The Bareknuckle Groom - Holly Bush Page 0,41
In fact, it has made him fall even more in love with Lucinda, although she does not return his regard.”
Henri took a deep breath and turned to Lucinda. “You will consider this man as your husband and remember that I only want the best for you and am more understanding of the realities of the world. You do not wish to disappoint me, do you, Daughter?”
The sad truth was she did not wish to disappoint him, but she would not be tied to Carlton Young, regardless of how much guilt and pressure her father applied. Mr. Young returned just then, juggling several glasses.
“I wasn’t sure what you or your aunt would like,” he said. “I have lemonade, wine, and punch.”
Aunt took a glass of punch and handed Lucinda the lemonade.
“Thank you, Mr. Young,” Lucinda said.
He was staring at her worshipfully. “Is there anything else I can get for your comfort?”
Her father laid a hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you and your parents plan on coming to visit us in Philadelphia? My daughter could show you around the city, with her aunt as a chaperone, of course.”
“My schedule is quite—” Aunt Louisa began.
“I’m sure you’ll find the time to help your beloved niece entertain a guest. What do you say, young man?”
He gulped. “I . . . I am honored, sir.”
Lucinda let out a breath. There would be no escaping this association unless she took matters into her own hands. And what did that mean exactly?
“I haven’t seen much of you, James,” Muireall said from where she sat behind the desk in her small office. “Won’t you come in? I was just finishing the bookkeeping.”
The very last thing James wanted was to have a conversation with his older sister. He had hoped to walk by her open door without her notice. But even with her eyes firmly on the large open account book with the pale green pages and the tiny, tiny numbers she’d written, she knew he’d been hurrying past and aimed to stop him.
“I’ve got some things to prepare for tonight. Don’t have much time.”
“This will only take a few minutes.” She looked up after she blew on a page to dry the ink. “Won’t you sit down?”
He was hoping she’d not make him angry, even knowing it was in his control to get up and leave her office if she did. MacAvoy had told him countless times that anger was detrimental to his abilities in the ring, and he was right. He wanted—no, he needed a clear, calm head tonight as he’d be virtually on his own since Billy Pettigrew was as worthless as a cornerman as he was in the ring.
“I heard that you and MacAvoy had a falling out,” Muireall said.
“We have.”
“Probably for the best, James. He was never the caliber of individual the Thompsons should surround themselves with.”
“That’s rubbish, Muireall. He’s been completely loyal to this family. He would lay his life down for any one of us.”
Muireall shrugged. “Even so, his mother was nothing more than a drunk and perhaps loose with her favors when she was a young woman. He doesn’t know who his father was.”
“He worked hard, paid attention in school when he could go, and copied the manners and mannerisms of us so he would be able to better himself. Who are you to condemn a man for hard work and perseverance?”
“I don’t know, James,” she said and looked at him steadily. “Why did you have a falling out if you are so convinced of his value?”
James could feel himself get angry. He could feel his shoulders tense and his jaw clench. “You needn’t goad me, Muireall. I know that’s what you’re doing, and I won’t fall for it.”
She rested her chin on her fisted hand, elbow on her desk. “What am I doing? I assume a cornerman is an important element in this boxing business that you insist on doing. What has happened for you to dismiss him from this and from your life?”
Muireall was the least emotional woman he’d ever encountered. Even when there’d been all the danger nearly two years ago with Elspeth and Payden, she’d maintained her dignity when she was, on that singular occasion, tearful. There was never a hint of false female emotion, like Kirsty was wont to do occasionally with some well-timed tears. At twelve years of age, Muireall had managed Aunt Murdoch and him and the girls, and wee Payden as well, as if she were a forty-year-old matron.
“I’ll tell you about