The Bareknuckle Groom: The Thompsons of Locust Street

by Bush, Holly

  “How many children do you have, Mr. Delgado?” Lucinda asked.

  “Three. Millicent, only nineteen, recently married after the year of mourning had passed. She is very young, but I believe she loves Edward and that he loves her.” He looked at Louisa. “I don’t believe it is right to separate young lovers. It can have disastrous consequences. My two youngest are at my hotel with the governess. Geoffrey is sixteen and Susannah is twelve.”

  “I’m sure they are saddened by their mother’s passing,” Lucinda said.

  “They are. But Ann was not terribly involved in their daily lives. She was . . . ill and spent most of her time abed with her maid for company since Susannah was born. The children were with me mostly, even going to my place of business occasionally, and that has not changed. We breakfasted together every day, well, not Millicent after her marriage, of course. The four of us dined together each evening unless there was a social event I could not refuse. I tried to plan an outing with them a few times a month, to a concert or museum. Geoffrey is away at school much of the time now. I’d kept him home with tutors long after his friends were off at preparatory school, but it was time for him to begin to prepare for university. Susannah is still at home year-round and has a tutor and a governess for her education. We are all very close and hear weekly from Millicent by letter.”

  Lucinda smiled at Mr. Delgado. He was obviously very proud of his children and had great affection for them. She glanced at her aunt, who had tears welling in her eyes.

  “I would have loved to have had your children, Renaldo. I dreamt of it,” Aunt Louisa whispered, her lips trembling.

  Lucinda rose and went to the door. Their conversation would become too intimate, too private for her to remain. She glanced back at them as she closed the door. Mr. Delgado was on the floor before Aunt Louisa, his head in her lap, quietly weeping. Aunt Louisa stroked his hair and gazed at him.

  Lucinda climbed the stairs slowly. Finally in her suite, she pulled a worn, soft shawl around her shoulders and sat down in the tufted chair by the fireplace. Was it possible that Aunt Louisa could let go of the past and find a future with this man who clearly loved her? Their relationship could not be an idolized version of each other from their youth, but must be real, with all the hurts of their past put aside. Was twenty years too long apart?

  Lucinda did not want to waste her life if she knew there was a soul that matched hers, even if it made her father unhappy, though she loved him dearly. What if James Thompson was that match? The memory of their kiss was enough to make her breasts tingle and the area below her waist throb. She blushed, remembering she’d told him he was never to dance with Edith again after he’d looked at her and winked over their intimacies. She could not understand her fit of jealousy, as there was really no other word to describe how she felt at the idea of him touching any other woman. What must he think of her? Perhaps she should get to know him a little better and ask him.

  * * *

  “Let’s call it a day,” MacAvoy shouted from outside the makeshift ring. “That’s enough, Nicholson. I’ve got your cash here, and we’ll need you back next week.”

  James lifted his head from the filthy wooden boards he was sprawled on, the wood shavings at his nose reeking of sweat and other smells he didn’t care to think about. It took him a moment to realize he was on the floor or even where he was: a training session for his next bout. MacAvoy caught him under his arms and picked him up.

  “Get your feet under you, James,” he said.

  He rolled his neck and shook his head, sweat flying from the ends of his hair. “Where’s Nicholson? Let’s go again.”

  “You’re not going anywhere except home, boyo,” MacAvoy said and led him to the small changing room.

  James plopped down on the bench in the room and let MacAvoy look at the cut on his cheek. He handed James a wet rag, wrung out.

  “Here. Wipe the sweat off of yourself and then get home,” MacAvoy said again.

  James ran the rag over his face and hair. He looked up at MacAvoy standing by the door, his hand on the latch. “What happened?”

  “What happened?” MacAvoy repeated as he turned. “You got clobbered by a slow, fat bumbler. That’s what happened.”

  “What are you mad about? I’ve caught a lucky punch before.”

