With Love in Their Corner (The Boxers of Brook Street #1)

Chapter One

March 13, 1817

Stapleton House

Marylebone, Mayfair

London, England

L ewis Stapleton, Eighth Earl of Lethbridge, stood by one of the windows in his drawing room with a cut crystal glass of brandy in his hand and a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. The shadows of twilight were just descending, and in an hour, he, his mother, and his brothers would scatter for the evening’s entertainments.

Yet it seemed they hadn’t had enough of bedeviling him for the evening. And if he hadn’t loved her dearly, he would have quit the townhouse by now.

“Lewis, listen to me. Instead of spending all your time at the club, you should accept the wealth of invitations sitting on your desk and start mingling in society,” his mother said with a slight frown. She took a sip from the teacup. “You have just turned three and thirty, but you have no marriage plans on the horizon. That is unacceptable.”

“According to who, Mama?” He took a deep sip of the brandy. “You or the society gossips you keep company with?”

“Don’t take that snippy tone with me, young man.” She patted her upswept light brown hair that contained a few silver strands while his younger brothers exchanged amused glances. “I have known you all your life and you have always been stubborn. Ever since your father died, it’s grown worse.”

“That is not my fault.” His jaw worked as he contemplated his next words. “Papa didn’t have a head for business, and he was an even worse gambler.” What was more, none of the family had known just what a mess of the books he’d made until after his sudden death two years ago this month.

Damn, had it been two years already?

“Don’t blame your father for the current circumstances.” The sharpness in his mother’s voice stood as testament to the fact the family as a whole hadn’t quite put anger and grief behind them like they wanted others to think. “It wasn’t his fault.”

Lewis snorted. “Pray, tell me whose fault it was then.” He knocked back the remainder of the brandy and swallowed it in one go. The burn of the liquor in his throat only distracted him slightly. “None of us were allowed to set foot in his study or even look at the account books. His man-of-affairs was forbidden to consult with us—with me as the heir—on any financial matter.”

“Your father didn’t wish to burden you boys with problems that came up.”

“No, he didn’t want to let on that things were spinning out of control for him, and he wanted to cover it for as long as he could.” In some annoyance, he set his empty glass on a nearby round table. “It doesn’t matter now. I’ve been handed a title I only grudgingly wanted this early in my life and nearly empty coffers. None of that makes me want to rush out and pledge my suit to a woman. It’s not fair to ask someone to share this life until I can puzzle out a way to restore the family fortune.”

“But you have a responsibility to that title, Lewis,” his mother said with a raised eyebrow. “You need a son to carry on the succession. You have always known that.”

Of course he had. From the age of ten, it had been drilled into him that he would be the earl at some point. He just never thought it would be this early or that his father would have been taken suddenly from this world by a blow to the head in an illegal bare-knuckle boxing match.

“I am well aware, but with a pile of debt, a crumbling manor in the country, and nearly empty coffers? Who would want to marry me with a basically empty title?” It was an argument they indulged in every two or three months and had since his father was brought back to London, bloodied and barely breathing. By the time they’d had a physician in, his father had passed from injuries sustained to his head from multiple blows.

It couldn’t be categorized as murder since he left the ring under his own power, and boxing for sport or payment was highly illegal, thus the reason such matches could never be held in London proper. Despite his father being a prize fighter and all his bouts highly anticipated, none of them could be advertised, which meant supporters of the sport stayed apprised of such things through taverns, brothels, and clubs. This tended to make the crowds swell. To say nothing of the fact that his opponent had been a duke, and therefore untouchable by law.

Or anything else.

His mother blew out a breath of frustration. Clearly, she didn’t want to hear his excuses any longer. “Marry a young heiress. She’ll not care about anything except the title, then you’ll have the coin and a fertile wife who will give you many children.”

Bloody hell.

Briefly, he pointed his gaze to the ceiling, and when the sound of rain against the windowpane reached his ears, he transferred his regard outside once more. “What makes you think I want to perpetuate this line?”

“It is tradition,” his mother said with shock in her tone.

