by Jennifer Joy
Arabella’s eyes flickered to Elizabeth. This had been the one point on which they had unanimously disagreed. But it was necessary. She said, “That is why, if I am found out, I will take my leave from your household. The scandal would be too great for Miss Darcy after everything that has happened thus far this season. I could not in good conscience stay on after causing you more troubles.”
“Do you not think Lord Lofton would love to use that against you, Mrs. Annesley? You would be doing his dirty work for him, allowing people to doubt your honor. I beg you to reconsider.”
Arabella took a deep breath, her determination stronger than ever. "Then I must make certain I do not get caught." Clasping her hands together, she said, "Mr. Darcy, I am well aware of the consequences. I understand them completely. But the gain to be had by Tanner far outweighs anything bad that could happen to me. I am willing to risk it. I want to do this. In fact, I would hate myself forever if I did not try."
Mr. Darcy groaned. "And I would hate myself if I prevented you from helping my brother. If it works, it is a brilliant plan."
Elizabeth clasped her hands together.
Pushing his chair back, Mr. Darcy stood. "I will get you what you need by this evening. Use it well. God help us."
It was done. Mr. Darcy was in.
Tanner knew he needed to rest, but sleep evaded him. He had spent most of the day at Gentleman Jackson’s, learning what he could and knowing it was not enough.
What if he lost? What if none of the gentlemen he needed to show up appeared? Not one of them had returned Darcy’s call. What if they refused to step forward when it was most critical? What if he accused Lord Lofton of murder before the masses of people and they laughed?
Tomorrow could so easily end in disaster.
But if he won, if he could through some miracle gain the support of the crowd, he could win Arabella's freedom.
Amidst all the uncertainties shone that one simple truth, shining like a beacon before Tanner and bringing him a measure of peace. Of all the battles from which he could choose, he chose to fight for Arabella.
Chapter 30
Tanner did not expect callers the following morning, so when Sir Francis Templeton was announced, Darcy and Tanner did not hesitate to meet him.
"Mr. Darcy. Mr. Tanner," Sir Francis greeted with a bow. "Please accept my deepest apologies for failing to see you before now. I overheard some conversation this morning at my club, and I know what you are about. I only hope I am not too late to help you." He pulled his handkerchief out to mop his brow. Surely, he had not run the distance between his club and Darcy House (although his ruddy appearance and shortness of breath suggested it).
"Your club refused to allow us to speak to you," Darcy remarked.
Sir Francis stepped forward, taking a seat when Darcy motioned toward the chairs.
Rubbing his palms against his legs, Sir Francis said, "I expressed my disappointment to Mr. Martingale."
Tanner leaned forward. If the gentleman already knew what they wished to ask him, then he would not mince words. "Will you accuse Lord Lofton?"
Sir Francis wiped his forehead again. "Are you certain you have enough proof against him? You cannot accuse him without convincing proof."
"I have dozens of written confessions penned by his own hand."
Sir Francis stilled, and Tanner thought he could see the sweat on the gentleman's brow begin to dry as his skin went from a red blush to a more acceptable tone.
Darcy added, "Two judges have agreed to help us, and four London magistrates have assured me they plan to be present at the match today."
Sir Francis looked at them from over his damp linen. "All this means nothing if nobody is willing to stretch out their neck, so to speak, and accuse Lofton of the crimes he has committed."
Tanner replied, "We need these gentlemen to accuse him publicly. It is the only way. We must turn the crowd against him. That is why I agreed to the pugilist match. We need to get Lofton in a crowd of witnesses."
"He will control the crowd. You need more friends present."
Tanner could not tell yet if Sir Francis included himself amongst their friends or if his anxiety would make him cower. There was only one way to find out.
"We are hoping you will consider helping us. All we need is one man brave enough to step forward. Where he leads, others will follow," he said.
Sir Francis shook his head. "No. It is not enough. He has kept gentlemen better than me silent for years. His fortune is a product of his skill at acquiring secrets — secrets which could ruin most men, myself included — and demanding payment for his silence."
