Chapter Twenty-Nine
Just two days earlier, Jonathan had married the amazing woman seated across from him.
“The best decision of my life,” he’d declared at least a dozen times since then.
Currently, she alternated between smiling as she engaged in the conversation whizzing around them and devouring a sponge cake.
He’d known since the first time they strolled past Clifton’s Confectionery—which seemed like a lifetime ago, even though only two months had passed—that she would enjoy the charming shop.
What he had not known was that on their first visit, they would be surrounded by family.
But here they were, all seven of them, seated around the table, the scent of buttery baked goods wafting throughout the elegant but comfortable Parisian-style space as they talked and laughed.
“I dare say, Gen, I had no idea that pugilists consumed cakes, berries, and cream,” Christopher taunted.
Grinning, Gen licked her lips.
Jonathan couldn’t help but chuckle. Now that she was no longer starving to death—as evidenced by her well-defined muscles, as well as her stellar athleticism—she strictly adhered to her training diet of beef broth, porridge, and eggs.
He had no idea how she remained disciplined with Cook overfeeding the household, but his wife was determined to be a champion.
Today though, she was enthusiastically enjoying her indulgence.
On the other hand, her little sister indulged every chance she got. The mountain of baked goods on Sophia’s plate had toppled over, creating an unappetizing, motley mound.
Fighting a gag at the sight of the hodgepodge, Jonathan leaned toward Sophia. “Do you think you have enough?” He enjoyed watching the girl’s eyes shine every time he playfully goaded her.
Sophia popped a bite into her mouth, chewed, and swallowed.
“Father took all of our sweets away. He said we couldn’t have any until we told him where Gen was.
Of course, we didn’t know—not that we would have told him if we did.
He could have starved us to death, and we still would have protected her.
Mrs. Whistler tried to sneak us biscuits, but when he found out, he smacked her and threw them out the window.
At least the birds enjoyed them.” She picked up what was once an artfully decorated cake, then licked across the top of it, scooping up the pink icing on her tongue.
Even though Arthur Bailey was dead, every time someone mentioned him, an ache pinged in Jonathan’s heart. He could not erase the abuse the siblings had suffered, and yet he was doing his damndest to make their lives wonderful from here on out.
He nudged his shoulder against Sophia’s and pointed at her overfull plate. “I wager you can’t eat all of those.”
Her adorable nose twitched. “I bet you a kitten that I can.”
He had every intention of gifting her a kitten whether she finished the treats or not. Still, he played along, holding out his hand. “Deal.”
Her sticky fingers clasped his hand and shook.
From beneath the table, Floppy protested with a soft, “Arff.”
Sophia peered down at the dog. “Don’t worry, Horatio. I will still love you even after I win a kitten.” She tore off the edge of a pastry, holding it to his nose. He sniffed, gobbled it up, and then licked her fingers clean.
“Jonathan and Genevieve, I am so sorry I missed your wedding,” his sister Caroline said, drawing his attention away from Sophia’s handwashing and her attempt to eat a sugar volcano.
He had assured his sister at least a half dozen times that she couldn’t control the weather, and still she apologized profusely.
Jonathan’s one-year-old nephew, Max, gurgled with happiness as Caroline bounced him on her lap. Performing for the babe, Jonathan widened his eyes, opened and closed his mouth like a guppy, and waggled his fingers. Max giggled.
Cooing at her grandson, Jonathan’s mother took the baby’s hand in hers. “You were only one day late, Caroline, and it could not be helped. I am thrilled that you and Maximillian could visit before Christopher had to leave for school.”
“It has been lovely to spend time with you, Christopher,” Caroline said. “Little Max adores you.”
True. The lad seemed to enjoy male attention.
“Are you excited to return to your studies?” Caroline asked.
