party right here in this house where she’d been stolen away during dessert and James had kissed and caressed her. “I understand that he works for your brother.”
“Not exactly. You see, MacAvoy—his name is Malcolm, but we all call him MacAvoy—
lived with us on Locust Street after his mother died, God rest her soul, and even before that he and James were together constantly. He works at my husband’s family’s textile factory on the river and is James’s cornerman, his ring man, at the boxing matches.”
“What is a cornerman?” Aunt Louisa asked.
“MacAvoy sets up the matches and watches the opponent before their match with James to study their style and see if he can identify weaknesses. At the bell during the matches, he patches up cuts on James’s face or stuffs his nose with cotton if his nose is bloodied. He keeps him focused during a match on what his strategy is,” Elspeth said.
“He gets cut during these matches?” Lucinda asked. “On his face? That’s where the scars on his face are from, aren’t they?”
Aunt’s brows were raised, and Lucinda admitted to herself she was horrified when Elspeth nodded. She’d never seen a boxing match and didn’t believe she ever wanted to.
“And people attend these matches, do they?” Aunt Louisa asked.
“Oh yes,” Elspeth said. “They are very well attended—all men, of course. That is one reason James has made so much money at it, even after giving MacAvoy his cut. Men come from far away and fill the stands to see him fight. I don’t know how it all works, but he gets some amount from the admission the men pay to attend, and then, of course, he gets the prize money if he wins, which he does. Win, that is.”
“He always wins?” Lucinda asked.
Elspeth nodded. “From his very first match when he was eighteen years old.”
“What is it that you have not told me?” she asked.
“He fired MacAvoy last week. I found out from Mrs. Emory, our housekeeper.”
“James showed me the rooms they are redoing over your carriage house for after they are married the last time we visited.”
Elspeth nodded. “Yes. That is right.”
“What did Mrs. Emory tell you?”
“She said that MacAvoy is devastated, mostly over their friendship ending, but she says he is worried that James will be reckless in the ring without him there. She said that MacAvoy said this Jackson fellow that James is set to fight is the best boxer he’s ever seen other than James. He said James has not been right for several weeks, and MacAvoy believes it is because of something my husband, Alexander, said to him.”
“Something Mr. Pendergast said?” Aunt Louisa asked.
“I know what it is.” Lucinda turned to her aunt. “The day that you helped Mrs. Pendergast’s sister with a dress for their dinner party, he and I sat in the park on a bench while he ate a sandwich from a vendor. He told me that Mr. Pendergast had proposed some kind of gymnasium or arena for matches and for him to manage it. He said these men, these investors, think he’s washed up. I told him they most likely see a winning horse and wish to bet on him.”
“He was insulted by their proposal?” Aunt asked.
“I believe he was. Deeply insulted,” Mrs. Pendergast said. “I told my husband I’d wished he’d talked to me before he talked to James about this.”
“And why is that, Mrs. Pendergast?” she asked.
“I could have suggested he approach James in a different manner. He is the emotional heart of our family, you see. Muireall is very busy running the household, seeing to our youngest brother’s education, and managing the finances that our family relies on. Kirsty and I did as we were told, but we both knew, and Payden too, that James would guard us, guide us, and always stand up for us. He’s been the father figure for all of us, even though he’s only a few years older than me.”
“How long have your parents been gone, Mrs. Pendergast?” Aunt asked.
&nb
sp; She stared out the window before turning back to them both. “My parents died on the passage here on the steamer we took from Port Charlotte in Scotland in 1855. They were most likely murdered.”
Aunt Louisa gasped. “Oh dear! How dreadful!”
“I’m guessing you know something of my family’s history,” Mrs. Pendergast said to Lucinda.
She nodded. “Not much, and I’m not sure of its accuracy, considering the source. I’ve been told you were the victim of violence prior to your marriage.”
“I’m certain that is not all that you heard.” Mrs. Pendergast smiled. “You’re being diplomatic, I think. I’m going to tell you both some of the history of the Thompson family that we do not share widely.”