  “You think that was a lucky punch? It wasn’t. You were getting handled,” MacAvoy’s voice rose. “By Nicholson!”

  “I’ll get straightened out. I’ve got a few weeks to go.”

  “I’m not so sure of that.”

  James looked up. “You don’t think I can beat Jackson? He’s just a young pup!”

  “Your head’s not in it, James. You’re distracted. What’s going on?”

  He looked up after several long minutes, wherein he’d hoped MacAvoy would get bored or discouraged and leave him alone. But it looked like his friend would wait him out.

  “Alexander asked me to visit with him last week. I hadn’t any idea why. But he proceeded to tell me some shit that his papa and uncle had cooked up about opening a real boxing arena with stands and training rooms and changing rooms. They figured that I might be considering what I’d do when I couldn’t box anymore. That I’d put my name on this place, manage it, and maybe be able to buy it outright at some point. I could hardly believe it!”

  “My God,” MacAvoy whispered.

  “I know! That’s what I thought. Why would I be thinking about quitting boxing?”

  MacAvoy was staring at him and shaking his head. “Don’t tell me you turned him down.”

  James shrugged. “I didn’t answer, and Alexander just changed the subject.”

  “What do you mean, you didn’t answer? Can you still give him an answer?”

  “I guess. I didn’t want to insult Alexander or his family. They’re so good to Elspeth and to the rest of us. He changed the subject, and I went along.”

  MacAvoy ran a hand down his face and dropped to his haunches, eye level with James. “You’re my best friend. You were my only friend, and your family took me in when I had nowhere to go. I love you and Payden like brothers and the girls like sisters. So I’m going to talk to you, brother to brother. Go back to Alexander and tell him you’re in. Tell him to tell his father that you’re flattered by their interest and are ready to plan for the future.”

  “What are you talking about? We’re not finished! At least, I’m not!”

  “James!” MacAvoy grabbed his shoulders and shook. “You’ve only got a couple more years. That’s it. You’re at the top of your game now, but there’ll be a boy in the not too distant future who will take you down in front of a crowd. There’ll be a new king. It’s just the way it is.”

  James was breathing hard, trying to control the wild beating of his heart. “I’ve got longer than a couple of years,” he whispered, his voice shaking.

  “Maybe you do. Maybe you don’t. But if you don’t plan now how and where you’ll support yourself, you’ll end up washed up, nobody willing to hire you except to pour ale at the Water Street Tavern. Whatever this scheme Mr. Pendergast has cooked up will take years to come full-term. By then, you may need a job.” MacAvoy looked away and turned back to James with regret. “I wasn’t planning on telling you this yet, but I told Graham to keep me in mind for more evening work in the future. Not right now, with you still fighting, but in the future.”

  James watched as MacAvoy straightened to his full height, pulled on his coat and hat, and left James sitting, his towel around his neck, his muscles tightening with the chill air seeping in around an ill-fitting window, newspaper stuffed into its sides. He was going to walk the long way home.

  * * *

  Lucinda was still in the tufted chair before the fire when there was a knock at her door. Her aunt came in the room, looking nervous and restless.

  “Come sit down, Aunt Louisa. I’d call for a tray, but it will be dinner soon. Giselle has already been here trying to coax me into changing my dress, but I told her to come back in a bit. I was
hoping you would come see me.”

  “Oh, Lucinda. My head is spinning,” Aunt said as she sat on the edge of the chair next to her. “Your father will be home soon.”

  “What will you tell him?”

  “Mr. Delgado is coming back with his children to dine this evening,” she said breathlessly, holding her hand to her bosom. “I don’t know what to think.”

  Lucinda smiled. “I think you’d best get Berta to lay a cold towel on your eyes. You don’t want to meet everyone looking as if you’ve been crying for hours, do you?”

  Louisa smiled and bit her lip. “I would like to look my best. What did you think of him?”

  “He’s very handsome. Well-spoken and charming. But what makes him so very appealing is how much he adores his children and how very much he has been longing for you for so many, many years.”

