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

Chapter Two

May 23, 1817

Dawson’s Imports

Robinhood Lane

East India Dock

London, England

M iss Cecilia Dawson totaled up a column of numbers, wrote the sum at the bottom of the page, and then blew on the page until the ink dried. There was something so satisfying about balancing a ledger book and making certain nothing had taken a loss. But her father’s importing business was quite healthy, and he was doing well.

The space was quite cozy for an office. Lead-paned glass windows occupied the bulk of one wall from the middle to the ceiling, which let in loads of natural light and overlooked the East India Dock. Some days she let her imagination run away with her as she watched the ships either come into their berths or leave for parts unknown. What it must be like to have the freedom to sail the seas and have adventures.

Aside from the massive desk she worked at, there were two leather wingback chairs facing that piece of furniture. A colorful rug in an Oriental style covered the hardwood floor. In one corner, a golden birdcage rested. Currently, there was no bird inside, but at one time her father had a parrot that had obtained a rather bad habit for swearing. A sideboard and shelves in dark stain to match the desk rested against the other walls of the office, all containing maps and other paperwork pertaining to her father’s travels all over the world, as well as the locations he procured his wares from.

This office had become a haven of sorts, especially since her mother had died eleven years ago. Her father was the one constant in her life, and each time she came into the space, her soul settled. If she tried hard enough, she could still smell the tobacco he used to smoke when he had his pipe. The scents of leather, as well as a few exotic spices from a basket of dried potpourri he’d obtained from India also reached her nose, and she smiled, for when she was a child, her father always used to tell her about it. “In the twelfth century, potpourri was used to freshen castle rooms and mask the smells of medieval times. Spices and herbs were doused in spirits and left to rot, creating a pungent but pleasant aroma.” Then he would grin and his eyes would sparkle as if he knew a fantastic secret he couldn’t wait to share. “In fact, Ceci, the word potpourri comes from the French ‘pot pourri’ meaning rotten pot.”

It was one of the reasons he was adamant she keep current on her language skills.

But then, he had always been a fascinating person. As for herself, she was content in doing the accounting for his office. At seven and twenty, she felt no driving need to make a name for herself or to set London on its ear because of something she’d done. Additionally, she wasn’t one of those women who wasn’t happy unless she was chasing scandal or finding new ways to entice men into shadowy corners merely for the sensation or shock.

Not that any of that was nonsense, but for her, it just wasn’t necessary to live a fulfilling life. Of course, that was subject to change every day depending on her mood, but for now, she was content.

When the door to the office opened, she glanced up to greet the newcomer, but then relaxed when she saw it was her eleven-year-old brother, born when she was sixteen. Their mother had perished while struggling to give birth to the later-in-life boy, and she felt a special sort of bond with him since he’d never known a mother’s love.

“I thought you were with your tutor? Isn’t this afternoon for languages?” she asked, as the tan and black pug pulled at his leather lead ahead of her brother.

The blond-haired boy scoffed and frowned. “You know how I detest learning languages. Besides, Mr. Kinnett has no sense of humor; his lessons are rather dry. I’d much rather walk Archimedes.”

“I don’t blame you. He’s a well-mannered dog, and I’ll let you in on a secret. I struggled with Latin as well as French. Still do, but then, folks don’t usually go about conversing in Latin.” She shrugged. “It’s useful for reading old documents and maps, though.”

“Then why do you bother me with the learning of such?”

“Why? Because it is a skill like anything else, and if you truly wish to become a sailor, it will serve you will eventually.” It was a worry she’d always carried around, ever since the boy had announced that intention when he’d been a lad of seven and he finally figured out what their father did for a living and why he’d been gone so much.

“Bah. It’s annoying.” He dropped the lead, and the pug decided to wander about the shipping office, sniffing into corners and behind furniture. “There is so much I could be doing instead. Exploring, even.”

“Such as getting into trouble or running amok over the docks?” Though she loved her little brother dearly, he didn’t need to mix with some of the men who worked in the area. They were a rough and tumble set, and more often than not they had mischief and mayhem on their minds.

To say nothing of the fact that she felt more and more unsafe when she needed to find a hired hack whenever she wished to go home to Mayfair. Thank the heavens they no longer lived in the few rooms above the shipping office. It was bad enough merely being here, and sometimes alone, for some of the bolder men thought nothing of harassing her. As she’d grown older, she didn’t trust them, especially since those men were only interested in getting under her skirts.

A flush colored James’ cheeks. “Some of them are interesting.”

“That very well may be so, but most are merely trouble. I don’t want you falling in with them and ruining your future.” She closed the ledger book, then stowed it into one of the drawers in the stout wooden desk she sat behind. “This life is difficult enough without you deliberately seeking out problems, and I don’t have the wherewithal at times to pull you out of them.”

In many ways, though she felt responsible for her little brother as a mother might, she yearned to have her own life, one that had nothing to do with the shipping outfit or caring for a child that wasn’t hers.

