Epilogue
One month later…
Now that her bookkeeping was complete, Franny exited her office and regarded her kingdom, pride washing over her. All of her dreams had come true. Well, almost all of them since she had recently discovered she had a new, secret desire.
Her gaze landed on her shirtless husband, and her mouth watered. Oh, the things she would do to his scrumptious body later tonight.
Sweat coated his shoulders and pectorals, and his muscles flexed as he sparred with Nicolas in the farthest ring.
And to think she and Josie had once made a pact to never marry or let a man consume their thoughts.
Young girls and their silly notions. Franny sniggered.
But how were they to know that in the future they would fall in love with these loving, heroic men?
Men so supportive that they thumbed coverture laws, going so far as to sign documents that even after marriage, their wives remained the owners of The Silk Knuckles.
Adding to this, Nicolas tempered Josie’s wild streak, and Edward matched Franny’s passion.
Smiling, she slid her gaze to Papa. The man was in his element as he stood outside the closest ring, calling directives to The Trojan and Thumbs McCartney.
Off to the side of Papa, the Duke of Griffendale was showing Roseanna Chapman how to properly punch the sandbag, a lesson that Roseanna did not need.
The woman could murder a sandbag with one hand tied behind her back.
However, she seemed to be listening intently.
Or maybe she was feigning interest so she could inhale the alluring duke’s scent. Franny chuckled.
In a strange twist of fate, the duke had asked Franny to be his champion at the next Duke’s and Dame’s Mill.
Franny had declined. She had conquered her fears, climbed back into the ring, and proven to herself that she wasn’t a coward.
But now that her goals lay elsewhere—The Silk Knuckles Saloon, The Ladies’ Autonomy League, and her husband—it was time to put her competitive days behind her for good.
After Franny turned him down, Griffendale swore and kicked at something invisible.
He had quickly gotten over his temper and, days later, turned his attention to Roseanna.
In Franny’s humble opinion, Roseanna, who wore men’s breeches and hid her hair beneath a large black handkerchief, was the perfect choice to fight the Amazonian Lady Paulsgrove in the next prestigious championship.
Franny’s gaze traveled to the calisthenics area where Sky and Charlie were hefting about weights, trying to mold their adolescent bodies into Roman statues. Both lads had extraordinary work ethics, so with solid nutrition and a year or two of maturity, they would undoubtedly meet their goals.
Meanwhile, Josie led the ladies’ exercise and self-defense session.
The class had grown too large for the ring and now spread over the back half of the large room.
Lady Davenport meandered from the lesson to stand beside Papa.
Her silk gown was more suited to courting than to exercise.
She tapped Papa on the shoulder and smiled at him.
He awkwardly smiled back before returning his focus to his fighters. He pointed and yelled at Thumbs, more than likely telling him to keep his wrist firm when throwing hooks—that was Franny’s advice on the days she coached Thumbs.
If only Franny could convince Papa to forgo his bachelor ways and promenade with the delightful dowager. Oh, how happy the two lonely souls might find themselves. But Papa was impossible.
“What would a fine lady want with an old codger like me?” Papa often asked.
“Your companionship,” Franny told him. “And I think you are the most handsome man in the world. What woman wouldn’t want you?” My mother, who was brilliant and beautiful, wanted you. But these were bittersweet words Franny couldn’t bring herself to say out loud.
Harry exited Papa’s office, approached, and doffed his cap.
“What are you still doing here?” Franny asked. “Aren’t you supposed to be meeting Grace’s parents tonight?”
“I am, Miss Franny. I just wanted to see if there was anything you wanted me to do before I left for the evening?”
“No. You’ve worked hard. Go enjoy yourself.”
“Could I ask your opinion on an important matter?” he asked.
“Of course. As you know, I do so love expressing my opinions.”
Harry chuckled, then quickly sobered. “Lady Davenport insists that Miss Grace and I have the wedding breakfast at Greenpark House, but I haven’t asked for her hand yet.
” He exhaled a breath rife with concern.
“Should I decline the viscountess’ offer, me being a working bloke and all?
Then again, doesn’t Miss Grace deserve the very best? She is a splendid girl.”
“Oh, Harry, that’s wonderful. Lady Davenport hosted my breakfast as well.
” Franny’s cake had been three layers high and covered in delicate iced roses.
Fresh hot-house roses had filled the vases, and the sideboard had been piled high with delectables.
Franny’s floral headpiece had been a gift from Mrs. Benson, who had also embroidered tiny roses onto the neckline of a pink satin gown.