Tanner asked, "Will you help us?"
Sir Francis closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. When he looked at them, he spoke firmly. "I will be honest with you. I do not want to do what you ask of me. I will lose the trust of my customers who have made me a wealthy man."
He paused, and Tanner sat back in his chair before he fell out of it.
"However," Sir Francis continued, "I have allowed myself to be tormented for one poor decision made years ago, and I wish to be free of it. I would like to act like the honorable man I know myself to be."
Tanner heard Darcy inhale. He had been holding his breath too.
Sir Francis pulled out his pocket watch and turned it over for them to see. The likeness of his wife was painted on the casing. "I see how hard my dear wife works to belong to a society who never lets us forget that our title is a bought one. The same people who conveniently forget to extend her an invitation to their social events when they come to our home and drink our champagne and eat the lavish meals my wife arranges at great expense. She endures their cuts because she believes them to be superior to her." He replaced his watch in the pocket of his waistcoat, patting it lovingly as he did so.
Looking directly at Tanner, he continued, "She is why I am here. She sent your brother’s card to my club along with a message that you had called while I was away. When my groom informed me you had attempted to speak with him, and that you were turned away numerous times from my club — all over your status, or like me, your lack of it — I was moved to return your call. Yes, Mr. Tanner, I am prepared to help you. Leave the crowd to me."
Darcy asked, "How will you persuade them?"
With a cackle, Sir Francis said, "I overheard the gentlemen at my club, remember? You appealed to their honor, their sense of justice. Mr. Darcy, I applaud your virtue and your belief that all men strive to improve their character as you do. All the same, I will choose a different method. I will appeal to their pockets."
Tanner blurted, "You will bribe them?"
"It has worked well for Lofton. Why not employ his favorite technique? I am not rich for nothing. It will do my soul good and it will make my wife proud of me to use our money for a worthy cause. Now," he said, standing. "I must go. There is precious little time. The match is in a few hours."
Shaking their hands, he bid them well and retreated as quickly as he had arrived.
"Do you think he will succeed?" Tanner asked Darcy.
"We can only hope."
Lawrence entered the library with a towel draped over one arm and a pair of scissors in the other. "I was instructed by Gentleman Jackson's valet to trim your hair."
Tanner instinctively moved his hand over his head. He could use a haircut, and he had no doubt Lawrence would do a better job of it than Mrs. Molly did.
Still, when he saw the long chunks of hair falling to the towels covering the floor in his bedchamber, Tanner lurched forward before Lawrence could cut any more. “Do you mean to leave me bald?” he exclaimed. “Lord knows I am not vain, but I appreciate the full head of hair I have. Or had.”
Lawrence replied calmly, firmly pushing Tanner back against the chair and resuming his clipping, "Gentleman Jackson's valet explained how his master won his first fight. We will not make the same mistake."
Tanner relaxed into the chair. He could not argue with Lawrence's logic when everyone knew how Jackso
n had pummeled Mendoza in one of the quickest pugilist matches in history by holding him by his hair. To his credit, Jackson was the chief spokesman for banishing hair-holding in the ring.
"Your shirt, Mr. Tanner," said Lawrence when he had cropped Tanner's hair, leaving stubble no longer than his whiskers before a shave.
"My shirt?"
"You are to fight bare chested, are you not, sir?" Lawrence asked, his expression expertly trained to a blandly neutral mask as Darcy guffawed behind him. When had he joined them? Tanner wished he would leave.
"You will cause a new fashion, Tanner."
Tanner glared at his brother. He really was annoying sometimes.
Lawrence cleared his throat and held his hand out for Tanner's shirt.
Mumbling all sorts of protests to himself, but not speaking them aloud because, once again, Lawrence made a good point, Tanner removed his shirt and looked anywhere but down at his chest.