“Exceedingly so,” Christopher said. “I shall finish the semester at Eton, and thanks to Lord Davenport investing in my future, I hope to attend Oxford next year. Although I wish I weren’t leaving so soon. I hate that I am going to miss Gen’s big mill against Mad Hurricane Meg.”
“Do not fret, I shall write and tell you all about it,” Gen said. “You can watch me fight when you come to London this summer.” Her eyes pleading, she regarded her brother. “That is, if you plan to spend the summer in the city. I know how much you love the fresh country air.”
Christopher blew out a long huff. “I think we should close Thorn Manor until I finish my degree. Then, I will deal with the rot, decay, and painful memories.”
“You may use my man of business to assist you with anything you need,” Jonathan offered. “He is quite competent and trustworthy.”
“Thank you,” Christopher said. “I shall take you up on that offer.”
Sophia eyed her mush with skepticism.
“Your beak can hold more than your belly can,” Jonathan teased.
“I am not a pelican,” she said, alluding to their personal mealtime joke. Turning her attention to her brother, she frowned. “Christopher, I don’t ever want to return to Thorn Manor. Please let me stay here with Gen and the Davenports forever.”
“You are welcome to stay with us as long as you would like,” Jonathan’s mother said. “All of you can stay with us. Forever.”
Caroline rolled her eyes. “Mother, I can visit for a month. But then I must return home. I do have a husband, you know?”
His mother’s eyes lit up as if she’d just had the greatest epiphany ever. “He can live at Greenpark House, too.”
“Mother.” Jonathan tsked. “Do not make Caroline feel guilty for having her own life. Of course, Sophia, you can stay with us as long as you want.”
“Sophia will need a tutor,” his mother declared, holding her finger in the air as she often did when she wanted to emphasize the magnificence of one of her ideas. “We have room for a tutor to live with us.”
If his mother had her way, all of London would share their home, which was entirely too many people for Jonathan.
However, he quite enjoyed having Gen’s siblings with them.
And the tutor was fine. Perhaps he’d even sit in on a few lessons and learn a thing or two to make up for his avoidance of schoolwork when he was a student.
“I am sure we can find room for Sophia’s tutor. Kitty also has a place on our staff,” Jonathan added. “And Christopher can stay with us during school holidays.”
His mother’s eyes took on a faraway, dreamy look. “That sounds lovely.”
“My lord, do you think you can find a permanent position for Melvin and Mrs. Whistler?” Christopher asked.
“I know Melvin can be quite uppity, but he looked out for us in the end. Clyde, our carriage driver and groom, can rot in hell for all I care. Pfft. Abducting Gen to appease our monster of a worthless father.”
Jonathan knew firsthand what it felt like to become the patriarch of a family at a young age.
At least Jonathan’s father had been honorable, and he had finished university before having the weight of the world thrust upon him.
He would do everything in his power to help Christopher navigate the choppy ocean of responsibility, so he didn’t drown gasping for breath.
“I require more staff at Millhurst Manor,” Jonathan said.
“I plan to spend more time in the country when Gen isn’t competing.
In fact, we plan to visit for a month this summer.
Perhaps Mother and Sophia might want to stay longer.
All of that to say, I will offer Melvin and Mrs. Whistler suitable positions. ”
“Thank you,” Christopher said. “When I am able, I will repay you for your kindness to my family and staff.”
“Of course. Your family is my family,” Jonathan said.
“The other day when Lord Davenport took me to White’s I overheard a rumor,” Christopher said.
Gen held up her palm. “Don’t spread tittle-tattle.”
“But this is about Lord Kilsby,” Christopher said.
“Oh, Gen, please let him tell us.” Sophia blinked her wide pleading eyes and wiggled her nose. The chit had mastered the art of adorable manipulation.
Gen sighed.
“Well,” Christopher said, “He has pox marks on his hands. You know what that means?”
Gen shivered.
“No, what?” Sophia asked.
