Chapter Twenty-Six
Soon after revealing her secret, the unbearable weight on Genevieve’s shoulders lightened and the invisible rope around her neck loosened.
She’d said the truth out loud and the world had continued spinning.
Currently, she wasn’t even nervous about her fight.
Soon, she would be holding Christopher and Sophia in her arms. And in the near future, she would be a countess, married to the most wonderful man in the world.
Today was a new dawn with a fresh start.
Last evening, after she had finally fallen asleep, she’d had the most peaceful rest that she could recall while warm and safe in Jonathan’s arms. When she’d awakened, he’d still been slumbering, so she’d kissed his cheek.
Since he had seen to her massage last night, she let him sleep in.
She stole to her room, the ache between her legs just enough to remind her of their lovemaking, but not enough to keep her from striding quickly.
First, she’d walked Horatio around the grounds. Afterward, she’d dressed in a long, white tunic and hakama trousers that a woman named Lady Paulsgrove had gifted Josie.
“Lady P wears them to fight and had one made for me,” Josie told Genevieve at her last training session.
“’Tis easy to move in. Since I’m not currently fighting, you can wear it.
I’d love to see it put to good use.” She’d shrugged.
“I suppose it is meant to be, since the fabric is as white as a ghost.”
Genevieve had graciously accepted the kimono-like garments.
The luxurious ensemble was much less scandalous than showing her chemise or wearing men’s clothing.
Not that she begrudged the other ladies their choices of fighting attire.
But her preference was for the same silky, light outfits Lady Paulsgrove wore.
Feeling comfortable and confident, Genevieve entered the dining parlor to find that many of the duke’s guests were already seated around the table. Jonathan held his word shield, and a newspaper was spread in front of him. He looked up from the paper and winked at her.
She hadn’t realized he’d traveled with the gift she’d given him. And he was reading in front of people as if he weren’t ashamed. Pride surged through her until she felt as if she were glowing. Together, they had conquered their demons.
“Help yourself, Gen,” the duke said. “Cook prepared everything a fighter, and a spectator, need to fuel for a long day.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she said.
Hearing her voice must have shocked her companions because every gaze in the room turned toward her.
Shockingly, she didn’t even color up. With her shoulders pulled back, she strolled to the buffet table and filled a bowl with porridge and fruit.
She added a scoop of eggs and then took the seat beside Roseanna, who greeted her with a warm smile.
She and Roseanna ate in companionable silence as the hum of conversations swirled around them.
A few minutes later, Bear, Whale, and a guardsman named Shark, who sported sharp, knife-like teeth, entered the room. Apparently, they had arrived overnight while the rest of them were sleeping… Or tupping. She smiled at her porridge.
Grinning broadly, Whale sat on the other side of Genevieve. The chair squeaked beneath the bulk of his massive body, and his wide shoulder accidentally brushed hers. “You got lots to eat now,” he said in his tiny voice.
Genevieve suspected he was alluding to the times he’d thrown food out the back door of The Purple Rabbit for her, which meant that she’d been recognized—again.
“Thank you for the bread you gave me,” she said. She would have starved to death without this kindred soul’s kindness.
He patted his chest. “Whale and Miss Ghost are friends.” He pointed at her. “Ye’re pretty now, ye are.”
Goodness, this giant of a man with his limited speech and child-like innocence was sweet.
“I am happy you are my friend,” she said. Somehow, she would pay him back for what he’d done for her.
“I like sweetmeats and tickles.” He smiled so big that his eyes resembled slits above his round cheeks.
Apparently, the next step in their friendship was sharing their interests. “I like dogs and biscuits,” she said. And touches and kisses from a very handsome viscount.
Bear cleared his throat with a very loud Ah, hmm.
“The mill is already filled with spectators,” he announced in his ringmaster voice.
Once everyone focused on him, he continued.
“There are carriages parked everywhere, and the wagers are flowing. There is a lot of excitement about the female pugilists.”
Roseanna clasped Genevieve’s hand and squeezed.
“Gen, I like the white.” Bear pointed at her tunic. “But why aren’t you in your stage paint yet? And Roseanna, I wanna see you looking glamorous. Men want alluring. You’re a pretty chit beneath the men’s clothing. That ugly rag on your head has got to go. In the rubbish bin, I say.”