Their families and friends had filled the dining parlor, visiting well into the evening.
Franny sighed at the happy memory. “Keep in mind that Grace has been a beloved servant in the Davenport household for years, and you have been quite loyal to The Silk Knuckles Saloon, which is dear to Lady Davenport’s heart. ”
Harry nodded. “I hadn’t thought of it like that. I see your point, Miss Franny. I’ll ask her father’s permission tonight. Then I’ll ask Miss Grace, and if she says yes, we shall allow Lady Davenport to host the breakfast.”
“I’m sure Grace will say yes. I’ve seen the way she looks at you.”
Harry grinned. “I hope you are correct.”
“I’m always correct.” Franny chuckled.
Harry nodded. “Well, you were right about your saloon and gymnasium.”
“Oh?” Franny asked, her curiosity piqued.
“ ’Twas your idea, Miss, and then the three of you brought all of these people together.
” He pointed at the two boys curling the dumbbells, then in Edward and Nicolas’s direction.
“From young working-class lads to influential aristocratic men.” His gaze traveled to the other ring.
“There you have two male champions.” He inclined his chin to Roseanna.
“And an up-and-coming lady fighter.” Palm up, he swung his hand toward the class.
“Look at all those aristocratic ladies who come here despite what society says. You even made a place for Mrs. Brown.”
The young Jane Brown was now the hostess and barmaid of the upstairs saloon, so ladies could visit even when Franny and Josie weren’t available. Harry had turned one of the upstairs offices into a bedchamber, so Jane had a safe place to live. And twice a week, she attended the ladies-only classes.
Franny swallowed the lump in her throat and wiped a rogue tear of happiness from her cheek. “Go.” She playfully flicked her fingers, shooing Harry toward the exit.
His step buoyant, Harry made his way to the door.
A commotion drew Franny’s focus to Bridget Wentworth. She stood in front of the ladies in a low lunge. Fingers wide, the side of her hand chopped the air. Her limbs windmilled willy-nilly as she hopped her opposite leg forward and repeated the movement.
Josie stood hands on hips, shaking her head.
Bridget scampered through the ladies as they imitated her.
Josie threw her hands in the air and marched away.
Something must be wrong because Josie never let her sister-in-law commandeer her class, although Lord knows, Bridget tried.
“Are you angry?” Franny asked as Josie approached.
“No.” Josie’s eyes sparkled. “I just don’t have it in me to make Bridget behave right now. I have other things on my mind.”
Franny inclined her chin to the ladies who lumbered about chopping and kicking the air like convulsing spiders taking their last breath of air. “At least they are moving, which I suppose is exercise, therefore beneficial.”
“Bridget thinks she is an ancient Oriental warrior.” Josie peered over her shoulder to watch the ladies, then burst into hysterical laughter.
Franny joined her, and soon they guffawed until tears ran down their cheeks.
Josie dried her eyes and straightened. Her voice serious, she declared, “I have something to tell you.”
This must be the night of confessions. Not that Franny minded. She loved helping her people. “Go on,” she encouraged.
“I have not had my monthly courses, and do you see this?” She pointed at the tiny pink bumps covering her face. “Either I am a girl of ten and four again or I am…”
Franny grabbed and hugged her. “With child.”
“Shh. They didn’t hear you in St Giles,” Josie whispered.
“I’m sorry.” Franny lowered her voice. “Nicolas must be thrilled.”
“He is keeping it a secret until I tell you and your father. I shall tell Coach tonight before I leave. Tomorrow, Nicolas will tell Bridget, which means by tomorrow night, all of London will know.”
“True,” Franny said. Probably all of England as well.
Jonathan Davenport, who had been noticeably absent the past few days, sauntered into the gymnasium. A man wearing a hooded cape, who was slightly shorter and much slighter than the viscount, walked beside him. The viscount’s palm cradled the man’s lower back.
“How very odd,” Josie said.
“Indeed,” Franny agreed. Although the viscount was exceedingly amicable, he didn’t escort men about the city with a protective hand on their person.
The viscount inclined his chin toward Franny’s office. “May I speak with you both privately?”
Once the four of them stood in Franny’s office, the viscount extended his palm. “May I present Her Ladyship, Jabbing Josie Wentworth, the future Viscountess of Shiredale, and Missus Fiery Franny Robinson.”
The cloaked figure proffered a delicate hand with slender fingers. Seeming unsure of himself, he withdrew his offer and removed his hood.