Her gaze was the same and so were the dimples. Her hair had been tamed in a crown braid that mirrored their mother’s—although Elizabeth’s dark brown locks weren’t threaded with shiny silver. And she was no longer a slip of a girl. She was an inch or two taller than their mother, although Eoin still towered over her. As a pugilist, she had an athletic build. Eoin knew little about her, but Hannah had whispered before he’d left with his mother that Elizabeth had become an expert with the quarterstaff.
“You grew up, little brother!” Elizabeth crossed the room in four giant strides and immediately enfolded him in her arms.
He stiffened, unsure of how to accept a familial embrace. Elizabeth, however, didn’t seem to mind as she gave him aquick squeeze before stepping back. Her grin remained broad as she openly studied him.
“You look like a prizefighter,” Elizabeth announced with a pleased nod. She smiled so broadly that Eoin felt his lips tip upward in an instinctual response. He was so accustomed to his relatives criticizing his physique that he barely understood how to react to her praise beyond that ghost of a grin.
“See, I told you we should send Eoin a missive when that old bastard was finally put to bed with a shovel.” Elizabeth turned to her mother, who was still standing at attention. Elizabeth whirled back around and clasped his hands. “We have missed you sorely, especially Mama. With my first prize money, I bought that little boy figurine for her, so it felt like we had a little bit of you in our home.”
Tears stung the backs of Eoin’s eyes, and his knees weakened. For a moment, he very much feared that he would collapse on top of Elizabeth. Although she clearly possessed muscles, she wouldn’t be able to hold up his massive weight.
“May I… may I sit?” Eoin asked.
“Of course,” his mother said, instantly rushing to his side and leading him to the small settee across from the fire. As soon as he was seated, she lowered herself into one of the chairs by the fire. Elizabeth, though, plopped down next to Eoin. He was quickly learning that what his sister lacked in grace, she made up for in exuberance.
“I am so happy you came.” Elizabeth scooched against him. “Mama was afraid you wouldn’t want to see us.”
“I did not want to intrude on your life or make you think that I was after your blunt,” his mother said, her voice a quiet, calm contrast to Elizabeth’s.
“She made her own fortune, you know.” Elizabeth squared her shoulders and beamed proudly over at their mother. “Itwasn’t easy living under fake names, knowing that the duke would have her transported to the Colonies and me tossed into the workhouse if a single whisper of us ever reached his ears.”
Eoin’s stomach sloshed uncomfortably, and for a moment, he thought he might be ill all over his mother’s neatly swept floor. But he managed to force back the nausea.
“Lizzie,” their mother admonished her, but Eoin raised his hand.
“No,” he said hoarsely. “I want to hear. I want to know. That’s why I’ve been searching for you.”
Elizabeth slung her arm around his shoulders and pulled him into a rough hug. “You were always such a sweet baby brother, even if you could be annoying at times. I knew Grandfather couldn’t change that.”
Eoin glanced over at his mother, wishing she wasn’t trying so hard to protect him. “Did you fight at the Horse and Hen? What I saw there…”
“You were at the Horse and Hen?” His mother—who was already sitting stiffly—nearly bolted from her seat.
Eoin nodded. “With Miss Hannah Wick. I was searching for you, and it was the only clue we could discover.”
“Don’t darken those doors again!” The words were obviously an instinctive maternal command, and Eoin literally basked in her scolding tone as if she’d praised him. Unfortunately, she instantly realized that she’d been rebuking him, and she retreated back into anxious politeness. “What I meant to say is that the Horse and Hen is a dangerous place. I would not be so bold, however, as to give you commands.”
“I am your son,” Eoin said, and a whoosh of emotion rushed through him at the statement. “You never abandoned me. I want you to fuss over me, to act as my parent.”
His mother managed to execute a curt nod, and then herface crumpled. She quickly glanced away, and her shoulders heaved in silent sobs. The sight rooted Eoin to his seat until Elizabeth nudged him.
“Go. Hug her. You both need it.”
Eoin capitulated immediately. He bolted from the settee. When he reached his mother’s side, he bent over and enfolded her in his arms. She shifted, clinging to his shoulders. When he felt her tears through his layers of clothing, something broke loose inside him. A sob tore from him—and for once, intense emotion didn’t shame him. All his bottled-up fear and anger and pain came tumbling out from where he’d buried them. He became a lost little boy again, and he and his mother hung on to each other. Together, they poured out the grief that had been stolen from them too.
“You two should be wary of the Horse and Hen, and anything to do with it,” Eoin’s mother warned him and Hannah as they sat next to each other on the settee.
After Eoin and his mother had sobbed together, she and Elizabeth had demanded to know more about his misadventures. He’d asked if Hannah could join them for the recounting, and his family had readily agreed. Elizabeth, though, studied them closely. Her scrutiny had started when Hannah had squeezed in next to him rather than taking one of the chairs.
“Were you a fighter at the Horse and Hen, Mother?” Eoin asked again, wishing that he could hold Hannah’s hand. However, Elizabeth would absolutely notice.
“Not under the current establishment,” his mother explained.“But I was a participant when the tavern was operated by those sympathetic to reform. The money was good, and there were rules in place to promote sportsmanship. Eye gouging and hair pulling were banned, and we fought fully clothed. Moreover, some of the pot was given to charities that helped the Irish community in St. Giles.”
More relief filled Eoin. Although he didn’t like imagining his mother or sister absorbing blows in the ring, at least they hadn’t suffered the depravity that he’d witnessed at the Horse and Hen.
“How did you become Championess Quick?” Eoin asked, hoping that the question would not cause her more pain.
“After your father’s death and your grandfather’s threats, I needed a way to earn coin to support Lizzie and myself. Most of my friends were dead, in prison, or deported. I started fighting again. But what ended up saving me was that your father had taught me to read. I saw an advertisement for women fighters from John Pippen. He mostly organized professional prizefights for men, but on occasion, he arranged matches featuring his wife, Alice, and other women. He wanted a contender to replace Alice as she was getting too old for sparring. I showed up and impressed both Jane and John with my skills. Alice had a soft spot for Lizzie, and the Pippens ended up training me not just as a fighter but as a promoter. I had a knack for advertising bouts, so I took over the business when they retired.”