As much as Jonathan would enjoy reveling in Kilsby’s public shame, he had no desire to make the women uncomfortable. “Let us move onto more appropriate conversation in the company of ladies.” It seemed like marriage might be turning him into a respectable gentleman.
“I hear that Mad Hurricane Meg is dashed good,” Christopher said, bringing the conversation back to Gen’s fight. “They say her moniker is well-deserved.”
“She is not as good as The Ghost.” Jonathan winked at his wife.
Sophia struggled to swallow the large bite she’d just shoved into her mouth. He needed to end the silly wager before the girl cast up her accounts all over the pastel tablecloth.
Sophia finally forced the bite down. “No one is as good as The Ghost.”
“Thank you for the vote of confidence,” Gen said.
“Bear told me that Meg is quite good. He found her dressed as a man and fighting in horrific conditions. She is training at the St Giles Gymnasium that the Valentines used to own. Bear said that she is so wild and undisciplined that a well-conditioned, intelligent fighter can beat her. I dare say, I feel well-prepared for this mill.”
“You will beat her.” His wife could accomplish anything she set her mind to.
“Genevieve, you truly are amazing,” Caroline said. “I must confess, I am quite envious of your pluck.”
Jonathan’s heart warmed every time he was reminded that his sister and wife had become fast friends.
Sophia picked up a pastry and glowered at it before blanching and dropping it onto her plate. “Maybe I will be a boxer, too. I am going to take the ladies’ exercise class with Lady Davenport. No one will ever hurt me again.”
Whether she learned defensive skills or not, no man would ever hurt Sophia now that she lived under Jonathan’s roof. Still, he was of the opinion that every woman ought to know how to blacken the eye of an assailant without a man’s assistance.
“And Gen is going to teach a class at The Silk Knuckles Academy for Enterprising Ladies, once it is up and running,” Sophia declared proudly.
“Oh?” Caroline asked. “What class will you be teaching, Genevieve?”
“I know ’tis not proper for a viscountess to have a trade, so I am volunteering to teach reading classes for working-class girls,” Gen said.
“Viscountesses also should not engage in fisticuffs.” Christopher grinned.
Genevieve playfully punched her brother’s shoulder. “As I was saying, the school is Lady Milton’s project, and I owe her for a favor she did for me once upon a time.”
Ah. Gen had not forgotten the coin Celeste had pressed into her palm. Even though she was now a beloved pugilist earning her own blunt, and married to a wealthy lord, she was still appreciative of a meager coin. Just another endearing quality to love.
Whimpering, Sophia pushed her plate back.
“Shall we go?” Jonathan asked. “On the way home, I would like to stop by the Planks’. What do you think, Sophia?”
Her brow rose as it often did when she was waiting to find out what new taunt he had up his sleeve. “Who are the Planks?”
“Our neighbors, who own a menagerie. I hear they have a new litter of kittens.”
“Really?” Sophia asked, her hands clasped together beneath her chin as if she were praying that he was serious.
“Absolutely,” he said with a nod.
Floppy’s enthusiastic “woof” sounded more like excitement than skepticism.
“But I did not eat everything,” Sophia said.
Jonathan shrugged. “You did not ask me what I won if you couldn’t eat it all?”
She tilted her head thoughtfully. “What do you win?”
“I get to buy my sister-in-law a kitten.”
Sophia’s grin widened, and her eyes twinkled. “Then we better go while they still have good kittens left.”
As his party gathered their belongings, their server handed Genevieve a package wrapped in brown paper and string.
“What is that?” Jonathan asked.
“I hope you do not mind. I ordered a few pastries for Whale,” Genevieve said.
“Wonderful idea,” he declared.
“Do the Planks have goats in their menagerie?” Sophia asked.
Christopher bopped his little sister’s nose. “Mouse, you can’t have a goat in Mayfair.”
She sighed. “I know. I was just curious.”
Chuckling, and arm-in-arm with his wife, Jonathan strolled onto the breezy London street, surrounded by his family.