Never Kneel to a Knight Page 9

  The prince chuckled. “Can’t have my knights out brawling.”

  “No, indeed,” Harding agreed with a smirk of a smile. “But wouldn’t it be interesting, Your Highness, to see your noble champion one last time, fighting in your honor?”

  What was he doing? Once more Matthew felt sweat trickling down. Harding ought to know that gentlemen didn’t fight, not in a square of tamped-down dirt, surrounded by half-drunk revelers. And even if the prince hadn’t seen fit to elevate him, Matthew wouldn’t have been interested. He’d already made that clear. He’d worked too hard on leaving that life behind.

  Yet Harding had spoken to the prince, not him. Was he allowed to respond?

  The prince stroked his meaty chin with two fingers. “My champion, fighting for me, eh? That would be something.”

  “A tremendous event, Your Highness,” Harding assured him. “Spoken of in every home in the land, I should think.”

  Only by those who had nothing worthwhile to do with their time. Matthew clamped his lips shut to keep from saying the words aloud.

  “The stuff of legends, say you?” the prince asked Harding.

  “Assuredly,” Harding promised.

  He had to stop this, but all the rules Charlotte had insisted upon kept him bound and gagged.

  “It might be amusing,” the prince allowed. He turned to Matthew. “What do you think, Sir Matthew?”

  At last. “I think His Royal Highness honors me again by entertaining the idea,” Matthew said. “But it would be poor recompense for your kindness if I should abuse it by embarrassing you.”

  He’d thought he’d demurred well. Surely Charlotte would be pleased with his wording.

  The prince waved a hand. “Embarrass me? The Beast of Birmingham? Never.” He glanced at Harding. “What did you have in mind, my lord?”

  Harding’s smile deepened. “As His Highness knows, I am somewhat a student of the square myself. I’m sure I’m no match for your champion, but I would be willing to attempt a fight, for your entertainment, of course.”

  The prince’s mouth turned up. “I imagine it would be quite entertaining. Your company has been diverting, Harding, but I wouldn’t mind seeing you taken down a peg.” He raised his voice. “My lords, I have agreed to a boxing match between my loyal champion and Lord Harding. They will fight at the earliest convenience. And I have no doubt my knight will prevail.”

  Chapter Ten

  “You must stop him.”

  Charlotte looked up in surprise as Lilith hurried into Meredith’s withdrawing room. Charlotte had only managed to sit in the last few minutes, after pacing about, wondering how Matthew’s elevation was going. She had promised his sisters she would come over later in the day to hear all about it, but she hadn’t expected waiting to be so difficult.

  Her friend had no intention of waiting either. She must not have stopped in the entry hall long enough to give Mr. Cowls her bonnet or pelisse, for the elderly butler was puffing in her wake. Good thing Meredith and Fortune were out in the garden. The cat still didn’t know what to make of Lilith.

  “Stop who?” Charlotte asked. “From what?”

  Lilith threw herself down on the sofa beside her and waved away the butler, who went to position himself along the wall. “Sir Matthew. The Beast of Birmingham. He’s to fight again.”

  Gossip. It had to be. Charlotte shook her head. “I can assure you he is done with boxing and has been for some time.”

  “And I can assure you he agreed to a fight with Lord Harding.”

  Lilith seemed so certain, dark eyes shining in her fervor. Charlotte glanced at the butler. Meredith claimed he knew things before anyone else in the metropolis. Catching her eye, he inclined his balding head. Did that mean he knew about the matter as well? How was that possible?

  “Where did you hear this?” she asked Lilith.

  Her friend knit her fingers together in the lap of her serpentine pelisse. “Gregory was at the levee. He came to tell me what happened the moment he returned. And of course, I had to come tell you. You must stop him.”

  Charlotte pressed her fingers to her forehead, which felt unaccountably tight suddenly. “Let me understand you. Sir Matthew Bateman, at his elevation by the prince, agreed to a boxing match?”

  “With Lord Harding,” Lilith insisted. “Oh, Charlotte, after all you’ve done for these people, this is simply too much. You must…”

  “Stop him,” Charlotte finished, lowering her hand. “Yes, you said as much. But if His Royal Highness condoned it, surely Society will not berate Sir Matthew for it.”