  “He does love them, doesn’t he?” she asked, her eyes glistening. “And he is every bit as handsome today as he was twenty years ago.”

  Lucinda smiled. “And he loves you. I think he always has.”

  Louisa took a shuddering breath. “Is it possible? Do you think he has loved me as I’ve loved him all these years?”

  “What did he say about the woman who was your friend?”

  “My father spoke to Renaldo and convinced him that I was not really interested in him,” Louisa said and looked up. “I think my father was hoping that I would remain unmarried and care for him and my mother as they grew older. When I think back on everything now, it was my mother who insisted I move to America to raise you. I imagine she did not want me to become a nurse maid.”

  “Go now. Let Berta get you into that lovely lilac gown. You look so beautiful in it. Not that you don’t always look beautiful.”

  Louisa stood and went to the door. “Don’t worry, though, dear. I will never desert you. You are the daughter of my heart, and I would never, ever put anything over your happiness,” she said without turning and quickly slipped out.

  Chapter 6

  James came up the basement stairs in the alley beside Green’s Grocery. He had just completed the delivery of twelve cases of their jarred goods while Kirsty was inside the store with the owner settling the bill. It was a warm day for January, a rare treat, with no rain or snow, and he was dressed in what Muireall called his homespun: wide-leg pants over heavy leather lace-up boots, a collarless shirt, and plain vest with a loose-fitting jacket of plain brown wool over it all, for carrying their crates down alleys, into storerooms, and shelving boxes if asked. He pulled his flat cap from his head and wiped his forehead on his sleeve.

  He walked to the street, busy now with shoppers out on a pleasant day, carrying bags and packages, looking for Kirsty. She came out of Green’s door just then.

  “Did you get it all delivered?” she asked as they turned to walk down the street toward the wagon he rented for deliveries.

  He nodded. “That’s the last of the orders. Let’s get home. I’m hungry and need to check on Payden. Muireall said he and Robert have been getting into some trouble.”

  “Not really trouble, or at least pretty insignificant trouble. The old woman who moved into the house beside the Mingos told Aunt Murdoch that the two boys had walked through her yard. She was furious.”

  “For cutting through a neighbor’s yard? MacAvoy and I did it all the time.”

  “That’s why I don’t think there is any urgency with Payden,” Kirsty said. “Oh, James. Stop a moment. Let me look in this window. There are so many beautiful dresses and gloves. Look! Just look at that gold satin. I would look gorgeous in that!”

  James smiled down at her and laughed. “My God, Kirsty, your vanity knows no bounds. You’re going to have to marry a man who is not impressed with your beauty.”

  “I’m not vain,” Kirsty began and grinned as James touched her elbow to move her from the door of the dressmaker to make way for two women coming out.

  He could not believe who the women were.

  “Mr. Thompson!” Lucinda Vermeal said with some surprise.

  He doffed his hat. “Miss Vermeal. A lovely day to be out, is it not?”

  “It is,” she said and then hesitated, glancing at Kirsty. “Would you introduce your friend to my aunt and me?”

  “Oh, Miss Vermeal!” Kirsty said. “I have seen you at several parties and have so admired your dresses and hair. I’m so happy to meet you! I’m James’s sister, Kirsty Thompson!”

  James smiled at his sister’s enthusiasm and hoped the Vermeal ladies would not be haughty or rude to her.

  “It is very nice to meet you, Miss Thompson. This is my aunt, Miss Louisa Vermeal. What brings you out today with your brother?”

  “We were delivering canned goods our family makes to Green’s Grocery.” Kirsty pointed behind her to the storefront. “This is our last stop for the day, and I couldn’t help but notice that beautiful gold dress in the window. I told my brother I would look gorgeous in it, but he said I was vain! Can you believe that?” She laughed unaffectedly.

  James glanced at Miss Vermeal, who was, he was thankful, smiling at Kirsty’s enthusiasm. The aunt walked over to the window beside Kirsty.

