Page 19 of A Wallflower Takes a Duke
“The law,” Julian finally said firmly. “We have to get him into law. He had a fairly keen mind when we were at Eton.”
“C’mon, Jules, you know as well as I do, the only thing Wills excelled at was cricket.”
“In all fairness, though, it’s a known fact most top barristers enter Lincoln’s Inn straight off the cricket field.”
At that, the church spires of Grantham appeared through the mass of oak and beech trees surrounding the entrance to the town along the Great North Road. A stream of curses proving Wills unequivocally unfit for the clergy followed George using his foot to slam his snoring brother onto the floor of the carriage.
Julian knew in that moment there was little more he could say or do to help the Tindall brothers. George would probably be fine, but Wills was another matter. He dreaded having to report back to Rumsford how he’d failed to civilize the siblings. He was oddly struck by the thought of the brilliant mind Mina had turned out to possess. She’d have made a magnificent viscount, if only…if only she’d been the firstborn son.
* * *
The promoters,who’d arranged the match in the middle of a field outside Grantham, apparently were determined to maximize their profits. There were a dozen matches scheduled over Friday and Saturday. Although the risk was too high to hold the illegal fights on the Sabbath, the Saturday boxing would draw thousands of workers from London.
The field was probably less than a mile from the stables at The Angel in Grantham, making it easy for the inn to capitalize on the huge crowds attending the matches.
The Friday matches were well under way when out of the corner of his eye, Julian spied a familiar face, smudged with the dirt of the stables, but glowing with the familiar blue-eyed stare he’d come to know as well as the lifeline on his own palm. She leaned against the fence around the boxing ring with a troupe of other grubby stable boys, chewing on a long piece of straw.
She might have passed for one of the boys if she hadn’t stuck out her bottom in obvious imitation of her newfound friends. That was her downfall. Her shapely hips were definitely not masculine. When had Mina begun to sport womanly curves? Why hadn’t anyone warned him? For the love of God, she was only…what? Thirteen?
Yet there she leaned, like a common village strumpet, in some boy’s castoff trousers, way too short, and tight, to protect the world of mankind from the whirlwind that was Mina.
He turned at once to George who was absorbed in sizing up the fighters who had strode to the informal dirt ring to choruses of the crowd’s huzzah’s or boo’s, depending on the number of their supporters, or bettors. Wills was at the betting booth, throwing away what little money he hadn’t yet spent on drink or wenching.
“I say…isn’t that Mina over there?”
George turned to him, staring stupidly. “Mina? Our Mina?”
“Yes, for heaven’s sakes. Over there.” Just as Julian pointed toward the Tindalls’ naughty little sister, a burly man in a garish waistcoat strolled up behind her and grabbed her by one of her arms. He commenced to drag her away from the match, shouting in a loud voice she was neglecting her work at the stables.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Julian rushed to her side. The man didn’t look like he managed a stable. He looked more like a rum cove.
Julian reached out, grasped the man’s arm, and growled, “Stop—.”
“Don’t know why a tuft like you’s interested in the likes of this boy.”
“I’m Julian Jameson, Duke of Montfort, and this is my personal groom. Unhand the lad. Now.”
“We’ll just see about that.” Just as the man loosened his hold on Mina to argue with Julian, she ran like a rabbit flushed from beneath a bush by a fox.
Julian gave the obnoxious man a rough shove before taking off in pursuit of Mina.
* * *
Mina ranuntil her lungs were about to burst. The crowd was so large, she had to wind her way through men packed into tight groups, making private side bets. When she barreled hard through one group, a man shouted out, “Pickpocket—.” A few in the crowd followed him in pursuit of her.
A large number of open carriages were parked perilously close to the ring area at the edge of the crowds awaiting the commencement of the match. Seated inside were women with their faces covered by large hats and veils.
She wheezed to a stop, leaned over, and bent at the knees near the back fence of the makeshift stable area. The men who thought she was a thief had given up the chase. Sucking in great hiccuping sobs of breath, she watched Julian’s long strides overtake her easily. He towered over her, his face filled not with anger, but something else she couldn’t quite fathom. Her brothers’ old friend seemed speechless for the first time since she’d known him.
She stood suddenly, jutting out her chin in defiance. “Why areyouhere?” Even she had the good sense to wince at the first words to spill from her mouth.
“Why amIhere? Why amIhere?” When he gazed skyward for a few seconds, shaking his head, she bolted again. However, this time, all Julian had to do was extend his arm and jerk her back by the tail of her shirt. When he did, the cheese-cloth Lucy had wrapped around her breasts unraveled and spiraled to the ground in a grubby heap.
When she looked back, terrified of what he’d think, horrified at what he’d make of the pools of cheese-cloth on the ground, Julian simply motioned for her to follow him with a curt jerk of his head.
Once they neared the Tindall family carriage, Julian turned to her with a triumphant “Ha.”
She instantly cut her eyes away from the boot of the carriage where she’d stowed away for the long trip to The Angel. Thank God she’d had the sense to steal some chunks of cheese and a loaf of bread from the kitchen when Cook wasn’t looking.