  Lilith sniffed. “His Royal Highness is no arbiter of taste. And Lord Harding isn’t received by many hostesses since his unsavory habit of beating his servants became known.”

  She hadn’t heard that bit of gossip. One of the worst things about being in Society was the swirl of rumor and inuendo.

  “Make no mistake,” Lilith continued. “If you cannot stop this fight, you might as well disassociate yourself from this family. They will only bring you down with them.”

  Just the thought of severing all ties to Matthew and his sisters made her chest hurt. Growing up, with Worth away at school, she’d felt so alone. She and her brother had banded together after their parents had died. Being with Matthew and his sisters was like having a family of her own.

  Surely all was not lost. Perhaps Gregory had misunderstood. Perhaps Lilith’s judgmental mind had seized on a minor comment. Or perhaps a match between two gentlemen would be seen as no more than a novelty. She would investigate further before deciding what to do. That practice had stood her in good stead with her father and her brother, after all.

  She managed to calm her friend and send her on her way, but Charlotte was once more pacing the room when Meredith and Fortune returned.

  “Boxing is accepted as a sport, if a barbarous one,” Meredith pointed out after Charlotte had explained what Lilith and Mr. Cowls had heard. “That Sir Matthew engaged in it once is scandalous enough. That he would continue fighting after his elevation will serve to ostracize him from a number of homes. His sisters as well, I fear.”

  It hurt further to hear even the unconventional Meredith repeat the sentiment. Charlotte didn’t want her to be right. “But gentlemen race horses, yachts,” she protested as Fortune scampered up to her.

  “Gentlemen own horses,” Meredith corrected her. “They seldom ride them in races. And they own yachts, but rarely do they actually set the sails.”

  Charlotte bent and scooped up the cat, who suffered herself to be petted. “They box regularly with Gentleman Jackson, who they appear to hold in high respect.”

  “And when was the last time you saw him at a soiree?” Meredith challenged.

  The words were like damp wool, pressing down on her shoulders and chilling her. Fortune wiggled, and Charlotte let her down, feeling oddly alone again. “Then is all truly lost?”

  “Unless you can change his mind or install his sisters so high in esteem the fight does not matter,” Meredith said, watching her.

  Charlotte sighed. “I’ll go speak to him now. I promised to come hear how the levee went in any regard.”

  Meredith leaned back on the sofa as Fortune jumped up beside her. “He should have quite a story to tell.”

