by Regina Scott
“Very well, Fiching,” she said, allowing him to open the door for her.
Mr. Jackson rose as she entered. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting after hearing and reading so much about him, perhaps an older version of Kevin. Gentleman Jackson stood a little shorter. For all that the former fighter was approaching fifty, the muscular build that had won him such fame and made him the favorite of painters and sculptors was still evident in the red jacket and tight black trousers he wore. However, aside from his height and build, there was little other resemblance. John Jackson’s shock of grey hair did not hide the fact that his forehead sloped and his ears stuck straight out from the side of his head. His high cheekbones were eclipsed by a rather coarse nose and mouth. Most prominent of all, however, were a pair of piercing eyes that made her want to stand a little straighter.
“Oh, Eugennia, how nice,” Miss Tindale cried from her spot on the sofa. “May I introduce Mr. John Jackson of London?”
He stepped forward and bowed over her hand. “Miss Welch, a pleasure. I’m sorry for the intrusion, but I had to thank you for your generous donation.”
She could understand how he’d earned the appellation of Gentleman with his courtly manner. She nodded in acknowledgment of his thanks and went to sit beside Martha on the sofa. Jackson resumed his seat on the nearest chair.
“You are quite welcome, Mr. Jackson,” she told him. “I have to admit, however, that it was a rather calculating gift.”
He raised an eyebrow. “How so?”
“You may have heard that I have a certain reputation as a bluestocking. I am currently studying the art of boxing. I understand you refused to talk to my solicitor Mr. Carstairs when he appeared at your Pugilistic Club, so I thought perhaps a large gift might encourage you to come here to me.”
“Not that she doesn’t care about the prisoners of war,” Miss Tindale put in. “We are both quite concerned about them.”
“As are we all,” Mr. Jackson replied. He eyed Jenny appraisingly, and she once again caught herself straightening under the sharp gaze. “I apologize for not hearing your solicitor out. I’m afraid we’ve had a number of requests to sponsor fighters, and I’m very careful with whom I align my students.”
“Understandable,” Jenny said. “But I’m only interested in pursuing my studies. Whether the fighter wins or loses, whether he fights once or half a dozen times, is immaterial to me.”
He looked thoughtful. “So you wish to study boxing, Miss Welch. You aren’t actually thinking of fighting yourself, are you?”
“Good heavens, no!” Martha declared adamantly.
Jenny frowned her into silence. “I must admit I seldom enjoy the luxury of putting into practice what I study, Mr. Jackson. People are scandalized enough that I study it. I shudder to think what they would do if I actually lived it.”
He nodded wisely. “Very sensible. Of course, I must tell you that there are women boxers here in London. They have regular practices and bouts, just as the men do.”
“Really?” Martha blinked. “Anyone we know?”
“Most assuredly not, Miss Tindale,” he told her quellingly. However, Jenny got the impression he was merely trying to forestall gossip rather than censoring the women pugilists. “I only mention them to show that there are a number of ways for women to participate in the sport. However, if it is only a matter of curiosity, you needn’t go so far as to sponsor a fighter, Miss Welch. I’d be happy to answer any questions you might have.”
She had dozens of questions concerning the sport, but only one seemed important now. “How can I see a fight?”
“Jenny!” Martha cried.
Jenny ignored her.
“If there is an issue of a lady’s reputation as you indicated,” he answered with a frown, “I wouldn’t imagine you’d be any less ostracized for viewing a fight as sponsoring a fighter or taking up the sport yourself.”
“Of course she’d be ostracized,” Martha declared. “I thought you had given up on that idea, Eugennia. Mr. Whattling and I have both told you this isn’t wise.”
“And I agreed with you,” Jenny acknowledged impatiently, “until Mr. Whattling challenged Mr. Safton to a fight.”
Mr. Jackson’s frown deepened. “Kevin Whattling is fighting George Safton? Are you certain?”
“Quite,” Jenny told him. “Mr. Safton will be coming to you to make the arrangements. He wants to do it this coming Friday.”