  “Show me which one, Miss Thompson,” she said.

  “That one in the back with the netting around the neck,” Kirsty said.

  The aunt pointed to something else in the window, and the two of them turned their backs to him and Miss Vermeal, who was looking at him now with one raised brow. She was not smiling, but he had an overall feeling of gladness, of rightness in her company, and the spots of color on her cheeks made him think she felt the same. He realized then that he was in his delivery clothes and did not look the way she was accustomed to seeing him.

  “Excuse my less than formal attire,” he said. “I was the delivery boy today.”

  She glanced down his body, making his blood heat, taking her time until her gaze climbed back to her eyes. “As you are well aware, Mr. Thompson, there is little you could do to make yourself less appealing.”

  “Are you saying I am vain?” he said with a smile.

  “I am saying that you are the most overly confident man I’ve ever met.”

  James thought Miss Vermeal was matching his light tone; however, her comment made him falter. Did he see himself as invincible? Too sure of his own abilities and unable to be realistic as to what the rest of his life would be like as he grew older?

  “Mr. Thompson, you are looking far too serious. Your confidence is attractive. You must know that.”

  He shook his head and looked across the street to the small park, wishing he was alone with her and wondering why. Because he wanted to tell her about what was troubling him and wondered what she would think of Alexander’s plan?

  “James!” Kirsty said excitedly. “Miss Vermeal and I are going into the shop. Do you mind terribly? Maybe Miss Lucinda will stay and keep you company.”

  The aunt glanced at Lucinda with a smile and led Kirsty into the shop, the bell tinkling as they entered. He looked at the woman in front of him. She was the very picture of cool beauty. Her white-blond hair pulled up loosely under a small hat, sitting at an angle atop her head, and her pale skin a contrast to the dark blue of her heavy silk-lined cloak. Men—and women—glanced at her more than once as they walked past them. She was that kind of woman. The kind who stopped men in their tracks.

  “Would you like to step across the street, Miss Vermeal? There’s a small park, and I see a vendor selling sandwiches.” She walked over to a young man standing near the building. He hadn’t realized they were accompanied by a servant. She handed the young man her package and spoke to him. She turned then and raised her brows.

  “Will you join me?” he said, and she fell into step beside him. “You bring a servant with you when you shop? The streets of Philadelphia during the day are generally safe for two women together, or so I thought.”

  “My father is very old-fashioned. He insists we bring someone with us, and not just a maid, although my aunt is my chaperone, but a
young man to see to our safety. The maid is in our carriage just down the street.”

  “We must appear like a pair of ragtags, Kirsty and I, to you and your aunt.”

  “You appear to be free, Mr. Thompson; that’s how you appear. You and your sister both,” she said and took his arm as they navigated the uneven street and horse droppings.

  “Kirsty is . . . enthusiastic. Thank you for tolerating her as she went off on her favorite subject: herself,” he said with a laugh. “But she is a dear girl.”

  “She seems to be unencumbered by some of society’s more ridiculous rules. She seems to just be herself. That is a blessing, I think.”

  He guided her to an unoccupied bench and waited until she was seated. “Would you like anything? A lemonade? Roast beef?”

  “A lemonade would be appreciated.”

  James went to the vendor across the expanse of the wide graveled path and waited his turn impatiently. Did he mean to talk to her about something serious? He finally got his sandwich, shredded beef with a slice of cheddar between two slices of dark bread wrapped in paper, and a mug of lemonade. She was watching him as he dodged other walkers and made his way to where she sat. He seated himself beside her.

  “That smells delicious,” she said after sipping her lemonade.

  “Do you want a bite?” He held the sandwich out to her.

  “What? Oh no. That would be . . .” she said, still eyeing his food. “Impolite.”

  “There’s plenty, and I’m willing to share.”

  She shook her head. “That is a cardinal rule in my house. I would never be caught taking something from someone else’s plate. My papa would have an apoplexy.”