The thought should have shocked her. Indeed, she had been taught to revere all life, even in one so harsh as her guardian. But if her uncle was gone, then she could stop living in fear of him coming for her. She could marry whomever she chose and not look for a man who would defend her. She could finally beg forgiveness from her parents’ ghosts. Indeed, she would have avenged them by killing their murderer. Assuming, of course, it had been her uncle.
She bit her lip. She couldn’t say any of that to the countess. She could barely think her own terrible thoughts. Fortunately, she had another answer.
“I want my dowry,” she said firmly. “No one believes that I bring anything to my marriage. But if Mr. Bates got my five hundred gold coins from my uncle…”
“Then you could definitely marry well.” Her eyes narrowed. “And you think he would do such a thing?”
Iseabail had no idea. “I can ask.”
The countess pursed her lips. “Very well. You may walk with him today. But after that, you will have no more interactions with him except in an employment capacity. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, my lady.”
The countess snorted as she looked out the window. “He had better arrive exactly on time today,” she said. “He must in every way appear absolutely proper or I shall bar the door to him myself.”
“But why? Almost no gentleman ever arrives on time.”
“Because he is not a gentleman. Never fear, I’m sure there will be another way to contact him if necessary. You must understand that appearances are everything. And if I am to allow an encroaching cit into my house, then he must seem to be perfect in every way.”
“That is an impossible standard.”
“Nevertheless, it is what I require.” And so saying, the lady swept out of the room.
Chapter Eight
“Damnation, I’m goingto be late.”
Reuben hopped out of the boxing ring and wiped off his face. He’d been teaching one of his young cousins to defend himself. The boy was eleven and ought to know how to hit by now, but of course he didn’t. There was no power in his punch and apparently no interest in learning. The boy was an artist, always shaping mud and dirt into sculptures that defied imagination. Fantastical shapes of rock and stick that became dragons or knights of old.
He had no quarrel with the pastime, but in order to survive, the child needed to defend himself. His younger sister Lindy, on the other hand, would give hell to any soul who tried to trespass upon her good nature, himself included. She stood beside the boxing square with tight fists and a furious scowl.
“You need to teach me!” she grumbled. “I can hit ten times harder than him.”
“That’s why I don’t need to teach you,” he said. He glanced back at the boy now sitting on his arse in the middle of the ring. He was doing something with his gloves. Stacking them, twisting them, or some other such nonsense that had nothing to do with hitting. “Can you help your brother get home?”
The girl rolled her eyes. “You need to teach me. Then I’ll protect him.”
He would if he had the time. Instead, he’d spent most of his day sorting the accounts of this small gym. He’d given the task to his brother a year ago and the disaster had taken months to clean up. So now he kept control of this, and a dozen other businesses owned by various members of his family. The boxing club was the most neglected and was, thankfully, not in as bad shape as he feared. But it showed the signs of his neglect in things that needed to be fixed, people who were not working as they ought, and all those stupid details he despised but couldn’t seem to allow anyone else to manage.
“Can we talk now about what needs to change here?” his youngest brother Harry pressed.
“Talk fast while I clean up.”
“I want to block off that wall and leave a place for the customers to clean up.”
“Have you lost your mind? There’s barely room to spit in here and you want to close it off more?”
“It’s for the nobs. They don’t like washing out in the open. That’s why they don’t come ’ere.”
“They don’t come here because it’s a place for rough fighting. What idiocy are you thinking?” He glanced over to where his niece was leading her daydreaming brother out of the room. With her gone, he stripped down to his falls and washed the stink off himself.
Meanwhile his brother shook his head. “They’d come. I could bring them in.”
“No, you can’t. I’m the one who knows every toff. You’re the one who knows every bruiser.”
“But—”
“Damn it, Harry, I don’t have time for this nonsense. Ye’ve got to sack Willie and Roy. They’re just big talkers who are too old—”