“What if it’s not mine?” Then he turned about and encompassed his brothers into his gaze. The middle one was two years younger than him, and the youngest was two years behind him. They all looked as if they could have been triplets if one wasn’t peering too closely. “Perhaps one of you two can take up those reins.”

Even if that wasn’t possible unless something dire happened to him.

Alexander, his middle brother, scoffed. As he folded a copy of The Times , he addressed Lewis’ statement. “I want nothing to do with the title, and I’m just the spare regardless.” He glanced at their mother. “No offense, Mama, but you and I both know that Papa doted on Lewis, couldn’t wait to train him in how to run things. That truly tainted such responsibility for me.”

Over the years, there had been underlying rivalry between Lewis and his brothers. They’d all understood where they’d ranked in the pecking order and why, and since there were no sisters to temper the urge to work out frustrations in rough and tumble ways, they’d grown into adulthood with varying degrees of resentment, anger, jealousy, and envy that had never been addressed before their father had died.

The one thing their father had been adamant he pass down to all three boys was his skill in boxing. One weekend a month, he would take them out into Hyde Park and simulate matches, and since their father was a prize fighter of some acclaim, those outings were rigorous, and somewhat humiliating. Yes, he trained his boys in the upstairs private parlor, but there was just something about being put out into the open and pitted against each other that a home version of boxing couldn’t give.

Their mother frowned. She laid her teacup and its saucer on the low table in front of her. “How disappointing it is to know that my sons are willing to turn their backs on everything their father held dear.” Mild aggravation threaded through her tone. “I thought you’d been raised better than that.”

Ah, good, the guilt has made an appearance. I’d wondered when that would happen.

Lewis snorted. “If Papa had truly held his property, his fortune, and his family dear, he wouldn’t have gambled so heavily.” That was the bald truth.

“Don’t disrespect his memory,” his mother snapped with narrowed eyes.

“Why not? He certainly disrespected us. Committed family man my arse.”

“Lewis Arthur!” With her lips set in a tight line, his mother stood while his brothers looked on in varying degrees of shock. “You should be ashamed of yourself. Do you even care that I, at least, am still grieving?”

Immediately contrite, he nodded. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me.” With a tight chest, he crossed the room to buss her cheek. “My dispute with Papa and my brothers has nothing to do with you.” Since he hadn’t had the time or wherewithal to process his anger, grief, or even fear of the future, he relied on the boxing outlet to relieve the pressure. At least it put the skills his father had instilled to good use.

Not that his mother knew that.

“Thank you for realizing that.” She frowned at him. “Please promise you’ll think about what I said. No matter your feelings, you need a wife. Sooner rather than later, for if I learned anything from your father’s untimely passing, it is that life is short. We are not promised tomorrow.”

“Good point.” After bouncing his gaze between his brothers, he huffed. He might not be as good as them at boxing, but he’d won more than his share of illegal bouts and those purses had been nothing to sneeze at. “Perhaps I should go full time into boxing. Start touring around England, perhaps Ireland. I could win a decent amount, then wouldn’t need to marry—heiress or otherwise.”

Alexander chuckled. “That is a singularly horrid idea. Your shoulder can’t take many more hits, and your knee is nearly shot.” While he enjoyed doing a bout or two, Lewis didn’t believe his brother’s heart was in it like their father’s had been. But since Alex hadn’t found his path in life, this was what he filled his time with.

“They aren’t so bad,” he said, but even he heard the doubt in his voice. Was it a trick of the mind, for his left shoulder held a dull throb. He could no longer ignore that it had been dislocated more than a few times.

His brother huffed and crossed his arms at his chest. “Don’t be a nodcock, Lewis. If any of your opponents get wind of these weaknesses, your arse will be lying on that field, and the reputation of our name will be ruined.”

“It won’t be ruined,” he maintained, with a bit of annoyance in his tone. As for his right knee, that might prove to be more of a problem than the shoulder, but as long as he didn’t put weight on it during a match and made no sudden changes in trajectory, he would be fine.

Hopefully.