“I would be quite tempted to refuse,” he confided. “Safton has avoided having his fights at my establishment because he knows I won’t countenance his tricks.”
Now Jenny frowned. “Mr. Safton has had other fights?”
“He rarely enters the ring himself. He’s usually the one selecting the fighters and holding the purse. He also takes a healthy share of the money if the rumors are true. Then there is that business with Robbie Greene.”
Jenny started. “What business?”
The Gentleman eyed her again. “I think perhaps you’d better ask Mr. Whattling that question. Suffice it to say that Mr. Safton has an unsavory reputation when it comes to arranging fights. However, I will most likely allow them to hold the fight at my rooms or Five Courts, as I’d be afraid Mr. Whattling might not get a fair fight if Mr. Safton were left to his own devices.”
“What do you mean?” Jenny asked sharply as Martha gazed at him wide-eyed. “How can a fight be unfair?”
“In any number of ways. For all it can be a punishing sport, there are rules. When people abide by the rules, a fight will be fought fairly.”
“And several gentlemen have been trying to make it safer, as we’ve read,” Martha remarked. “Breaks between rounds, umpires, that sort of thing.”
“That’s right,” he acknowledged with a nod. “But despite these advances, there are still ways to ensure your opponent loses. I’ve seen fights where poison was put in a man’s water bottle or the other fighter ignored the umpires and broke a man’s back while he was down. Are you all right, Miss Welch?”
Jenny barely managed a nod. She must look as sick as she felt, for Martha was staring at her as well.
“Are you saying,” she managed to rasp out, “that Mr. Whattling might be hurt in this fight?”
“I’m saying,” he replied firmly, “that Mr. Whattling could be killed.”
Martha gasped. Jenny rose to her feet leaving her guest no choice but to do likewise.
“Then we must stop it,” she told him. “What can be done?”
He shook his head. “I doubt there’s anything we can do, Miss Welch. Even if you could somehow convince the two gentlemen to settle their differences in another manner, they’ll be honor-bound to go through with the fight because an event of this nature will already be the talk of London.”
“Then the magistrates will hear of it,” Martha said. “They will surely stop it.”
He chuckled wryly. “If I know Mr. Safton, he’s already paid off anyone who might make a protest. And Mr. Whattling is rather popular. The magistrates will be only too delighted to place wagers along with everyone else. It wouldn’t surprise me if they didn’t turn out to watch the match.”
“Is there nothing we can do to ensure Mr. Whattling’s safety?” Jenny pressed, stomach churning.
He eyed her. “Possibly. There may be a way you can help, Miss Welch. But it will involve some risk on your part.”
“Anything,” Jenny agreed.
Martha started to protest, but one look from Jenny, and she subsided.
He glanced between the two of them, then motioned Jenny back to her seat, returning to his. He leaned forward conspiratorially. Even Martha was forced to pay attention.
“There are two gentlemen who feel the way I do about Mr. Safton,” he explained. “There are also any number of others he has wronged. It would be my pleasure to help them bring him to justice. But if we are to force him to show his true colors, we must make it worth his while. I know I cautioned you against becoming actively involved in boxing, Miss Welch, but
if you’d be willing to put up a purse for this event, I think the results would be well worth the price.”
–
“What were you thinking?” Nigel demanded when Kevin answered his knock that evening.
Kevin grimaced, moving aside to allow him and Giles to enter. “I take it you heard about my fight with Safton.”
“It’s the talk of the town,” Giles confirmed. “You must have had great provocation, Kev.”
Kevin ran his hand back through his hair. “It seemed so at the time.”
“Ah, but now I’ll wager you’re regretting it,” Nigel said.
Kevin shook his head. “Surprisingly no, gentlemen. I probably should have done this long ago.”
“You’ll get no argument from me that Safton deserves it,” Nigel agreed, pacing. “But you know this won’t be a fair fight. He’ll find some way to rig it in his favor.”
