Chapter Nineteen
There was not a single doubt in Jonathan’s mind that Gen was avoiding him. Confounding indeed, because typically, women sought out his company.
At first, he’d made excuses that soothed his pride, but continuing to do so after her many attempts to evade him was delusional.
This morning, he’d dragged his tired arse out of bed, dressed in warm clothing, donned his shite-for-running fencing shoes, and rushed down the stairs to find a note sitting on the chair by the door.
A bloody large-lettered note! And a pithy one at that, as if she were mocking his reading difficulties. Went for run early. G
Double-checking his watch, he determined he was three minutes late, then berated himself for his tardiness. Upon further introspection, she could have waited three blasted minutes.
In his defense, the hour was ungodly.
It was just a few moments ago, as he sat in his carriage on his way to The Silk Knuckles, that it occurred to him his extra three minutes of sleep had nothing to do with her decision. Going for run early meant she’d purposely risen before the planned time and done her road work without him.
At breakfast, when he asked her how her run had gone, she’d refused to meet his gaze. She’d also played with her food, pushing it around her plate, barely eating anything.
“Gen,” he’d said in his most authoritative voice because he was both trying to get her attention and attempting to behave like an engaged benefactor, when the truth was, he didn’t know how to be a dutiful caregiver. “You have to gain a stone, or you will get hurt.”
Shoulders sagging, she’d shoved a forkful of eggs into her mouth. The mouthful was so large that she struggled to chew and swallow. He’d been certain she was going to gag.
You are overfeeding her, he’d convinced himself. So much so that she was sick to her stomach.
Knowing that he still had to respond to Gen’s declaration of affection, he’d sought out her company that afternoon. Despite her earlier dismissive attitude, he’d entered the drawing room with confidence in his swagger and a grin on his face.
His mother looked up from her book and smiled at him. Gen kept her gaze focused on the page she was reading.
“Gen, the sun is out this afternoon, so would you care to go for a constitutional?” he’d asked. “We must make the most of these clear days because winter will soon cast her cloudy days upon us.”
To his surprise, she’d written No in big letters on her drawing pad, holding it high for him to see.
Since he couldn’t tell her how he felt about her in front of his mother, he’d gawked at her two-letter rejection while wondering what he could say to convince her to change her mind.
“I suppose you are still tired from your run,” he’d finally said, because why else wouldn’t she want to walk with him if she favored him? He was damn charming, and as fun as the dickens to boot.
Not to mention, most women of his acquaintance found him handsome, so there was that.
But she’d continued to stare at her book as she nodded.
“Do you want to go for a walk, Floppy?” he’d asked, trying to hide his dejection. The mutt hopped onto all fours, patching Jonathan’s wounded pride. “Come along then, boy.” Floppy’s tail wagged so hard, his bum wiggled as he rushed to Johnathon’s side.
Meanwhile, his mother had observed the scene with her lips pursed. Typically, a loquacious woman who loved to share her thoughts and opinions, she hadn’t said a word.
And then, the final blow to Jonathan’s hubris came when his mother informed him that she was taking Gen to the gymnasium. Apparently, without regard for his plans, Gen had arranged a late afternoon training session with Franny.
By this time, frustration oozed from him. “I would have taken you early,” he declared, his jaw tense.
“Gen didn’t want to inconvenience you if you had interviews today,” his mother had said.
He’d glared at Gen—not that she knew, since she refused to look at him. “If Gen had cared to ask me, she would know that I didn’t have any interviews today.”
His house guest’s face had flushed scarlet. So be it. She was being impossible.
“Jonathan,” his mother had scolded. “Whatsoever has you in such a temper?”
“I wonder,” he’d declared, then stomped to his study, where he’d locked himself away for a couple of hours while he tried to make sense of the muddle.
The blasted woman had told him that he was the most wonderful man in the world.
He’d have wagered a fortune that she loved spending time with him.
If she was shunning him because he hadn’t told her he favored her, that was bloody insane because he couldn’t communicate with her if she planned to sneak away like last night, and then snub him all day, like she was currently doing.
