Chapter Eight #2
“So, after that scandal, we have a new rule,” Jonathan continued.
“While the ladies’ class is in session, the gymnasium is closed to most men.
The young lads who help maintain the gymnasium are an exception, as are coach Valentine’s champions.
In fact, the men in the closest ring are The Trojan and Thumbs McCartney.
And the man instructing them is Calder Valentine, the best coach in London.
Some say even better than Gentleman Jackson.
In the far ring are my best mate, Nicolas Wentworth, and Bow Street Runner Edward Robinson.
They do not compete. They spar for exercise.
They have their hands full attending to their spirited wives, Josie and Franny. ”
How wonderful that husbands supported their wives’ dreams. Genevieve didn’t know that men like that existed.
Although perhaps Christopher would someday be such a man, since he was kind and wise, unlike their father.
If only she could share this amazing oasis with her brother.
Undoubtedly, he would thrive in this atmosphere of companionship, competition, and self-improvement. And even Sophia, maybe…
Lord Davenport pointed at a man and a woman beside a sandbag. “That is the Duke of Griffendale, and he is working with Roseanna Chapman.” The viscount chortled. “He thinks he is teaching her how to hit, but that woman could knock him out with one blow.”
She must have been rather impressive, because the duke was massive. He was also quite handsome, although, in Genevieve’s opinion, not as comely as the viscount. The lovely Celeste must have needed her head examined if she’d chosen Tristan Keats over Jonathan Davenport.
“The lads hefting the dumbbells are Sky and Charlie,” the viscount said. “Responsible and resilient, those two.”
The adolescents probably hadn’t yet shaved, but how remarkable that they were here, sculpting their muscles instead of running around tormenting dogs and street people.
“And that—” he rolled his eyes—“is Bridget Wentworth.” The woman he indicated was flailing about, her uncoordinated limbs making her resemble a mosquito caught in a spider’s web.
For some odd reason, the other women were imitating her.
Hopefully, no one would expect Genevieve to move like that because she had no desire to injure her muscles.
“She is the Earl of Shiredale’s daughter and Nicolas’s sister. Don’t worry. She is not the instructor. She just fancies herself an ancient Chinese warrior.”
Genevieve’s smile tugged on her cheeks.
“The women Bridget has commandeered are an influential lot. Lady Helena Siddons is amongst them.”
Genevieve studied each of the women, searching for Lady Siddons, who was said to be one of the queen’s confidantes. She suspected she was the woman with red hair, streaks of gray edging her temples. Despite her choppy movements, her presence commanded respect.
“As you can see, most of the ladies wear loose-fitting dresses and slippers. When Franny and Josie spar and compete, they pull their dresses to their waists and knot the sleeves to hold their frock in place. They bind their bosoms, but there are some ladies who go topless when they fight.”
Genevieve’s cheeks heated.
“But not at this gymnasium and not these three lady pugilists. Roseanna chooses to wear men’s breeches and an untucked shirt.”
Genevieve would stick with what she and Roseanna were currently wearing, thank you very much.
“Gen, you can dress as a man, but you can’t fight men,” he said. “When you are here, people must know you are a woman.”
She had not quite thought that through. Of course, he was correct, and the truth was she wouldn’t be able to hide it once people looked closely.
This was slightly unsettling, but hopefully no one in the boxing gymnasium recognized her.
On the rare occasions they visited London, she barely left their house.
Her father kept them isolated except for his despicable friends, and they would never think to look for her here.
She perused the room again. She didn’t recognize a soul. Deep in her heart, she felt like this was a safe place, just so long as no one discovered who she was, and as long as she disguised herself while on the streets, she would remain incognito.
“My mother would like to introduce you to the ladies in the class and the members of the Ladies Autonomy League. There is some overlap. The ladies in the league meet upstairs every week to discuss female matters. Do not worry that you are not of their class. They have accepted Franny, Josie, and a few other women who are not aristocrats into their society.”
But Genevieve was an aristocrat. Not that she could tell them who she was.
Lady Davenport left the ladies’ class to cross the gymnasium and tap Coach Valentine on the shoulder. He acknowledged her with a nod, then continued to work with The Trojan and Thumbs McCartney.
Jonathan’s lips brushed her ear. “I will share a secret with you, but you mustn’t tell anyone.”
As if!
“My mother fancies Coach Valentine,” he whispered.
“She takes her own carriage here most of the time, hoping to invite him to dinner afterward. That is why she left ahead of us. He pretends not to notice her interest. However, he isn’t fooling me.
I see him watching her whenever he thinks no one is looking.
I suspect he doesn’t think a man of his class can court a woman of her class.
In normal circumstances, he can’t. But as you have probably realized, my mother does not allow others to dictate her actions.
Eventually, he will declare his love. I will rant and rave and make it appear as if I disapprove, just to torment them. I do so enjoy taunting my mother.”
Genevieve scowled at him.
He laughed. “Of course, I will quickly acquiesce because they could bring each other so much happiness. And there—” his chin jutted to two beautiful women who seemed to be watching them—“Are Josie and Franny.”
But the women he indicated looked nothing like smashed-nose, big-eared, toothless pugilists. They were beyond beautiful.
The viscount placed his palm on Genevieve’s lower back, the heat from his touch welcome. He guided her across the room as if she belonged to him.
If only…
Once they reached the women, he inclined his chin toward a door. “May I speak with you both privately?”
“Of course,” the pretty brunette said.
The fear that had consumed Genevieve for as long as she could remember had been replaced with excitement at meeting these courageous women. With the viscount by her side, she followed them into an office.
Once the door closed, Lord Davenport dropped his hand and extended his palm. “May I present Her Ladyship, Jabbing Josie, the future Viscountess of Shiredale, and Missus Fiery Franny Robinson.”
Awestruck and unsure of how to react, Genevieve removed her hood.
“And, this is Gen,” the viscount said. “Will you please help her?”