“Possibly,” Kevin allowed. “But this isn’t a professional match like the one he arranged for Robbie. I know where and when it will be held, and I know my opponent. I don’t think Robbie realized he was fighting the Giant until the beast climbed into the ring. And he hardly expected that filthy tavern at the back of beyond as the stage. I think I’ve stacked the odds well in my favor. What can Safton do at Gentleman Jackson’s?”
“Very little, I would guess,” Giles put in. “Still, it seems a shame to chance it. I suppose there’s no way you can get out of it?”
“None that leaves my honor intact,” Kevin replied. “I issued the challenge when he insulted Miss Welch.”
Nigel threw up his hands. “I knew that woman was involved! Did you have to impress her this much?”
Kevin smiled. “That was a small part of it, I must admit. However, you know my feelings for Safton. This meeting was inevitable. Would you rather it was pistols at dawn?”
“Only if I could be sure Safton was the loser,” Nigel replied.
Kevin’s smile deepened. “You can be sure of that in this case, Nigel. I’ve seen him fight.”
“So have I,” Giles put in. “His reach is longer than yours, Kevin. And he has a punishing right.”
Kevin shrugged. “So be it. Thank you for your assessment, Giles. I’ll try to remember it. I hope I can count on both of you for this event.”
“You don’t have to ask,” Nigel said. “We wouldn’t allow you to do it alone.”
“What can we do?” Giles chimed in.
“Will you serve as my kneemen and bottlemen?”
They nodded solemnly in unison.
Kevin clapped them both on the shoulders. “Excellent! Then all we need do is visit the Gentleman tomorrow and arrange practice times.”
“You might as well ask Miss Welch,” Nigel replied with a humph. “The story is that he was up to her home this afternoon, shortly after your unfortunate meeting with Safton.”
Kevin frowned. “But why? Surely she isn’t still set on this course of study.”
“Study?” Nigel shook his head. “Is that what she calls it? If you ask me, this woman has been nothing but trouble. I hope you’ll give up on this plan of yours now.”
“Why, Nigel? The lady can hardly be blamed for creating friction between Safton and me. Besides, I find myself anticipating the end of this adventure. I hope you will shortly be wishing me happy.”
Giles beamed, and Nigel rolled his eyes. “She’s going to accept you?”
“I have high hopes,” Kevin replied with a grin. “And you may as well know the whole of it. I’d marry her even if she were penniless. I appear to have fallen in love.”
Nigel gaped.
Giles clapped Kevin on the shoulder. “Splendid news! It goes without saying that the lady will reciprocate. This is marvelous!”
“Yes, well, congratulations,” Nigel managed. “Now we only have to ensure you live to see your wedding day.”
Chapter Nineteen
The next afternoon found Jenny staring out the sitting room windows, impatient for Kevin’s arrival. She’d spent a restless night wondering whether Mr. Jackson’s plan would be effective. There was no doubt in her mind that Kevin was infinitely more talented and intelligent than the odious Mr. Safton, but, until Gentleman Jackson had pointed out the potential for foul play, she had never truly considered that Kevin might not win. Worse, that Kevin might be hurt. She refused to consider the chance that he might be killed. Life without him was simply too empty.
She might as well admit it. She had fallen in love with the man Kevin Whattling portrayed. It was a logical choice. He was everything she had ever thought a man should be—intelligent, witty, handsome, caring, gentle. What woman would have not fallen in love with such a paragon?
Regardless of her feelings, she couldn’t watch him be hurt. The prize money seemed like a far cry from stopping the fight. She needed to construct an argument that would keep him from setting foot in the ring. She was so agitated that she could barely contain herself when Fiching announced his arrival.
He must have noticed the change in her, for he came to take her hands as Fiching went to stand outside the open door.
“What’s happened?” he asked. “Your face is as white as the lace on your gown, and you’ve left your guardian dragon behind.”
He must mean Martha. How her companion would preen to hear herself described as so strong and valiant. But the look in his blue eyes was so concerned that once more her flawless arguments failed her.
