“No, I don’t suppose you have,” he said as he studied me. He patted the empty gloves together, one fist at the other. Then it all fell into place.
“A mill is a boxing match. This is boxing,” I said as though I had a lemon in my mouth. “But you cannot be a pugilist.”
Pugilists were not men of good standing. They were desperate men from the working class who risked their lives fighting for money and a moment of fame. Not gentlemen with dimples in their chins and eyes that brightened when they smiled.
“I’m not—exactly,” Mr. Winston answered. “I value my teeth. But according to my father, I have a ‘reckless obsession.’”
“You fought Lord Landgon. You broke his arm in aboxingmatch, didn’t you?” I could not help the judgment in my voice. “Why do you do this?”
His easy smile faded. “Why not?”
My stomach twisted, and I took a step back. “Pugilism is illegal.”
He squinted an eye and tilted his head. “Pugilism’s legality is ambiguous as it depends on the judge and specific charges against those involved. It is also irrelevant since we are merely practicing in the woods. In truth, gentlemen like myself, Lord Langdon, and your brother do not box for more than sport, though many also sponsor professional fighters.”
“Do you?” I asked bluntly.
“Rosalind,” Ben warned.
Mr. Winston shook his head. “I prefer to fight my equals and learn alongside them so that, should I need my skills one day in earnest, I shall be ready to use them. That’s not to say I have not wagered in favor of my winning a time or two.” He winked at Ben.
I huffed. My understanding of Liza’s cousin sharpened.Thiswas why his father had cut him off. This was what he refused to give up, and what he hid every morning. Liza had said he was supposed to be reforming. “This is what you’ve been hiding from the Ollertons. This savagery.”
He shrugged. “This is nothing more than exercise. An art of self-defense.”
“Pugilism is not anart.” Could he hear himself?
“Oh? Have you tried it?”
Ben snorted as he strode away from us to lay his coat over Mr. Winston’s low-lying branch.
“Absolutely not,” I said, folding my arms together. “I am a lady.”
“And? Plenty of women have come to Jackson’s to learn,” he said. “One, whose husband abused her. Another, too old for marriage, who wanted to feel safe walking the streets. Even a woman who merely enjoyed the exercise. Honestly, Miss Newbury,youcould use a lesson or two. You hold everything inside of you, don’t you?”
“Pardon me?”
He lowered his voice. “Every time I see you, your shoulders are as tense as bricks. But what I can’t determine is why a woman in your circumstances could still be so unhappy.”
“I am happy,” I argued. “Why shouldn’t I be? I have money, status, my father’s protection, and an excellent match on the horizon.”
“To the Duke of Marlow, yes. I have heard you claim your happiness before.” He studied me, seeming to deliberate a moment more. “And yet, I still do not believe you. There is something else. What troubles you?”
I let out a laugh that was more a scoff. “What currently troubles me is that my neighbor’s guest dabbles in an illegal sport.”
He grinned, tilting his head to the side. “‘Dabbles’ would mean I am not yet proficient. I’d classify myself as more a professional.”
I furrowed my brow at his teasing. “You fit the part of a pugilist, don’t you? Homeless and poor,” I volleyed back. “Perhaps you should keep your hobbies to yourself and leave my brother alone.”
He pouted, leaning in for only me to hear. “After your rendezvous in the pond, I should think you’d be more open-minded to trying new things.”
For a moment, I understood the desire to hit someone.
Ben returned with a skip in his step. “Are we ready?”
I faced him. “How do you know Mr. Winston?”
“I called on Mr. Ollerton yesterday to ask his advice on that pest problem. Then he asked if Winston could join me on the endeavor. And, well, one thing led to another and here we are.”
