Chapter Thirty
After a long day of work and a trip to Wagner and Son Jewelers, Edward hailed a carriage, sank into the squabs, and pondered his life.
It had been three weeks since he first made love to Franny, experiencing the most extraordinary moment in his six-and-twenty years.
Since then, he’d spent his days making London a safer city.
The recovered stolen property was in the hands of its rightful owners, and two weeks ago, he’d closed Lady Milton’s case with a quick visit to her townhouse.
Celeste had rested her hand on his forearm. “Are you in love with that red-headed woman?” she’d asked.
“I am,” Edward had responded.
“Lucky girl.” The dowager had pressed a large sum of blunt into his palm. “I wish you well, Edward. If you change your mind, I will be here.”
“Good day, my lady. And thank you for your generosity,” he’d said with a gentlemanly brush of his lips over the back of her hand. However, he would never change his mind.
He used the extra earnings to purchase a small emerald that reminded him of Franny’s eyes.
Part of him wished he could give her a larger stone or the cat brooch with the green eyes, but another part suspected Franny would treasure this unpretentious token of his love.
Earlier today, he’d received a message that the ring was ready, so he rushed to the jeweler as soon as he finished an end-of-the-day meeting with the magistrate.
Since solving Lady Milton’s mystery, Edward had been assigned a stolen carriage case, an armed robbery that ended in an injured shopkeeper, and a half-dozen petty thefts. He’d found each guilty party and served them writs.
He spent his early evenings at The Silk Knuckles Saloon, skipping rope, lifting the dumbbells, hitting the sandbags, and sparring with the male pugilists.
Two nights ago, he’d gone a few rounds with Pete the Trojan.
He was not anywhere near The Trojan’s skill level, but he enjoyed the challenge and was quite proud that he’d landed some respectable hooks and uppercuts.
Coach was back at the gym doing what he did best, and Franny and Josephine threw themselves into teaching their classes.
Once a week, the feisty duo met with the other female rabble-rousers in the upstairs parlor.
Although Harry had returned to his duties, he had not fully recovered his strength, so Edward occasionally helped him with chores.
Meanwhile, Franny spent her days training for her fight. In the evenings, once she was done coaching and teaching, she sparred with Josephine while Edward and Wentworth stood ringside and cheered.
Franny’s fighting skills never ceased to amaze him.
The woman was quick and strong, yet light on her feet.
The passion and fire she brought to the ring had earned her an apt moniker.
However, that same energy might lead to her downfall if she didn’t control it.
If an opponent had endurance, Franny might tire before them.
Not because she wasn’t in excellent shape, but because she was a machine who came out too fast giving everything she had early on.
“Pace yourself,” Edward yelled a half dozen times every training session.
Meanwhile, Wentworth bellowed, “Josie, you are too heavy on your feet. You are stuck in a post hole again.”
Most evenings, after they locked up the gymnasium, Franny returned home with Edward. They’d share whatever meal Mrs. Benson prepared and then feed Zigzag. Some nights, they snuck in gentle lovemaking and/or some enthusiastic tupping before he escorted Franny home to her father.
Edward’s life was fulfilling; however, a few things gnawed at his peace.
First and foremost, he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Frances Valentine.
Tonight, he would ask her to be his wife.
Without her saying so, Edward knew Franny would want to be alerted to his intentions before seeking her father’s permission.
Lately, doubt consumed Edward. Would a woman as freethinking as Franny want a husband and children?
Even if she wanted to be a mother, she would have to wait until she was done fighting to carry a baby.
No worries there, he would accommodate whatever she wanted and needed. His greatest desire was to be with her.
Marrying a woman when Edward feared for her safety both in and out of the ring would require a lot of deep breathing.
There was no denying that bare-knuckle fighting was dangerous.
Deadly even. And then there were his reservations about Lance being responsible for the fire and the beatings.
The man had been too flippant. His story lacked details.
Lance insisted he was guilty, but it was not unheard of for people to confess to crimes they hadn’t committed.
With Edward’s knowledge of human nature, he would not be surprised if a spoiled aristocrat who wanted to torment his father ruined his own life out of spite.
Edward sighed. Maybe he was needlessly fretting because there had been no attacks on the gymnasium or Franny’s inner circle since Lance and his bootlickers had been jailed. Either way, his disquietude did not end here.