  And Charlotte would have to make sure it was the last story, for his sake, and his sisters’.

  ~~~

  “Congratulations!” his sisters chorused the moment Matthew stepped through the front door. They must have been watching for him from the window, because Tuny was still tugging Rufus out of the sitting room. The hound raised his head, black nostrils twitching. Then he let out a bay and ambled up to Matthew.

  Matthew scratched him behind one droopy ear. “Thank you, one and all.”

  Ivy took his arm. “Come and tell us about it. What did the prince say?”

  “What did he wear?” Daisy begged as Matthew allowed them to lead him into the room. He still hadn’t accustomed himself to the pale colors and gold appointme
nts. He always felt like he’d wandered into someone else’s parlor. It didn’t help that his favorite chair had been consigned to his study now. The gilded chairs barely fit his frame. He managed to perch on one across from the sofa as his sisters took places around him.

  “Did they have cake?” Tuny asked, releasing Rufus so the dog could plop himself down next to Matthew’s chair.

  Matthew answered the easiest question first. “No cake. No food of any kind. There were about twenty men in the room, all dressed much like me. Though there was an African man, an ambassador of some sort I gathered, in a green silk robe with gold stitching all down the front.”

  “Oooh,” Daisy enthused, eyes wide.

  “And the prince gave a nice speech about me being a hero and handed me these papers.” He waved the rolled parchment he still held in one fist. “We should put them somewhere safe.”

  Ivy nodded. “Your son will need them when he claims the title.”

  His stomach felt hollow suddenly. A son. Who knew if he’d ever have one? And why did the child that appeared to his mind’s eye have auburn hair and wise grey eyes?

  He managed to answer his sisters’ other questions before Ivy took the patents away for filing. She returned with a cake she’d baked for the celebration, Anna following with plates and cutlery. Ivy had just finished serving slices around when there was a knock at the door.

  Daisy perked up immediately, as if expecting a gentleman to come calling, but Matthew recognized the voice requesting entry, even over Rufus’s deep bark. He sat taller as Charlotte hurried into the room. Her feathered hat was askew, her grey skirts creased. Matthew rose.

  “Ladies, Sir Matthew,” she greeted, inclining her head. “I came as soon as I heard. Is it true? You’re to fight?”

  His sisters stared at him.

  “Oh, Matty, you wouldn’t,” Ivy murmured, face puckering.

  “You’ll ruin everything!” Daisy cried.

  “I’d wager a quid on you,” Tuny put in.

  “What was I to do?” Matthew demanded of Charlotte as her face fell as well. “Lord Harding was friendly with the prince, and His Royal Highness all but commanded me to fight. You don’t refuse the prince. You taught me that.”

  “You don’t refuse the prince,” Charlotte agreed, venturing closer. “But you can attempt to dissuade him. I thought you were done fighting.”

  “So did I.” Matthew shifted on his feet. “I’d already refused Harding once. He set it up so I couldn’t refuse this time. I wish I knew his game.”

  “I’ll see what I can learn,” Charlotte promised.

  Matthew stiffened. “No. I don’t want you anywhere near the fellow. And that goes for you lot too.”

  His sisters nodded, eyes wide and worried. Charlotte looked less convinced, russet brows drawing down as if she didn’t like being ordered about.

  “But if he bows out, you can too,” she said.

  Harding wasn’t going to bow out. Not after all the trouble he’d taken. It sounded as if he’d been high in the prince’s esteem. Why else be standing so near His Royal Highness and be able to interject so easily into the conversation? But it appeared His Royal Highness was starting to lose interest. Small wonder Harding thought to reinstate himself by beating Matthew at his own sport.

  “Perhaps,” he allowed. “In the meantime, I’ll have to practice.”

  “You practice beating up on people?” He could hear the distaste in Charlotte’s cultured tone.

  “You practice so you fight well,” Matthew corrected her, stung. “Boxing is a sport. Your body must be fit, your mind ready. I’ll speak to the Gentleman in the morning.”

  Daisy glanced around. “Perhaps we shouldn’t be so Friday-faced. This could be for our good. Matthew was famous before. People treated us well.”

  “People treated us well because they were afraid to do otherwise,” Ivy murmured.

  That hurt too, though she was likely right. And if his renown protected his sisters, who was he to argue with it?

  Charlotte’s smile was wan. “I doubt many on the ton will fear your brother. Even the guests at Lady Carrolton’s ball, who received you kindly the other night, may distance themselves once news of the fight becomes widely known.”

  She turned to him, eyes dipping down at the corners, as if she mourned for him and his sisters. “I wish you would reconsider, Matthew.”

  How could he? Gentlemen weren’t the only ones who prided themselves on their honesty, their veracity. He shook his head. “I gave my word. There’s nothing for it.”

  Charlotte drew in a breath and stepped back from him, and for a minute he thought she would wash her hands of them all. The thought stabbed him, made him want to take her hands, beg her to stay, promise anything to return the smile to her face, to have her regard him with something approaching approval.

