Two men were on the ground while another two had run off. William faced his last opponent, blocked a hammer punch from him, grabbed the man’s wrist, and twisted his arm behind his back. With a yank, the man’s arm popped twice, broken in two places, and he fell to his knees screaming.
Pressing a hand to the wall, William sucked in a breath and rubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t suppose you will catch Brookstone tonight.”
With his back to the wall, Colin burst out laughing.
It's dawn and William is not home yet. Why…
Uneasy, Bridget rose for the morning, washed and dressed, then stepped into the breakfast room. Smoothing the skirts of a simple but elegant peach morning gown, she poured her tea while Lucy arranged her breakfast.
“Excuse me, Your Grace,” Lane said from the door. “You have a visitor.”
“Pardon me?” A woman’s gasp came from behind him. “Lane! I am novisitor. I am family and I would like to meet my daughter-in-law, if you’d please. Now, step aside.”
William’s mother! Oh dear. I never expected this so soon…
The slender lady swept elegantly into the room not a moment later, wearing a dashing aubergine-and-cream striped carriage dress, while pulling her cream gloves off. Bridget was on her feet in moments, heart pounding beneath her breastbone.
Beneath the brim of the feathered leghorn hat, her face was a study of planes and light, with high cheekbones, pale sapphire-colored eyes, and full lips.
“Your Grace!” Bridget bowed clumsily.
“Call me Estelle, dear,” the lady smiled. “When I had heard my nuisance child had chosen to finally marry, I feared for the worst—”
Bridget tensed.
“—that he would marry one of those vain London darlings that has nothing between her ears than grandiose ideas of wealth, privilege, and silk net. But you, you are not so, are you?” Estelle smiled warmer this time.
“Lane told me all about how you managed to wrangle the menu into something that won't have my son wasting away by the time he is forty. God knows that boy lives on coffee and air like his father used to.”
Relieved, Bridget gave a soft laugh, “William seemed to be all right before I came along.”
“Oh, darling, you don’t know the half of it,” the lady moved over and poured her own tea before adding a drop of cream. “But then, I have not been here for some time now. He has respected my privacy and independence beyond what he needed to. Sadly, it has made me a little out of touch.”
“I do not think William has intentionally pushed you away, I believe he simply got caught up with demanding affairs,” Bridget said enigmatically. She was not sure if his mother knew about his prizefighting and did not want to disclose it without his permission.
“And where is my son this morning?” the lady asked, before taking a graceful sip of her tea.
Bridget felt her tongue stick to the roof of her mouth as she had no answer. Scrambling for one, she took a long taste of her tea too. “He went out with one of his friends, Baron Thornbury, I believe, to… erm… Tattersalls.” The lie felt foul on her lips, but she would do as much as she could to give William some time.
“The races,” the lady tutted. “Another thing he and his father had in common.”
Crisis averted—hopefully—Bridget listened with half an ear to the lady and watched the door, praying William would step in any time soon. Instead, Lane re-entered the room, holding another tray of breakfast foods and Bridget dearly hoped he had been close enough to hear her lie.
After setting it on the table, she held his eyes, and he gave her the tiniest of nods. Relief flooded her like the Thames breaking its banks. “Thank you, Lane.”
Stepping into his home after an emergency drop-in to his physician to get stitched up, William only wanted three things, a bath, his bed, and Bridget inboth, preferably. Getting cornered by Lane the moment he stepped through the door was not on that list.
“Your Grace,” he said. “Your mother is here.”
William cursed under his breath. “When did she arrive?”
“Earlier this morning, and Her Grace has implied that you were at Tattersalls with Lord Thornbury,” Lane quickly added. “She is a quick thinker, I must say.”
As exhausted as he was, William still felt it in himself to chuckle. “She is, indeed.”
“What are your orders?” Lane asked.
“Run me a bath and tell my mother and wife that I would not like to ruin their sensibilities with me smelling like horseflesh and their manure,” William replied while heading up to his room. “Tell them that I’ll be down soon.”