Roseanna scowled at him. “With all due respect, Bear, shove a burning hot poker up your arse. I’ll wear what I want, and so will Gen.”
The duke’s fork clattered onto his plate as his gaze traveled back and forth between the promoter and his champion.
“And this is why the classes shouldn’t mix,” Josie said with a snort, her words laced with sarcasm. At least, Genevieve suspected it was sarcasm since the female pugilist from the east-end had married a future earl.
Genevieve held Roseanna’s hand high, so that everyone witnessed their female solidarity. “I have decided I shall forgo a disguise,” she declared for all to hear.
The truth was that she no longer felt the need to hide behind the uncomfortable face paint.
Grinning, Jonathan folded his paper and leaned back in his chair. “Everyone, meet both my champion and my future viscountess, Genevieve Bailey, the sixth Earl of Shipley’s granddaughter.”
There were a few gasps, none of them Genevieve’s because she was much too busy smiling at her fiancé.
“We were correct,” Franny said to Josie.
“Of course, we are always correct,” Josie declared. “Dancing hearts are practically oozing out their ears and swirling around their heads.”
Bear roared with laughter. “Well, I’ll be bound.
This is gonna be a fabulous exhibition match.
I love me some feisty women.” He rubbed his hands together.
“And I got myself an honest-to-God born and bred lady. Damnations, sometimes the Lord above smiles down upon a man, not that I deserve such blessings. But I’ll take ’em anyway, and I’ll be damned grateful.
Although could you two lovelies at least pretend to dislike each other to appease the animals?
I don’t want you permanently maimed or disfigured, but a snarl or two would be good for business. ”
Roseanna snarled at Bear. Genevieve laughed, then enthusiastically followed her lead, adding some furious growls for good measure. Soon everyone, from the most powerful duke in England, to a henchman from the East End with shark-like blades for teeth, snarled and growled.
Bam! Bam! Bam! The Duke of Griffendale pounded on the table as if he were a red-bearded heathen king of an ancient Nordic tribe. The table vibrated, the cups shook, and coffee splashed.
“Who is ready for a mill?” the duke called to his guests.
“Me!” Genevieve hollered, her voice mingling with those of her new unlikely friends.
*
Bear had been correct; carriages were everywhere, and spectators packed the old mill. The fires flaming in the braziers did little to heat the high-ceilinged building, and in Genevieve’s humble opinion, they were fire hazards set amongst the unruly mob.
Whale escorted her through the cheering crowd to the slightly raised platform, where he lifted the rope so that she and Franny could climb into the ring.
“You do good, Miss Ghost,” Whale said.
As she tickled him under the chin, his gigantic body shook with laughter.
Feeling oddly at peace, Genevieve strolled to her corner and searched the crowd for Jonathan.
He stood so close that she could look into his eyes for a dose of courage.
But, for the first time in her life, she possessed all the mettle she needed.
He blew her a kiss, which she caught and placed over her heart.
“Thorny Rose,” the crowd cheered as Shark escorted Roseanna and Josie through the throng to the opposite corner.
Bear raised his hand. Once the crowd quieted to a low rumble, he brought his speaking trumpet to his mouth. “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen. Are you ready for His Grace’s Frosty Set-to?”
The crowd went wild, chanting, clapping, and stomping.
Once the cacophony subsided, Bear continued.
“Thank you to His Grace, the Duke of Griffendale, for hosting this fine mill. All of today’s participants train at the best boxing gymnasium in London, The Silk Knuckles Saloon.
We are starting the afternoon off with some lady pugilists.
Don’t be fooled by their beauty. Warrior hearts beat beneath their soft skin. ”
Bear’s dramatic pause gave the audience time to raise a proper din.
“Stick around,” he declared, “and keep the wagers coming because we have with us today eight of the deadliest fists in London.”
“Roll like the Stone,” some spectators cheered.
“Kill ’em Thumbs,” someone hollered.
“Womp! Pete the Trojan. Womp! Pete The Trojan.”
“S-s-spider,” a few dozen people hissed.
Genevieve absorbed the crowd’s enthusiasm and energy until her body hummed with excitement. Hopping from one foot to the other, she shook out her hands.
“Up first,” Bear said. “Oh, you’re gonna love these beauties. Up first, we have Thorny Rose and The Ghost.”
The crowd was so rambunctious that the platform beneath Genevieve vibrated.