“Insufferable blasted woman,” he grumbled.
The carriage came to a stop in front of The Silk Knuckles.
Taking a moment to compose himself, he plastered a broad smile on his face.
Once his mood almost matched his congenial expression, he strode into the gymnasium.
Heading toward an unused sandbag, he waved to Nicolas and Griffendale, who were in the far ring with Coach and a couple of new hulking blokes.
*
After taking out his frustration on a sandbag and then curling the dumbbells until his muscles ached, Jonathan had clarity.
Gen’s behavior was entirely his fault.
One. He was the one who had a reputation for tupping his way across London.
Two. He had emphatically declared that he did not want a relationship.
Three. He had not shown enough appreciation for the present she’d obviously taken great care to make for him.
Four. He should have gone after her the second he’d deciphered her message instead of being wishy-washy about how he felt. She probably assumed that aristocrats did not pledge devotion to the pauperized. What she didn’t know, because he’d never told her, was that he did not care about such things.
Five. She might have seen him following her last night.
He’d hardly been discreet. Most men who did such things were persistent pursuers or insanely jealous.
He was more of the curious, I-need-to-protect-her type, but how would she feel about it?
Jonathan realized with a bit of chagrin that he’d be livid if someone had tracked him across town, spying on him.
Taking his five conclusions into consideration, he needed to make amends—and sooner rather than later.
Ignoring the sweat slicking his body, Jonathan slid back into, then buttoned his shirt as he strolled across the gymnasium to lean against a far wall. From where he stood, he could watch Gen train.
Perspiration soaked her shirt and hair and sweat beaded on her forehead.
Currently, she formed a horizontal line with Roseanna, Pete, and Thumbs.
Remaining still, their fingers locked behind their heads, they resembled statues of ancient warriors.
Franny stood in front of them, leather mufflers protecting her hands.
Christ almighty, he recognized this drill, and there was no way Gen could withstand what was about to happen to her.
He watched as Franny thrust her fist into Roseanna’s breadbasket. Roseanna’s only reaction was her controlled hiss.
“Perfect,” Franny said. “Gen, did you hear how Roseanna exhaled forcefully? It helped her firm her abdominals. It also prevented her from holding her breath or gasping when I punched her.”
Gen nodded.
Franny continued down the line, punching Pete, then Thumbs. At last, Franny stepped in front of Gen. Jonathan’s stomach soured. Even though he looked away, he still heard both the punch and Gen’s hissed exhale.
“Excellent, Gen,” Franny said. “Another round.”
Jonathan moaned. Franny usually put her fighters through at least twelve rounds of this abuse. He understood the reasons for it and had always enjoyed watching the men complete the drill, but watching women, Gen in particular, unsettled him.
“Good evening, Lord Davenport,” Edward Robinson said at his side as he approached.
“Robinson,” Jonathan said, still watching Franny drill the fighters. “You made it this evening.” The Bow Street Runner often arrived late and sometimes didn’t even make it to the gymnasium because he worked long hours.
Robinson answered, but Jonathan had no idea what he’d said because he was too busy wincing as Gen suffered another gut punch.
But then it was over and he was able to look at the man. “Franny is quite impressed with Gen,” Robinson declared. “She said she works hard and is an amazing athlete.”
Indeed! “How do you do it?” Jonathan asked.
Robinson’s brow furrowed. “Do you mean solve crimes and track down criminals?”
“Although I admire your profession, I meant, how do you watch Franny get hit when she fights?”
Robinson’s gaze slid from Jonathan to Gen.
“Ah,” he murmured with a subtle nod, as if something had just dawned on him.
“Well, Franny was a pugilist before I fell in love with her, so I couldn’t ask her to give it up once we married.
But the truth is, I thought I was going to have an apoplexy at her last mill. ”
Feeling a little less emasculated, Jonathan nodded but forced himself to watch as Gen completed her drills. The runner stood beside him throughout.
“I can’t help but notice the way you look at Gen,” Robinson said. “Not that I like to meddle in relationships.”