“You have no worries from either of us, Mrs. Pendergast,” Aunt said. “Confidences are respected.”
“I expected they were. You see, my father was the ninth Earl of Taviston. A Scottish title,” she said. “Our family and properties were threatened by a man who felt the earldom should have been his. Father meant to get us to safety for a year or two until his case could be proven, as this man had produced false documents that, even though they were false, still had to be examined.”
“Mr. Thompson is the earl?” Aunt Louisa asked.
“No. He’s actually our cousin. His parents died when he was but an infant, and he was raised by my mother and father. Payden is the tenth earl.”
“But you refer to him as your brother,” Lucinda said.
Elspeth smiled. “He is my brother.”
“And that has something to do with why you were a victim of violence?”
“I was kidnapped and held to be exchanged for Payden.”
“Oh, dear Lord,” Aunt Louisa said. “You must have been terrified!”
“I was, but I knew my duty, and I knew the Thompsons would never give up Payden, the true Earl of Taviston. I would either be rescued or die. I managed to kill a man,” she said and took a deep breath, “and injure another before James and Alexander came for me. I was determined to give them any advantage I could, even . . . even if it meant . . . whatever it meant, I would do it.”
Lucinda could not help but admire her. Even with her blushes and shyness and soft voice, she was very much a woman who had steel in her spine. “I am in awe of your courage, Mrs. Pendergast.”
“Trust me, I was frightened out of my wits,” she said and then shrugged. “But duty was ingrained in us from early childhood. And James views his duty as physical; he protects his family. The boxing is just an extension of how he sees himself. He is most intimidating in the ring and when challenged to defend us, and his bouts are part of a mystique, I think, that he is unbeatable. That he is the impenetrable wall that surrounds us.”
“So when your husband suggested that he begin to prepare for when he would not be able to win every match with a new endeavor, he understood them to think that he was no longer that wall of protection surrounding his sisters and brother,” Lucinda said.
“That is exactly how I think James has interpreted it. He’s angry and hurt and, I think, afraid to think about the next chapter of his life. MacAvoy told him a few weeks ago that he was going to take on more side work when he’s not at the mill in preparation for when James would not be boxing as much.”
“He would feel betrayed,” Lucinda said softly.
“Yes, I believe he would.”
“When is his next match?”
“Friday. This Friday. Alexander and MacAvoy are going.”
“Perhaps I can arrange to speak to him before then,” Lucinda said and glanced at her aunt, now watching her closely.
“I don’t know if it would be helpful or not, but I wish you would. You are not family, not involved in boxing, but he seems, well, connected to you somehow,” Mrs. Pendergast said.
“We have had a few occasions for conversation. I find him refreshingly honest.”
“And ridiculously handsome,” Aunt said with a laugh.
“He is that!” Mrs. Pendergast said as Susannah joined them, apparently done with her reading.
* * *
“Have Giselle pack your trunk for a few days,” her father said as they sat down to dinner that evening. “I’d like you to come as well, Louisa. She’ll need a female chaperone. Unless, of course, you intend to ignore your duty to spend your time with that Delgado fellow and leave your niece at sixes and sevens.”
“What are you talking about, Henri? There are no travel plans that I’m aware of,” Louisa replied.
“I have just finalized the arrangements. We leave tomorrow morning.”
“When are we returning, Papa?”
“We’ll return Friday evening,”
Aunt glanced at her. “Could we not return Friday morning, Henri? I’ve plans for Friday evening.”
“Not the morning. Perhaps the afternoon, if my business is concluded.”
Lucinda cleared her throat. “Why would we be accompanying you on a business trip, Papa?”
He laid down his fork and knife and looked at her. “Because you are my daughter. Because I enjoy having you with me. Because there will be some interesting people to meet. We’ll take the train at nine and be in Valley Forge by luncheon.”
She buttered her croissant and looked at her aunt, who shook her head. She agreed. There would be no changing his mind, and an argument would only make the days miserable. She would not have an opportunity to speak to James before his match. But if they were back in time, she was going to see James fight. She would see him for herself and perhaps talk to him afterward.
