Mary saw me, she would not let us leave, and when that girl looks at me with those beautiful brown eyes and puts her little arms around my neck, well, I can’t be worried about having an ale with you.”
Eleanor Emory was Alexander and Elspeth’s housekeeper. He and MacAvoy met her when Alexander had taken them to his home after the three of them had found some trouble and needed a few cuts cleaned up. MacAvoy had immediately been enamored with the pretty widow, but it had taken him nearly six months to get up the courage to ask her if he might take her to the theater. James remembered it clearly, as MacAvoy had droned on and on with nerves before he finally took himself off to ask the woman.
“You better be careful, Malcom,” James said. “She don’t seem the type to be casual about a man, and Elspeth adores her and Mary. She’ll have your hide when you move on, mark my words, and you know Elspeth can be a spitfire when she gets her back up.”
MacAvoy took a long pull on his ale and looked out at the crowd in the tavern. “How do you know I’ll want to move on?”
“Don’t be a nodcock. We’ve been friends since we were boys and have spent the last five years chasing plenty of skirts. It won’t mean anything.”
MacAvoy swallowed and took a deep breath. “I want to marry her. With this last promotion at the mill, my cut of the prize money, and some work on the side with the Pendergasts’ security men, I’ve been able to put away some coin. I can afford a small house.”
“You want to marry her? That’s shit. You’re just trying to get under her skirts. What? She won’t let you there without a ring? Move on! There’s plenty of pretty skirts to get under.”
MacAvoy shook his head. “You don’t get it, James. This isn’t a game to me. I love her and her little girl.”
“Did she give you some cockamamie line about being a good, virtuous woman? What shit. She’s just another pussy,” James said and picked up his ale. He did not hold it long. MacAvoy knocked it out of his hand and pulled him up from his seat by his jacket.
“Don’t you ever talk about her that way. I mean it, James. I know you could beat me to a bloody pulp, but that don’t mean I will allow you to talk about her in that disrespectful way. I won’t. We can take it outside, or you can apologize.”
The tavern crowd had gone completely quiet, and the barkeep picked up the long wooden plank he called “the peacekeeper.” James dropped back into his seat, staring at MacAvoy, who was breathing hard, now towering over him with both clenched fists leaning on the tabletop.
“Sit down, Malcolm. I’m sorry I made light of the woman’s virtue.”
MacAvoy dropped into his chair, staring out at the crowd, now turning back to their own drinks and conversations. His foot was tapping, and he cracked his knuckles. He turned to James.
“I’ve an early morning tomorrow,” he said as he rose.
“Wait,” James said. “We were going to talk about what you found out about Crankshaw.”
“It’ll keep. We can meet next week.”
James watched him go. He’d screwed that up, hadn’t he, he thought to himself. His best friend, as loyal as a brother, insulted so deeply the man didn’t even want to talk about what was more important to them than anything. Boxing. They lived and breathed it. MacAvoy set up the fights, scouted the opponents, negotiated the prize money, and James arrived on the appointed night and did what he did best. Beat the living hell out of another man. MacAvoy also made sure James worked to keep his stamina up and build more muscle too, forcing him to focus on his training.
They told each other everything worth telling. And now Malcom had confessed something that was most likely hard for him to admit and he’d been nothing but dismissive. There was some very small part of James that was a bit jealous too, although he’d never admit that to another soul. But the idea that MacAvoy had found a partnership that might exclude him left a bitter taste in his mouth. He fished a coin out of his pocket for Daisy, tossed it on the table, and left to find his bed.
Lucinda kissed her father’s cheek after coming into the small dining room used by the family