Franny’s association with men who skirted legality, like Bear, Shark, and Whale, greatly concerned him. But if he meant to spend his life with her, he had to accept that she was a danger magnet.
The carriage halted in front of The Silk Knuckles Saloon.
He paid the driver and walked the short distance to the front door, his heart hammering at his chest the entire time.
His nerves got the better of him, forcing him to reach into his coat pocket.
His quivering fingers brushed over the button from the alley before finding his handkerchief.
He pressed on the soft fabric and exhaled in relief because the ring remained safely wrapped inside it.
She will say yes. She loves you, you fool, he assured himself. He pushed on the heavy door and strutted into the building, feigning more confidence than he felt.
The gymnasium hummed with activity. While Coach called directives to The Trojan and an up-and-coming fighter named Thumbs McCartney, Wentworth and Davenport sparred in the other ring. A few men and an athletic-looking woman, whom Edward didn’t recognize, hit the heavy bags and hefted weights.
A group of well-dressed ladies stood in the far corner, animatedly chattering with Franny and Josephine.
“Bloody hell,” Edward murmured under his breath. He had forgotten that the Ladies’ Autonomy League was meeting this evening. As if he wasn’t nervous enough, now he would have to wait even longer to ask Franny his important question.
It was as if Franny sensed his presence because she whirled to smile at him. Her face lit up, and she skipped across the gymnasium.
“You are late,” she said. “I was starting to worry. How was your day?”
“Quite busy,” was all he said. If he told her the true reason for his tardiness, the surprise would be ruined. “How was your day?”
“Rather wonderful. Josie and I went for a fifteen-mile run.”
He chuckled. Of course, Franny’s idea of fun was something most sane humans found torturous.
“We are about to go upstairs for our meeting,” she said. “I ate dinner with Papa. Beef broth and eggs. Not nearly as tasty as Mrs. Benson’s broth. I’m sorry I didn’t wait, but I was quite famished.”
He shoved his disappointment deep. “I’m sorry I’m late.
I’ll hit the sandbags for a bit.” That should settle his nerves.
“Then I will see what Harry needs assistance with, and I will walk you home when your meeting ends.” The romantic dinner Mrs. Benson had prepared for them might go to waste, but he would not let the change in plans thwart his proposal.
“You won’t believe who is here,” Franny said.
Edward perused the gymnasium. Thumbs McCartney was present, but he’d been coming in every day for a fortnight. There were other regulars, too, including The Trojan. She must mean the new woman wearing men’s breeches.
Edward inclined his chin to the woman, punishing the sandbag. “She looks skilled, but I’m afraid I don’t know who she is.”
“That is Roseanna Chapman,” Franny said. “She has a promising future in prizefighting, but I’m not talking about her. Lady Whitehill is here.”
“No,” Edward said.
“She told us that her husband will no longer pose a problem because she is joining our cause, and if he doesn’t support her, she will make his life miserable.”
“No,” Edward said again. He regarded the group of women, which included Lady Davenport, Lady Siddons, Lady Hillcaster, Bridget Wentworth, and a few of Bridget’s friends. Standing amongst them, wearing a bright yellow frock, was Lord Whitehill’s wife.
“Yes,” Franny said. “And you won’t believe who convinced her to come to our meeting?”
“Surely not that blowhard Lord Whitehill.”
“Of course not.” Franny threw her head back and laughed.
“When we were at The Tea Rose a few weeks ago, Jonathan suggested she align herself with other influential women because she is one of the strongest, most intelligent women of his acquaintance. Apparently, he was making sheep eyes at her for a good cause. All along, the Davenports’ and Nicolas’s plan was for Jonathan to convince her to support the Ladies’ Autonomy League while charming her.
Truly brilliant, don’t you think? Lord Whitehill will appear heartless if he fights a cause dear to his wife’s heart. ”
“Brilliant, indeed.” Edward cut his gaze to the two lords circling each other in the ring. As bloody arrogant as they could sometimes be, they supported Franny’s dream and treated him like one of them.
Franny popped onto her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. No one seemed to take notice of her inappropriate display of affection except for Josephine, who clasped her hands together and smiled.
“I love you, Edward.”
Before he had time to tell her he loved her, the energetic, buzzing Franny skipped across the gymnasium then followed the ladies up the stairs.
*