Darcy only laughed all the louder. It was a good thing they were in Tanner's bedchamber or the ladies would have come rushing in to see what had happened. Mrs. Elizabeth was never one to let a moment of merriment pass her by.
Grimacing, Tanner said, "Thank you, Lawrence. I appreciate your attention to detail." He did not mean for the words to come out so sarcastically, but his embarrassment increased with each loud chortle from his irritating brother.
Lawrence, like everything, took Tanner's comment in stride. "We can take no risks, and I am not one to ignore the advice of an expert when it was kindly given to me. Lord Lofton cannot be expected to fight by the rules to which you must adhere."
Tanner chanced to look down. "I look like a hedgehog," he mumbled.
Darcy cackled, "At least Lofton will have nothing to hang onto."
"Yes, and you may rest assured that there will be no ladies present," Lawrence added, trying to appease Tanner.
"Thank God for that. It is bad enough to fight bare knuckled and bare chested." He rubbed his hand over his prickly chest, feeling particularly exposed.
Darcy guffawed louder than ever. What had got into him?
This time, when Tanner glared at him, Darcy wiped his eyes and closed his mouth. His shoulders shook, but outwardly, he was a model of composure. Swallowing hard, then clearing his throat, he said, "Quite. I will call for the carriage."
Tanner opened his mouth to suggest they take horses but thought better of it. Negotiating the streets of London would be easier on horseback, but the carriage was a better choice. If his plan did not work and he had to fight fifty rounds with the more experienced fighter, a carriage would convey him home more gently than Brutus could.
Donning his shirt and joining Darcy downstairs, Tanner opened his arms wide when he saw Georgiana. She walked right into them, after which she stepped back and rubbed his stubbly head.
"I like it," she stated. "You will make clipped hair the new fashion."
Darcy chuckled. "That is not the only fashion he will start."
Georgiana looked to him for an explanation, and Tanner shot Darcy such a look as his mother used to give him when he was in deep trouble.
His brother silenced, Tanner then looked about the room for Arabella. Mrs. Elizabeth had joined them, but Arabella was nowhere to be seen.
"We must be going," Darcy said, leaning down to give his wife a kiss on her temple.
"Where is Arabella?" Tanner asked. He wanted to see her before they left. He needed to see her.
The guilty glance Mrs. Elizabeth and Georgiana exchanged froze Tanner's blood. As did Darcy's obvious and blatant attempt to change the subject.
"We must be on our way. The streets will be crowded," he said.
Tanner was not so easily dissuaded. "Where is she?" he asked through clenched teeth.
"She is well. Merely attending to a matter of urgency," Darcy said, steering Tanner toward the door.
Only the knowledge that Darcy would never allow Arabella, or any other member of his household, to endanger herself got him inside the carriage. But he looked for her through the windows. He could not help it.
Tanner brooded all the way to St. Martin’s Street. Sitting did nothing to calm his nerves. They knotted up in his stomach until he thought he would get sick. He breathed steadily to calm them (a trick he had learned from the late Mrs. Bennet).
Too soon, they arrived at Fives Court.
Crowds of men, spectators of both the upper crusts and the deepest depths of London milled about. Tables were set up and men shouted and waved money to place their bets. It did not surprise Tanner to see how badly the odds were stacked against him.
The energy in the building was like the air before a lightning storm. The loud chatter, heckling shouts, and bawdy laughter were like the boom before the sky lit up with light. Before the storm hit.
Weaving through the crowd, Tanner and Darcy made their way to the ring. It was raised up on a platform in the center of the large space, surrounded by ropes and men pushing in around them.
Darcy reached the ropes before Tanner did, crouching between them to step inside the ring.
Tanner leaned down to follow him when something wet smacked against his head.
Flicking the rancid liquid running down his face out of his eyes, Tanner looked down at his feet to see a rotten tomato. There were too many people standing around — all of them pointing and laughing — to know who had thrown it. Had he been in his tavern, he would have known exactly what to do to squelch a brawl before it even began.