Finally, his youngest brother added his opinion. “That name is the only thing Papa left us.” Duncan was suave and sophisticated, but a rakehell and a horrible manager of money. His pockets were always to let, which meant he was forever asking for coin from Lewis. He was great at boxing, almost to the point of cockiness, and had natural talent. Out of all of them, he took after their father in skill and point at a bout. “Don’t take that away from us merely because you are unable to square with how you felt about him. Weren’t your last words to him ones of anger?”

“Yes.” Lewis bit off the urge to respond with a biting comment. He didn’t wish to remember his final conversation with his father; he’d told no one the subject matter of that discussion, but he had admitted it wasn’t anything kind.

“You only care about the prize purses boxing brings. You don’t give two braces about the family name or the estates.” No, that responsibility fell to his shoulders and his alone. Sometimes the weight was enormous. His chest tightened, and the need to work through that stalled emotion grew nearly overwhelming.

“Do you blame us?” Duncan flashed a grin. As he leaned back in his chair, he rested an ankle on a knee. The knot of his cravat had been loosened, but somehow, it only made him more attractive in his evening clothes. “Boxing is a lucrative endeavor if one has the skill and doesn’t take themselves too seriously.”

“Then you think to base the whole of your life on it? In the hopes you collect enough prize money to fund your life, such as it is?” His little brother had taken rooms at the Albany while he apparently sought to live his rakish lifestyle to the hilt.

“I’m damn well going to try.”

Lewis shook his head. “A nodcock idea at best.”

“As if your way of living is having better results?” One of Duncan’s eyebrows rose in challenge. “If you don’t get out from under all of this, brother, you are going to break.”

His hold on his control slipped. “And how do you propose I do that, hmm? I’m the damned earl, the current holder of this title, the head of this family, and all I receive for my efforts is complaints and badgering.” Unable to settle, Lewis shoved a hand through his hair. “I haven’t been my own man since Papa died, perhaps before then, and I don’t mind telling you that I feel trapped.”

Would he give up everything his family stood for out of pique? Unlikely, but that didn’t relieve the annoyance stuck firmly in his chest.

“Stop this talk. All of you.” His mother clapped her hands until all three of them glanced at her. “I want you to leave the silly notion of boxing behind you.” She met each of their gazes. “Go out and make honest livings and stop stirring the scandalbroth. I would like to attend a society function without hearing at least a snatch of gossip concerning you three.” Then she rested her regard on Lewis. “I mean it, Lewis. Stop dithering and find a lady to court. I want you engaged by year’s end.”

He and his brothers all offered protests at once, and the clamor of voices quickly filled the room.

Lewis held up a hand for quiet. “While I understand your concern, Mama, I don’t understand why I can’t enjoy both responsibility and pleasure.” As it was, it felt as if he would soon be torn between duty and happiness.

For long moments, she held his gaze, her expression unyielding. “Your father’s death was difficult for me, as was finding out the truth regarding our finances and future. You are the oldest son, and I am counting on you to make things right. That is how it is, regardless of how you feel about it, or your father.” She moved across the carpet to lay a hand briefly on his arm. “Don’t disappoint me, Lewis. I don’t know how much more I can withstand before breaking.” Sadness shadowed her hazel eyes that were like his. “This is what titled men must do.”

And more weight was subtly added to his shoulders.

But he didn’t have the luxury of breaking, for a man like him had to remain strong and stoic. Hadn’t his father always taught him that? He gave her a curt nod, and hated that his brothers looked on with curiosity and pity. “If I promise to attend more society functions and meet more eligible women in the hopes one of them might make an impression on me, will you stop nagging me to marry and set up a nursery?”

“Perhaps.” She shrugged. “If I don’t talk about it, you’ll forget or completely ignore me, but I promise you the space to order your life as you see fit. At least until late autumn. After that we will need to talk seriously.” Again, she glanced at the three of them. “Have a good night, boys, and remember what I said.”

Then she exited the room.

With a huff, Lewis retrieved his glass. “Can I pour anyone a brandy?” Definitely, he could use another.

Alexander shook his head as he gained his feet. “I’ll have one at the club. Suddenly, I don’t feel like lingering here any longer.”