“I don’t want the trouble.” The boy frowned as he dropped into a leather chair that faced the desk. In her mind’s eye, she pictured her father sitting behind the massive desk, and when she’d been a young girl a couple of years older than James, she used to visit the office in what she called an adventure, for being at the docks was much different than anything she’d known in Mayfair. “I just want to do something exciting, and Papa says I’m too young to learn how to sail.”

“I did say that, and I stick to it,” their father said as he came into the office from a back room that was used to store overflow cargo that hadn’t yet been sold or claimed. “When you are thirteen, then we shall talk. Until then, concentrate on your schooling. You won’t get far in this life dumb as a broken slate with dull chalk.”

Cecilia smiled. “Where are you off to, Papa? You look quite handsome.”

Her father was a large presence in her life. Possessed of a barrel chest, stout limbs, and a head of thick, blond hair, he was rather like the image of pirates portrayed in storybooks, except his light hair and ready grin belied that likeness. With eyes the color of a cornflower, he was still popular with the ladies whenever he consented to mingle within society.

“I have a meeting with a potential new client. If all goes well, it could prove lucrative for my business, which means I’ll have more coin to invest into a dowry for you,” he said as he leveled his gaze on her.

A groan escaped her. “Not this again.” She ignored the snicker that came from James.

“Yes, this again.” Her father bent and scooped up the pug, who thanked him by licking his cheek with exuberance. “You are seven and twenty, my girl. A spinster in some circles. I wish you would find a man and settle down so I won’t need to worry over you.”

She blew out a breath of frustration. “Do stop. I am not going to marry just for the sake of being married and then find out later the man is a bounder. Or have you forgotten what happened with my engagement?”

“Of course I haven’t, but you can’t push other men away out of fear of one.”

“True.”

A shiver moved down her spine. When she had been nineteen, she’d gotten engaged to a young man whom her father had sworn was a decent chap. Turned out, he truly wasn’t. In fact, the man had a bit of a temper when things didn’t go his way, and he took out his frustrations on her. More than once, she’d have bruises that she was forced to hide beneath her clothing, or if they were on her face, she’d invent wild stories as to why.

Eventually, her father figured out what was happening. He threatened the man within an inch of his life and had run him off. She had no idea where he was now, but she suspected he hadn’t gone far from London; he simply had no ambition.

“However, you need to marry, Cici. I don’t want you to look back upon your life and have regrets because you delayed.” With a wry smile, he scratched the dog behind its ears. “If I had my druthers, I would like to see you married to a rich nob who would keep you in high style. You deserve to be pampered. Haven’t I always told you ton society would adore you? From everything I’ve seen this year, your looks are in.”

Was that supposed to make her agree to do the gauntlet of society’s balls and routs again? She’d had a Season when she was nineteen that had netted her a nightmare. Under no circumstances did she want that again for her life.

Not wanting to argue with him on that point, she nodded. “I understand that, but I’d rather be alone than beaten, talked down to, spend the next twenty years of my life pregnant, or treated with no respect.” There weren’t many options available to women in their world, whether one had coin, titles, or not.

“Be that as it may, there are good men out there. I’m going to increase your dowry to attract a wider pool of men. Some aristocrats need coin to stave out empty coffers. And you will be elevated in society to give you opportunities I can’t bring you.”

“Ha!” She shook her head as she glanced at James, who rolled his eyes. “And have a pity marriage, a union without love? No thank you.”

Not that she was an expert in love. When she was engaged, she’d been young and na?ve, but he was persuasive, charming, and frightened her a bit with his possession. Eventually, he’d convinced her to let him bed her. Which she did in one of the rooms upstairs in this very office, but the coupling was over before she could acclimate to it or find pleasure therein. Thankfully, a pregnancy didn’t result in the joining, for her menses came the next day, and the rest of their relationship had been fraught with problems. Never had she told her father of that, for he would have killed her fiancé for certain.

Since that time, she’d tucked away her hurt and loneliness and come to work for her father. It wasn’t a good life all the time, but it was life nonetheless. Looking after her father was a labor of love. He’d never been the same after losing her mother. And James needed her as well. How could she leave the two of them to their own devices merely to take a chance on marriage?

Standing up from the desk, she laid a hand on his arm. “I shall be fine. Don’t worry about me so much. I will marry when the time is right and if I meet the right man.” She flashed him a grin. “If you do worry, place that upon James. He’ll prove more of an issue than I ever would.”

“Unfair!” Her brother sprang up from his chair. “I’m just looking for a good time.”

Their father chuckled, and the rich sound was as comforting now as it had been in her childhood. “Though truer words have never been spoken, they also can usher in a man’s—or boy’s—bad luck.” He shoved Archimedes into her arms. “Come with me to my meeting. It might be a more useful way to enhance your education. If all goes well, we can start incorporating such things into your curriculum.”

“Truly?” Excitement lit the boy’s blue eyes.

“Of course. I am many things, but a liar I am not.” He winked at Cecilia. “Are you finished here? I’ve the carriage waiting out front.”