But here, in this place, he was not in charge.
Chapter 31
It seemed like all of London was present and, still, people packed in the court, pushing against each other to get closer to the platform. The young lads had the advantage of being able to squeeze through to the best spots with their smaller, nimble forms while larger gentlemen used their bulk to hold their spot once they won it.
The only time the crowd split was when Lord Lofton arrived. They cleared a path for him, their deafening shouts stirring up the tension in the growing crowd.
The fight was about to begin … and there was no sign of Sir Francis. Nor did Tanner know how he would see the gentleman when he did show up.
Darcy bumped him on the shoulder. "They are not here. I have the journal. Do you want me to show it to the crowd?"
Tanner crossed his arms. "It would not do any good. Nobody would believe us."
"What do you plan to do? I will keep looking for Sir Francis, but it will be difficult to see him in this crush."
"I will stall for time until they get here."
A gentleman, most likely a friend of Lofton's judging from his extravagant waistcoat and athletic form, spoke to the crowd. Tanner was more interested in scanning the faces — there must have been thousands of them — surrounding him than he was in anything the dandy had to say. That was, until he presented the fighters.
Lofton stepped forward, his arms raised in victory as if he had already won. He smiled and bowed while they cheered for him, calling out his name in support. It was as Tanner feared. Lofton owned the crowd. He fed off their energy.
Tanner inspected him, looking for a weakness. He was a couple inches shorter than Tanner, but he was all lean muscle. He would be quick and agile — the very combination Gentleman Jackson had warned was the most challenging to best.
Tanner was introduced, and he raised his chin. A few claps and a couple of hushed cheers only fueled laughter and jeers from the majority.
The scene was similar to a recurring nightmare Tanner remembered from his youth — horrible dreams from which he had woken up in a cold sweat.
It was always the same, and Tanner grumbled at the realization that his fear was realized at that moment. In his dream, he stood in his unmentionables in front of a large crowd while they pointed their fingers accusingly at him and laughed. Their taunts were always the same, and he heard them echoing from the men circling the ring. "Illegitimate … you do not belong … this will teach you … nobody wants you here."
Darcy c
lapped him on the shoulder before Tanner could pinch himself, reminding him that this was not a nightmare from which he would wake. This was very real, and Arabella’s life depended on him winning.
"Give him what for, Tanner. You are twice the man he is, and I am proud to call you my brother," Darcy said, pushing him forward into the ring. Tanner saw absolute confidence in his little brother’s eyes — confidence in him and his ability to do what needed to be done.
It was infinitely better than what happened in his dream. The taunts of the crowd were real, but their words were meaningless. His brother believed in him. He did belong. He had a family. And he would defend the woman he loved against the showman prancing on his side of the ring. He would not let them down.
A bell clanged, and the fight began.
Lofton bobbed and weaved, dancing around Tanner as the people roared.
Tanner pivoted and turned, keeping his hands up to protect his face like Jackson had taught him. His sole goal was to win time enough for Sir Francis to get there with reinforcements.
However, when Lofton landed the first punch, Tanner knew he was out of his league.
Again, they circled like two dogs measuring each other up before an attack. And attack, Lofton did. Lashing out faster than Tanner could react, he struck quickly and truly. Over and over, he hit until Tanner felt the ropes biting into his flesh behind him. He moved his hands up, hearing Darcy's protests over the rhythm of his breath and Lofton's fists pummeling his face.
Tanner moved his arms up further, only to expose his sides. Lofton redirected his blows at Tanner's ribs, striking him so fast and hard, he could not breathe.
Tanner moved his arms down, stepping to the side and gasping for breath.
But Lofton anticipated that too. Aiming his fists at Tanner's face, Lofton shoved him even harder against the ropes. Tanner bent over backwards until either he would snap in half or the ropes would.
With a mighty push from behind him, the men in the crowd shoved Tanner against Lofton, who jumped in victory before him, giving Tanner a brief reprieve.