“In this corner—” his hand palm-up, Bear presented Genevieve. “The specter who strikes, then vanishes. ’Tis her first time in the ring, so show this fast-moving phantom some fondness. The Ghost!”
“Go, Ghost, go,” someone yelled. The chant caught on, echoing around Genevieve.
“Go, Ghost, go,” Jonathan chorused so loudly that Genevieve distinguished his voice from all the others.
Unfortunately, it was time for Genevieve to prance around the ring to show the spectators what she was made of.
“The Fancy does love a show,” Bear had told her on the carriage ride to the mill.
“Give ’em what they want. Make ’em happy and you have a place at The Purple Rabbit.
” However, since she was to be a wealthy viscount’s wife, she was no longer desperate for money.
She still wanted to be a pugilist, but now she could fight on her own terms and remain true to herself.
If Bear didn’t think she was exciting enough, then he would lose his “honest-to-God, born and bred lady.”
As the crowd chanted, “Give ’em The Ghost,” Genevieve promenaded the perimeter of the ring, smiling, waving, and blowing kisses.
Nothing aggressive, nothing tawdry, nothing scandalous.
Just her, showing appreciation to those who were there to cheer for her.
Of course, since she was the granddaughter of an earl, she was well aware that her participation itself was exceedingly scandalous.
Once Genevieve returned to Franny, Bear swung his upturned palm in Roseanna’s direction. Even in her “ugly rag” and men’s shirt and breeches, she looked both feminine and formidable.
“And in this corner, fair to see, but deadly to touch, we have the undefeated Thorny Rose.”
“Thorn-ey Rose, Thorn-ey Rose,” the crowd cheered as Roseanna prowled the ring, stopping here and there to throw a combination of rapid punches.
Roseanna was larger than life and so confident that she didn’t have to resort to stripteases or bawdy behavior like some of the other female fighters did while trying to appease the crowd.
Bear motioned for Genevieve and Roseanna to join him in the center of the ring. They approached and stared into each other’s eyes while trying to look adversarial as they fought smiles.
“Remember the rules agreed upon,” Bear said.
“Irish fighting style. No kicking. No biting. No weapons. No hair pulling. And absolutely no direct hits to the mouth. This is an exhibition with eight three-minute rounds. One minute rest between rounds. I will stop the fight if I think either of you is too injured to continue. We won’t be declaring a winner.
” He dropped the speaking trumpet and lowered his voice so that only they could hear—not that anyone else was privy to his whisper with the raucous cheering.
“The wagers on you two are coming in faster than a randy monkey orgasms.”
Wagers? On what? Which woman threw the most jabs? Who spent the most time with her back against the ropes? Which one of them sweated the most?
“Fighters, do you agree to these terms?” Bear asked them through the speaking trumpet.
“Yes,” they said in unison.
“Good luck, Gen,” Roseanna said.
“You too,” Genevieve whispered back, since it seemed like the polite thing to do. However, Roseanna didn’t need luck.
Roseanna’s smile faded, and her lips firmed. The look of determination rapidly spread across her countenance, reminding Genevieve that despite their camaraderie, this was serious, possibly dangerous business.
“We will begin the mill in a few moments,” Bear said. “You can return to your corners until then.”
Genevieve crossed the ring to settle onto Franny’s knee.
“Remember to pace yourself,” Franny said as she checked Genevieve’s hand wraps. “Stay inside her reach. Your hips hold your power, so your arm and hip need to move together. Use your speed. And most importantly, breathe.”
“Got it,” Genevieve said.
It was time to block out everything but the task in front of her. Genevieve inhaled an icy breath. Her exhale curled upward until it dispersed. She continued to breathe deeply until Bear motioned for her to come forward.
Her shoulders thrown back confidently, Genevieve stepped up to the scratch line, placed her toe on the line, and tapped knuckles with Roseanna.
“There you are,” a voice she’d hoped never to hear again said, breaking her concentration.
Fear skittered up her spine. Dear God, no. It couldn’t be. Not here. Not right this second.
“Genevieve,” her father cooed.
Swallowing, she turned her head to look into piercing blue Bailey eyes. The devil’s face was pressed against the rope, and his smirk was so malicious she feared for her life.
The bell clanged.
“Round one,” Bear called into the speaking trumpet.