* * *
“Won’t you walk outside with me, Miss Vermeal? The night is fine,” Carlton Young asked.
“No, thank you, Mr. Young,” Lucinda said to the host’s son. It was Thursday of the week spent with her father and aunt at the Young home—mansion, really—set on the banks of the Schuylkill River in Valley Forge. They were three of the more than thirty guests who’d been feted with endless rich foods and wine, entertainment, and the chance to mingle with their equals in wealth and social standing. She’d been to any number of these sorts of entertainments in Virginia, and this bore a close resemblance, even down to the similarity of the types of guests. The haughty, some hoping to further their social standing, the beautiful, the well-educated, and of course, those looking to cement future relationships, whether they were of a business nature or more personal. Mr. Young was looking at Lucinda as his prize.
“Let me get your wrap, my dear,” he said with a smile.
She looked back at him steadily. “No, thank you.”
“What a charming couple you make,” Mrs. Young said as she approached and patted her son’s arm. “Like a romantic portrait with you standing in front of the fireplace.”
“Lucinda,” Aunt said, surely offering to rescue her. “Would you like to take a turn about the room with me? There are several paintings we could enjoy discussing.”
She smiled. “I’m fine, Aunt Louisa.”
And she was fine. She was not some inexperienced and naive debutante easily manipulated by the likes of Mrs. Young and her son. She looked directly at her hostess.
“Your comment was inappropriate, ma’am. Mr. Young and I are not a couple nor was there any intent on my part to be an element in a romantic scene, as you have implied.”
She was gratified to see the spark of anger behind Mrs. Young’s ever-present smile of condescension and glanced at her son. He was looking at Lucinda with fawning admiration. Mrs. Young drifted away to another guest, and Father joined them, looking from Carlton Young to her and back again with a smile.
Mr. Young made his feelings known at that moment. “Miss Vermeal. I am . . . I am in awe of you. No one ever stands up to my mother. Your set down was magnificent. Allow me to fetch you some lemonade or wine.”
Lucinda did not roll her eyes. Aunt Louisa did. Carlton Young was a tall, handsome man, schooled at the best colleges with a year spent traveling in Europe to add a certain panache he hoped to exude. He was also easily m
anaged and accustomed to a woman directing his every move. He was the quintessential husband for her, per her father’s requirements.
“What have you done?” he asked as Mr. Young hurried away to retrieve refreshments.
“Done?” Lucinda asked. “No more than you would have expected me to. Mrs. Young’s implications were ridiculous and involved our family name. Certainly, you would not wish me to embroil the Vermeals in something that could be tawdry.”
Henri Vermeal’s face was red, and his lips trembled with rage. “He is the perfect choice for you, Lucinda. I’ve already decided. He will give you attractive children, has just the right pedigree, and you will be able to handle him with little effort. Insulting his mother will not smooth the way!”
“Henri,” Aunt Louisa said with a smile. “Keep your voice down. Others are watching. And while you would be insulted if someone belittled your mother, apparently Carlton Young is not. In fact, it has made him fall even more in love with Lucinda, although she does not return his regard.”
Henri took a deep breath and turned to Lucinda. “You will consider this man as your husband and remember that I only want the best for you and am more understanding of the realities of the world. You do not wish to disappoint me, do you, Daughter?”
The sad truth was she did not wish to disappoint him, but she would not be tied to Carlton Young, regardless of how much guilt and pressure her father applied. Mr. Young returned just then, juggling several glasses.
“I wasn’t sure what you or your aunt would like,” he said. “I have lemonade, wine, and punch.”
Aunt took a glass of punch and handed Lucinda the lemonade.
“Thank you, Mr. Young,” Lucinda said.
He was staring at her worshipfully. “Is there anything else I can get for your comfort?”
Her father laid a hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you and your parents plan on coming to visit us in Philadelphia? My daughter could show you around the city, with her aunt as a chaperone, of course.”