Jonathan steeled himself for Gen’s punch, which she stoically accepted without even a flinch. He, on the other hand, gasped and experienced sympathy pains that had him clutching his stomach.
“I am telling you this because from what Franny and the others tell me, I think she is running from something or someone,” Robinson said. “She could be in danger, and that concerns me.”
A prickle of trepidation raised the hair on Jonathan’s neck. “So, you are telling me I need to be more concerned about something in her past than these boxing drills?”
“That’s my guess,” Robinson said.
The lawman’s instincts were impeccable, so it would be foolish to ignore them. “I’ve assumed as much.” Jonathan moved closer to Robinson so that he wouldn’t be overheard. “In fact…I would like to hire you to look into the relationship between Lord Kilsby, a Doctor Arnold, and Gen,” he whispered.
“Of course,” Edward said. “The thing is, I’ve already started investigating.”
“Oh?” Jonathan asked.
“Franny and Josie asked me to. They care about Gen. And I should warn you, your mother also hired me last night.”
So, Jonathan, dolt that he could be, was the last one to think of asking Robinson, the best investigator in London, to look into Gen’s past.
As he often did when he was frustrated, Jonathan scraped his fingers through his hair as if it helped him organize his thoughts, which it rarely did. “Do you know anything yet?”
“No,” Robinson said. “Lady Davenport mentioned Kilsby, so I attempted to call on him earlier today, but he refused to see me. From now on, I won’t give him a choice. This is the first time I’ve heard of the Arnolds. I will see what I can find out.”
“Thank you,” Jonathan said.
Pete, Thumbs, and Roseanna crossed the gymnasium, headed in Coach’s direction.
Robinson thumbed toward Franny and Gen. “I believe Franny just dismissed them. Gen survived.”
Not only had she survived, but her eyes were bright, and she was smiling. And she was looking at him for the first time in over twenty-four hours. He waved. She dropped her gaze to her feet.
Robinson motioned for Jonathan to follow him. Together they approached the ladies.
“Impressive, Gen,” Robinson said.
“Honestly, I think Gen is ready for her exhibition with Roseanna,” Franny said. “And if that goes well, Bear has already agreed to book her at The Purple Rabbit. That is, if you are up for an underground mill, Gen. I know Lord Davenport doesn’t care about the legality, or lack thereof.”
“I didn’t hear a thing,” Robinson said. “No illegal mills are happening that I know of.”
Jonathan was of the opinion that it was ridiculous that mills were illegal in the city, since most lawmen and members of parliament frequented them, including Robinson, who was the most ethical man of Jonathan’s acquaintance—after Nicolas, that was.
As Robinson covered his ears, Gen beamed.
“I will take that as a ‘yes’,” Franny said.
Now that this was happening, Jonathan wanted to take the entire pudding-headed idea back. He cared too much to toss her into a ring where she could get hurt. However, he also cared too much to stop her from doing something that was important to her.
“We had a very important discussion before training today,” Franny said. “We have decided that Gen will wear cosmetics when she fights in public. White face paint that makes her look like a ghost. The Fancy will love it.”
Indeed, they would. And the disguise would help protect her from whoever and whatever she was hiding from. “Bravo, Gen,” Jonathan said. “I am quite proud of you.”
Gen looked up at him, her soulful blue eyes seeming to ask, Really? as she nibbled on her lip.
“Exceedingly proud,” he said. Despite his misgivings about her getting hurt, he truly was.
She smiled at him, and it was as if the entire room brightened.
Suddenly feeling optimistic, he sent her the charming grin that, before yesterday, she’d seemed to favor. “Would you care to ride home with me?”
Her gaze slid to his mother, who was descending the stairs. She’d probably been enjoying a drink in the parlor with her friends, and she certainly wouldn’t care if Gen chose to ride with him.
He was not above groveling in front of Franny and Edward. “Please,” he pleaded. “I want to talk to you.” Needed would be the more accurate word.
To his delight, Gen nodded. His hope was restored as the air around them crackled with unsaid emotion.