“Fair enough.” When Lewis gained the sideboard, he splashed a measure of the amber liquid into his glass and then replaced the decanter. “I don’t want to enter into a courtship just now, fellows.”

“Then don’t,” Duncan said with a negligent shrug.

“You heard her. I don’t have much of a choice.”

Alexander snorted. “Then find a way to bring in quick coin. If Mama sees the coffers filling, she’ll go lighter on the need for you to marry an heiress.”

“How, though? As you said, my fighting in bouts is finite at best.” After a few sips of brandy, he suddenly perked up as a new thought occurred to him. “What about this? You can’t deny we are all knowledgeable about boxing. So why don’t we open a boxing salon?”

“What?” Alexander gawked.

“Bloody brilliant,” Duncan exclaimed as he sprang from his chair.

Lewis nodded as he grinned. “It will be a way to make coin, and we’ll offer our skills to everyone. I don’t want there to be a class divide. Payments can be worked out, but as long as their accounts are current, the business will prove solvent.”

“Interesting concept.” Alexander cocked his head to one side. “However, why would anyone want to come to our salon when Gentleman Jackson has his own? And he’s much more popular than the three of us put together.”

“Speak for yourself,” Duncan said with a confident smirk. “Our father was a prize fighter. That is our hook. He taught us everything he knew, and there are three of us with different skill sets. Additionally, Alex can do the books in the beginning. Everyone from all walks of life might find themselves needing to defend themselves or wish to learn how to box. Unless I miss my guess, it will soon be all the rage as a sport of entertainment.”

“This is true. With every bout, the crowds grow.” Excitement lit Duncan’s face. “We can open the salon in Mayfair, somewhere on Brook Street to capitalize on the rich nobs in the area.”

Alexander nodded. “Yes, and put it over a legitimate shop. Shoes, for example. We can own the building and have an income stream from that, but it won’t be readily known there is a salon unless one is in the know.” His grin was as wide as Duncan’s. “We’ll teach boxing, self-defense, physical fitness, balance, whatever the client might need. Boxing is only the draw, but there are many skills that go into that one discipline.”

“Agreed,” Lewis said with a nod. Perhaps his outlook wasn’t as bleak as he’d assumed. “How does one find out if there is available shop space?”

“I’ll take care of it.” Alexander shot them both a look. “I have some connections, and there are always shops that have defaulted on their rents.”

“Excellent.” Duncan came over to Lewis, took his brandy glass, drained the contents, and then handed it back. “I will use my considerable charm as I go through society to bring clients to our establishment once it’s open. Lewis can be the principal instructor until the rest of us have the time. We’ll need a few tick mattresses for falls and tumbling, some padded mittens for beginners, and go from there.”

Slowly, Lewis nodded. “Will we take female clients?”

Alexander frowned. “I can’t imagine how that could happen without causing plenty of scandal.”

“And Mama won’t like that,” Duncan added in the world’s worst stage whisper.

“All true.” He blew out a breath. “What of advertising?”

Duncan’s grin was wicked. “We will talk the salon up. Make it sound exclusive. Stapleton Boxing Salon. Open weekdays. One evening we can remain open late for those who can’t make the daytime hours. We can even take special lessons upon request for an additional fee.”

“Good points.” Lewis grinned. “It can’t fail.”

“Indeed,” Alexander said, with a grin of his own. “And the lower impact of instruction should keep you more or less intact a bit longer.” Yet he exchanged a glance of worry with Duncan. Clearly, the two were concerned. “But first, we’ll need the property and the equipment: mattress ticks, sandbags, padded mittens, all the other things Papa had us use when he gave us our first lessons.”

“Good.” Lewis shoved his own worry deep down inside to ponder later. “At least this is forward movement. In six months we might be better off for it.”

And perhaps having something else to focus on would give him time to think about what he wanted for his life, for one thing was certain: he refused to have his life end as his father’s had. When he left this mortal coil, he wanted to leave his family better than they were now.

The hows of accomplishing that escaped him at the moment.