  “Very well,” she said before turning to his sisters. “Have the maid fetch your shawls, girls. I’m taking you all to Gunter’s to celebrate your brother’s elevation. I will not allow this fight to diminish what is an otherwise laudable commendation.”

  His sisters hurried to comply, without so much as a glance his way. Rufus looked up at him as if expecting him to follow.

  “It’s not like you to give up on an argument,” he said to Charlotte.

  She eyed him. “Why, Sir Matthew, whatever made you think I was giving up? Find someone to take charge of Rufus, if you please. We have much work ahead of us.”

  Chapter Eleven

  He wasn’t sure of her. Charlotte could feel Matthew’s gaze on her as she bundled everyone into her brother’s carriage, which she’d taken the liberty of borrowing. It was a bit of a squeeze, but with Petunia between her sisters, they managed it.

  Of course, that left Charlotte pressed against Matthew on the rear-facing seat. She was aware of the power of his body every time the coach shifted and she brushed against him. It was like pressing against a mountain. Very likely that mountain would fall all over Lord Harding, but the resulting avalanche of censure from the ton would bury him and his sisters as well. She had to find a way to stop this fight. Perhaps the sweets at Gunter’s would inspire.

  The famed confectionary was thronged with customers as her coach rolled into Berkeley Square. Dandies loitered outside the door, and waiters ran orders out to carriages.

  “Do we have to eat in the coach?” Daisy asked, gazing out at all the fine ladies and gentlemen.

  Petunia gave the seat a little bounce. “I don’t mind. It’s rather comfy.”

  “We will venture inside,” Charlotte said, gathering her reticule. “Gunter’s may be known for its ices, but it is also an excellent place to see and be seen. Follow me, ladies. Sir Matthew, if you would be so kind?”

  He climbed out and helped his sisters down. As Charlotte’s fingers rested on his palm, she once again felt his strength, his surety. Oh, to spend a moment in those arms.

  Not again! She composed her face and hoped it didn’t look as red as it felt.

  She chanced a glance to find that his scowl was back. Indeed, people in the carriages around them were staring.

  “Smile,” she hissed. “You’ve just received a great honor. Most people would be pleased.”

  He cocked a smile, looking sheepish. “Sorry. Habit. Tuny—halt.”

  He must have seen the girl darting toward traffic from the corner of his eyes. She pulled back with her sisters. Still more aware of the man at her side than the congested thoroughfare, Charlotte led them across the street and into the confectionary.

  Inside was no less crowded, but a waiter directed them to a wrought iron table near the back of the main room. Similar tables dotted the black-and-white marble-tiled floor, while gentlemen were lined up six deep in front of the counter at the top of the room, the day’s flavors and prices listed on slate behind.

  Daisy and Petunia quizzed the waiter on which ices he’d recommend, then everyone placed an order.

  “Apricot,” Matthew mused with a look to Charlotte. “Interes
ting choice.”

  “It was my mother’s favorite when I was a girl,” Charlotte explained.

  Petunia turned to her brother. “What was our mother’s favorite?”

  His look darkened. “We didn’t get many ices in Birmingham.”

  “Mrs. Bateman did,” Daisy said with a shudder. “I had to run all the way to Bull Street and back so it wouldn’t melt, or I’d get a thrashing.”

  Petunia sighed. “It always looked so tasty.”

  Charlotte glanced between them, sure she had misunderstood. “Did Mrs. Bateman never share her ices with you?”

  Matthew shoved back from his chair and rose. “Not something we need to discuss. I’m taking a walk.” He pushed through the crowds and out the door. Charlotte frowned after him.

  “You must excuse him, Miss Worthington,” Ivy said quietly. “Matthew never liked our father’s second wife.”

  “She wasn’t always bad,” Petunia tempered.

  Daisy rounded on her. “To you, because she liked you. You were just a baby when Da married her. She loved to coo over you, dress you in dainty things, then leave you with Ivy and me to change the dirty nappies.”

  Petunia sat higher, color pinking. “Not my fault.”

  “No,” Ivy said with a look to Daisy. “Not your fault at all. Not any of our faults. I’m just glad Matthew could bring us to live with him. I’m sure Mrs. Bateman is much happier without us.”

  “Only if she found someone else to do all the work for her,” Daisy muttered.

  How horrid. Petunia had never known her mother. Matthew had said Ivy was only twelve when their mother had died, making Daisy around six. Charlotte had lost her mother when she was fourteen, and she still struggled with the loss some days. How much worse to lose a mother so young and be made to feel like servants in their own home?

  Suddenly, Daisy brightened and elbowed Ivy. “Look. There’s that handsome Lord Kendall.”

  The gentleman in question was standing in line at the counter, looking rather dapper in a navy coat and dun trousers. As if he suspected he was being watched, he turned to survey the crowds. His gaze met Charlotte’s, and he smiled. With a quick word to the clerk, he made his way to their sides.