“I have a few invoices to finish here, then I have an errand to a bookshop. There is a book I’m hoping to grab secondhand in Mayfair before going home.”

“Fair enough. You were always one to improve your mind with reading.” He glanced at his son. “You could learn much from your sister.” Then he looked at her again. “Stay vigilant and I will see you for dinner.” Then he left the office with James in tow.

An hour later, Cecilia finished her work. With the leather lead wound about one hand and her reticule hung at her wrist, she drew the drapes closed on the downstairs windows, closed and then locked the door, and started off, walking past other shipping outfits and various warehouses that sat along the East India Dock. Archimedes found the adventure stimulating, for he stopped every few feet to sniff at a wooden pylon or corner of a building. Once, he paused to piddle on a coil of rope.

Not that she blamed him for wishing to explore or cavort. It was a beautiful May afternoon where the sun peeked out from clouds to shimmer on the water. With a slight chill in the spring air but with the scent of growing things in the background, it was one of those days when a person felt alive and had hope in their heart that anything could happen.

Just as she neared the end of the street that led away from the docks, a man exited one of the warehouses. When he saw her, he immediately came toward her, and since he was a hulking sort of person, Archimedes began barking at the intruder.

Ordinarily, she would caution the dog to quiet, but today, as foreboding prickled over her skin, she let him have at it. No matter that she continued on her walk, the man followed. Eventually, he dropped one heavy hand on her shoulder, which essentially halted her forward movement.

“Putting on so many airs that you’re too good enough to talk with the likes of me?”

Briefly, she closed her eyes and prayed for patience and courage. Then she physically removed his hand from her person and turned to face him. “Ah, Mr. Derrickson. Don’t you have something to occupy your time? Surely you don’t need to accost me.” Though her words were this side of bold, her stomach quivered with fear. But something must be done. He tried to delay her at least once a week.

“I don’t need to but I’m going to until you talk to me.” As he spoke, he advanced on her, causing Cecilia to retreat. “You are the sort of woman I want to take to wife.”

Perish the thought.

“Then you should look elsewhere. I don’t wish to marry anyone just now.” When her back connected to the wall of a building, she inwardly groaned in dismay. There was nowhere to run, and she doubted if push came to shove that her pug would put up much of a fight.

“Don’t want someone else. I want you.” Mr. Derrickson planted a palm to the boards at the side of her head and leaned into her, so close that she could discern the scar on the left side of his face and smell the garlic and onions on his breath. “If you don’t agree, I can’t say what might happen to that beanpole of your brother.”

She gasped as Archimedes hid behind her skirting. “Are you threatening James?”

“Clever, aren’t you?” He leaned into her. “Now, give me a kiss so I can show you why you should marry me.” Before she could react, he pressed his lips to hers, and the hold on her control snapped.

With a hard shove to his chest, she ducked away from him as soon as there was space between them. “Are you mad? I said I wasn’t interested.”

“You should be. Ain’t getting any younger. Doing you a favor by offering.” When he tried to embrace her, she shoved a knee into the soft flesh between his legs. Immediately, he doubled over with a groan.

Her heartbeat raced so quickly she feared her heart would jump out of her chest. “When I said no, I truly meant it, you ogre.” Then, picking up her dog and tucking him beneath her arm, Cecilia fled along the street, never stopping until she reached the place where carriages for hire waited at the entrance to the docks.

Still shaking from her reaction, she engaged one of the drivers, and once she was safely inside the cab, she held the pug on her lap and frowned. She couldn’t keep living like this. There were far too many horrid men in the world who required comeuppance or at the very least some incentive to leave her alone.

By the time she was dropped in Mayfair at the bookshop, she had managed to will herself into some semblance of calm, but not even wandering the stacks of Mr. Tetlow’s bookshop could take the foul taste of that unwanted kiss from her mouth.

When she exited the shop with a book in hand, her gaze happened to land on a shop that sat kitty-corner from the bookseller. According to a sign in the front window, the shoemaker shop planned to open next month, but that wasn’t what had arrested her notice. In much smaller letters on a second-floor window, a painter on a ladder was putting the finishing touches on lettering that read Stapleton Boxing Salon.

How interesting. Could that be the answer to her problems?

A chill twisted down her spine, and as she watched, a man around her age paused on the pavement in front of the shoe shop. His light brown hair curled at his collar but he chatted easily with the painter and the man who held the ladder. Was he the owner of the shoe shop or the boxing salon? It was difficult to tell, and she didn’t have the courage to cross the street in order to ask.

But one thing was certain: this might just be what she’d been hoping and praying for. Picking up her dog, she whispered to him, “I’m going to visit that boxing salon, Archimedes, and I don’t care if they won’t grant me access. I’ll dress as a boy if I must, but one way or another, I will learn how to defend myself.”

Because Archimedes was naught but a dog, he uttered a low yap and then licked her cheek. Taking that as agreement and encouragement, Cecilia walked in the opposite direction from the shop in the direction of home.

I refuse to be a victim again.