In the ring, he shuffled left, watching the Earl of Ramsbury match his movement. It was only practice and Ramsbury held a pad for training punches. He darted out a hand and slammed it into the center of the pad as hard as he could, sending a ricochet back up through his arm. He shook out his hand as Ramsbury staggered back a fraction.
“Jesus,” the earl said as he righted himself. “You’re hitting hard today. Problems you wish to discuss?”
Roderick held back a bitter bark of laughter. That was one way to put it. He had a great deal of problems with a book that told women, toldhis wife, that she must hold back all she was. That any reaction was an overreaction, that if she wasn’t always thinking about consequences for all actions, from the gown she wore to the words she spoke, they could rain down on her like fire from the sky and tear her world apart. And most of the advice was contrary, making it almost impossible to follow.
“Kirkwood?”
He blinked as he realized he had been staring at Ramsbury for far too long. He swung again, this time with more metered strength. “Your wife,” he said slowly. “She was a wallflower, wasn’t she?”
A little smile tilted Ramsbury’s lips. “Indeed, she was.”
Roderick threw a punch again but found no solace in the thunk of flesh against leather. “Was she obsessed with propriety?”
Ramsbury’s brows lifted. “I suppose all ladies are in some ways. They’re directed to be since childhood.”
When Roderick thought of Clarissa’s childhood, he swung hard again and nearly deposited himself on his arse in the process. “It’s fucking awful.”
Ramsbury stepped back and lowered the pads. “What is wrong with you, Kirkwood? You look like you haven’t slept and you want to burn the world down. Come, let’s sit so you don’t hurt yourself or me and talk about it.”
Ramsbury motioned toward some of the seats that were faced toward the big ring in the middle of the room. During exhibitions that was where the matches were held. Right now, though, the owner of the club, Campbell Ripley, was locked in battle with one of the professional fighters he trained.
Roderick sighed as he followed Ramsbury to a seat. For a while, they just watched the two men. The fighter was an up-and-comer who went by Lucky, but at the moment he wasn’t particularly. Ripley was far faster than his prodigy, his hips swiveling easily, his punches coming out and landing with frustrating accuracy. The boy was doing his best to keep up, though, shifting his weight, ducking under strikes.
Ramsbury let out a laugh. “I think this is why Ripley doesn’t let many gentlemen in this time of the morning. It’s too obvious we’re all amateurs compared to them.”
Roderick nodded. That much was very evident. As was his poor behavior a moment ago. He glanced at Ramsbury. “I apologize for my lack of control in the ring. You needn’t trouble yourself about my worries.”
“I think we’re friends of a sort. Certainly, we’ll become better onesas I hear my wife and our sister-in-law are determined to become close to your Clarissa. She is all Marianne and Esme could talk about after your wedding.”
Roderick couldn’t help but smile. “I hope they will be friends. Both of them seem like excellent women and Clarissa deserves to be appreciated by all who meet her.”
“Yes,” Ramsbury said slowly. “At any rate, I’m happy to discuss whatever you need.”
Roderick ran a hand through his hair restlessly. “I would appreciate it. After all, I might normally discuss the problem with Lockhart, but with Clarissa being his cousin and him being firmly unmarried?—”
“Yes, I see the problem.” Ramsbury nodded.
Roderick dropped his head back, staring up at the ceiling for a moment. “Have you ever encountered one of those comportment books that ladies are sometimes given? One in particular,Mirror of Graces?”
Ramsbury’s blank expression answered the question even before he shook his head. “No.”
“Well, it’s a conduct manual. My wife has apparently been so browbeaten her entire life that she believes she must live by its every rule. So I read it last night, every awful word of it, trying to understand.”
“That sounds dire.”
“It was.” Roderick ran a hand through his hair. “I had no idea these were the concepts the women in our lives are drowned in. To be told one must be demure in all things, and yet still be lively? To never allow for any strong emotions, no matter the circumstances?”
Ramsbury pulled a face. “Dear God.”
“It says that a woman must never copy another in their behavior.”
“Why?” Ramsbury asked slowly.
“For fear of being called a poor reproduction. And yet Clarissa is also expected to follow the same rules as that other woman or risk shunning or worse. It’s not possible to do it all.”
“It sounds as if there is no allowance for humanity,” Ramsbury said.
“Exactly!” Roderick felt the anger rising in him again. “There is no ability for her to stand up for herself. No wonder Clarissa started off in a battle with me. She has been in a battle with herself for all her life. It’s all she knows and I am left to watch it tear her apart.”
