A Bride for the Prizefighter - Alice Coldbreath Page 0,95
fourth viscount that she had seen, who looked so like him. “Were you close to your… to Jacob Nye, I mean.”
He did not answer at once. “Yes,” he said. “He taught me everything I know. Except boxing.”
“And who taught you that?” she asked curiously.
“An old groom we had taught me the basics. Samuel Teague his name was.” Nye rolled onto his back and propped an arm under his head, the other he kept firmly wrapped about Mina. “When I was nineteen, I went to Exeter to box. I wanted to do it professionally.”
“What happened?” She felt his shoulder shrug under her ear.
“I went without Jacob’s blessing. He wanted me here.”
“What about your mother?”
“She died the summer I was fifteen.”
“Oh,” she said softly. “And then?”
“I trained, I fought, I won a few cups. I made some money.” He was silent a moment. “Then, after a few years my father’s health started failing, he wrote to me and I came home.”
“So, how long did you end up living in Exeter?”
“Some five years all told.”
Mina considered this a moment, staring up at the ceiling. It was somehow easier to ask Nye these things in the dark. “How long is it since Jacob died?”
“Some three years last Christmas.”
“Did you know the fourth Viscount?” she asked tentatively.
He gave a short laugh. “Know him? No. He had my mother march me out for his inspection a few times until I reached the age when I could refuse.”
“How old was that?”
“Ten years or so.”
She fell silent at that, imagining him as the boy from the photograph. “And you never saw him again after that?”
“I never said that.” He paused. “He used to follow my fights. I saw him in the crowd a fair few times. He even came and shook my hand after one of my more famous bouts. Though we met as strangers, I recognized him alright.”
“For him, it must have been like looking at a younger version of himself,” Mina mused. “The likeness is extraordinarily strong. Have you never seen his portrait at Vance Park?”
“No,” he said without rancor. “There’s nothing for me there.” He was silent a moment. “He dictated a letter to me from his deathbed, saying he was proud of me and meant Vance House to be mine.”
“Vance House?” Surely, she remembered that being mentioned before. “Was that not…?”
“Aye,” he agreed gruffly, cutting off her words. “The property was never signed over to me at the time. The old lord had never formalized his intent. Landed gentry don’t like to break up their estates,” he said dryly. “It goes against the grain. Vance House lies on the eastern border of Vance Park in its own ten acres or so.”
“That much?” She hesitated. “It must be a sizeable property.”
“Aye, it’s a handsome house. Queen Anne with access to its own private cove. An old couple, the Tavistocks are tenants at present. It generates a goodly rent.” He was quiet a moment. “Faris finally made it over to me when we wed.”
She nodded. “I thought I recognized the name.”
He grunted. “I thought you might. I’ll show it to you sometime. We might retire there, one day.”
“It sounds vastly respectable.”
He turned his head sharply. “You almost sound disapproving. You’ll be telling me next you like being a publican’s wife.”
“Why should I not?” She imagined living in a beautiful house with a servant and no neighbors that would ever deign to call. Suddenly, it occurred to her that part of her own parents’ relative social isolation could have been due to her mother’s divorce and their own craving for respectability. “It’s interesting living in an inn,” she returned evasively. “Something always seems to be happening.”
“The likes of Sir Matthew Carswell and his wife could call on you at Vance House,” he pointed out, his tone rather brooding.
“I should not want them to,” Mina retorted. “Even if they did.” She wondered again if Nye was right about Sir Matthew’s intention to marry his ward. If so, she could now understand why Cecily had run off with the first beaux who had shown any interest in her.
“You should be tired, Mina. I’ve worked you to the bone today.”
“Hardly that!” she protested. “I kept long hours as a schoolmistress. When you’ve boarders to take care of, there are no set working hours.”
“Well, go to sleep now,” he growled. “No more talking. You’re going to be busy over the next few days. I’m trying to be a considerate husband.”
The next day, which was Tuesday passed in a whirl of activity