“You must call off this fight,” she burst out, hands shaking in his. “I cannot bear the thought that you might be hurt.”
“Why, Jenny,” he murmured. He let go of her hands and brushed a lock of hair away from her face. “Don’t worry. Safton will finally get his comeuppance.”
She jerked away from his touch. “I don’t care about George Safton! I care about you. Gentleman Jackson says you might be killed.”
“I heard a rumor you were seeing him.” He quirked a smile. “Should I be jealous?”
Jenny waved a hand, too agitated to counter the ridiculous statement. “Is he correct?” she demanded.
He had the audacity to shrug. “Much as I value the Gentleman’s opinion, he is mistaken in this case.”
“Can you be so confident of victory?” Jenny asked with a frown, unwilling to be convinced too easily.
“I can be confident of beating George Safton to a bloody pulp.”
Even though he grinned as he said it, the thought chilled her to the core. She wrung her hands. “I wish I’d never started this study of boxing!”
“That would hardly change this fight,” he reminded her.
“But why must you fight?” she begged. “He insulted me, not you. And I assure you I could care less what George Safton thinks of me.”
He attempted to capture her hands again, but she turned from him quickly.
“Safton and I have other differences that have nothing to do with you,” he assured her.
“Surely there is another way to resolve them,” Jenny protested.
He lunged and managed to catch hold of her fingers. “I have tried, believe me. Let it go, Jenny. It will all turn out in the end, I promise. We have more important matters to discuss.”
“What could possibly be more important than your life?”
He grinned. “Your debut at Almack’s, of course.”
She rolled her eyes, exasperated. “Will you never believe me? That is inconsequential under the circumstances!”
“On the contrary. Your attendance with me is now critical. Would you have me branded a coward?”
Surely that was an overstatement. Yet, her logical mind seized on the issue as if desperate to think of anything other than the approaching fight.
“Who would dare utter such a ridiculous statement, and what has that to do with my attendance at Almack’s?” she asked with a frown.
“It is well known I am courting you. As you observed earlier, they will expect you to show up on my arm. If we stay away, what will they think?”
That was an easy answer.
She had feared it all along. “They will think I am too much the bluestocking to appreciate the honor of their company.”
He shook his head. “Not necessarily. Given the advent of this fight, they are more likely to think I am too craven to face them.”
Her spine stiffened. “Never!”
“Then we are agreed we must attend together?”
She sighed. “I still cannot agree to your reasoning, but I concede that you know Society’s whims far better than I do. If we must, we must.”
He smiled down at her. “Excellent. Then shall we continue our tutoring?”
She sighed again, thwarted on all sides. “I suppose you will insist on that as well.”
“Am I such a tyrant?” he teased.
“Yes,” she snapped, but, as always, it was impossible not to smile in response to his grin. “No. As I said, if we must, we must. Have your toes quite recovered from yesterday?”
“You are as light as a feather, and I never felt a single pain.” He turned and limped convincingly toward the doorway. “Shall we?”
Laughing, she followed him into the hall.
Fiching obligingly fetched Martha, who was pressed into service at the pianoforte again. They practiced for some time, but although Jenny acquitted herself far better than on the previous day, her mind was elsewhere. He seemed to be having trouble concentrating as well, for more than once he bumped into one of the music stands. When Martha stopped to shuffle the sheet music, he drew Jenny to his side.
“Do you truly have no ballroom, in all this huge house?” he asked.
“Of course we do,” Jenny answered. “I saw no need to use it, so I told the staff not to clean there. I’m sure it’s quite dusty.”
“I’ll settle for a little dust if it gives us more room.”
His voice was loud enough that Martha eyed him. He merely smiled innocently. She bent her grey head once more.
He lowered his head to speak in Jenny’s ear. “Let’s leave Miss Tindale to her devices. Show me this ballroom.”
He was doing it again, using his charm to convince her to do something on the edge of propriety. Well, she had certainly broken a few rules in the last day or so. She was within her rights to refuse him, but she didn’t want to. She took his hand and tiptoed out of the room.