The Bareknuckle Groom: The Thompsons of Locust Street

by Bush, Holly

  “Really? Then it’s best you never dine with the Thompsons.” He laughed and then pictured her at a Sunday dinner, seated to his left. He swallowed. “Aunt Murdoch would smack our hands, and my older sister, Muireall, would glare, but that doesn’t stop the occasional, ‘You were finished,’ said after stabbing something off your neighbor’s plate. Payden is famous for it, but then he’s a growing boy. Even Kirsty, every once in a while.”

  She looked at him so wistfully that he wanted to take her in his arms and promise that he would make everything right for her.

  “I would have to be on my guard, then,” she said and looked at him directly. “If I was ever invited to dine with your family.”

  He nearly groaned aloud. What was it about this woman that made every one of his emotions, especially the ones tightly bottled, bubble up when he was in her company? He stared back at her and cleared his throat.

  “Have a bite. Go ahead.” She looked at him as if he were asking much more than what he was, but she eyed the sandwich, looked around at the passersby, and took it out of his hands. She took a small bite and closed her eyes, those long pale lashes fluttering against her cheeks.

  “That is delicious,” she said.

  “Have another bite, if you want,” he said in a low, throaty voice. She did and stared at him over the top of his sandwich. She handed it back, and he took a large bite.

  “Why did you look at me like you did when I said you were overconfident?” she asked.

  He swallowed. “What do you mean?”

  She smiled and looked away, watching people walk by. She took the last sip of her lemonade and gathered the strings of her purse, as if preparing to stand up. She looked at him.

  “Thank you, Mr. . . .”

  “My brother-in-law came to me with a plan his father and a relative had for opening a boxing arena. They wanted to know if I would put my name on it and manage it, maybe even buy it in a few years.”

  “That sounds promising,” she said and looked at his profile. He had put down his sandwich on the bench and was bent over where he sat, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped in front of him, staring out into the crowd of people walking by. “But you are not pleased.”

  He did not turn his head. “They think I’m washed up. That my boxing days are done. MacAvoy thinks I’m going to end up pouring beer at a seedy tavern when I can’t box anymore.”

  He was in a pique, she was certain, even though he’d not raised his voice or displayed any other masculine contrivance. She would have smiled at his behavior, but she did not think it was the right thing to do. “Who is ‘they,’ and who is MacAvoy?”

  “Alexander, my sister Elspeth’s husband, and his father and uncle. MacAvoy. My best friend since we moved here from Scotland. My closest friend. Used to be my closest friend. Now there’s a woman telling him what to do and how to think.”

  She smiled then. She couldn’t help it, although he was still staring straight ahead. “They told you that you were washed up?”

  “No.” He finally looked at her. “They didn’t have to. Why else would they want me to lend my name to this thing of theirs?”

  “Perhaps they thought you were very intelligent and skilled with people. You’ve got experience in your family’s business. Maybe they see a winning horse and want to bet on him.”

  He swallowed visibly, and she could barely tear her eyes away from the muscles working in his neck, his skin tan and taut.

  “Most people think I box because I’m too dumb to do anything other than let men punch me like a sawdust-filled bag.”

  She stared at him, knowing he was in pain, knowing he was unsure of himself and hurting. “I think you are—”

  “James! James! You will not believe what I’ve bought! But of course you will believe it! What a ridiculous thing for me to say!”

  James stood and smiled at his sister, nodding to Aunt Louisa behind her. “Thank you, ma’am, for accompanying her to the dressmakers. It saved me from doing so.”

  “Kirsty is a delight, Mr. Thompson,” Aunt said. “I enjoyed her enthusiasm.”

  “She helped me pick out a dress for Elspeth’s dinner. Oh! Oh yes! I must talk to my sister immediately and make sure you are both invited,” Kirsty said hurriedly. “Come, James. Take me to Elspeth’s right away. It was so wonderful meeting you both!”

  Kirsty smiled at Lucinda and Aunt Louisa and tugged on her brother’s arm. He shook his head and looked at her indulgently as she stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek.

  “It’s been a pleasure seeing you, Miss Vermeal,” he said to her aunt and then turned to her. “I enjoyed our conversation very much. Perhaps we will get a chance to finish it sometime.”

  She stared at him. He was purely adoring of his sister and not afraid in the least to reveal it. She could have pressed herself up against his body, right there in front of her aunt, his sister, and all the gawkers that action would elicit. There was a pull between them she’d never experienced before, and she wanted more of it. She didn’t want it to end.

  “Fascinating,” she said. “Fascinating was what I was going to say earlier.”

  He smiled slowly at her, showing off that small chip on his front tooth and making her blush. “It was very nice to meet you, Miss Thompson. Aunt? We’d best be getting home.”

  * * *

  “I hope that this evening I will not be subjected to the children you insist on inviting so often, Louisa,” Henri Vermeal said as they were seated for dinner several days later.

  “Not this evening, no, Henri, although I believe ‘subjecting’ is a bit strong a word for two young people who have been delightful and intelligent, with exceptional manners,” Aunt Louisa replied. “I’m meeting them tomorrow for an outing to the Philadelphia Library.”

  “I have no idea why you cultivate his acquaintance. He strikes me as someone of little consequence. It’s no wonder that Father discouraged his suit all those years ago.” He lifted one arched brow. “Twenty years? A lifetime.”

  Aunt laid down her fork and knife on either side of her plate and looked at her brother across the length of the table. “We have discussed marriage in general terms, and if he formally proposes to me, I will marry him once Lucinda is settled in her own marriage.”

  “That’s preposterous! There are duties here that I need you for, Louisa. Continue to indulge yourself if you must with outings with him and his brood, but anything more than that is out of the question.”

  “Is it, Henri? I am independently wealthy and well past the age that I seek or require your approval.”

  “Independently wealthy, are you?”

  “Don’t threaten me, Henri,” Aunt said. “If I walked out of this house with nothing but the clothes on my back, it would not matter. Renaldo is very, very wealthy.”

  “I need you to attend to things here!”

  “Then marry again, Henri. Leave Lucinda and me out of your schemes.”

  “Speaking of Lucinda,” her father said and turned to look at her. “I have received invitations for us to a dinner at the Pendergasts’. This is the son of the family whose new wife is sister to that . . . that street ruffian. We will not be attending. I’ll send our refusal forthwith.”

  “Really, Henri? I would have thought you would be delighted to attend a dinner where the host’s uncle, Mr. Nathan Pendergast, and his wife, Isadora, are attending. The wife’s brother sits on the board of that railway you are so interested in. But what do I know about the intricacies of business?” Aunt said.

  Lucinda so enjoyed watching her aunt manage her father. He would bluster and shout and eventually quietly concede. For her part, she allowed her father to maintain his dignity and changed the subject completely.

  * * *

  “Yes, you must go,” James said to Payden. “This is your sister’s first party. Just think how hurt she would be if you didn’t attend.”

  Payden stormed out of the parlor, leaving Muireall, with her stitching, and James.

  “You seem keen to
attend this party,” Muireall said. “I agree with Payden. I’d much rather stay home than attend another event with ‘good’ society.”

  “Elspeth would be crushed if you didn’t attend,” James replied, shaking out the newspaper in his hands and folding it until he was on the page listing the businesses looking for workers.

  “Kirsty told me about the two women she was introduced to last week when you took the delivery to Green’s,” Muireall said. “She said you walked across the street with the young woman while she shopped with the woman’s aunt. She also told me she is the most beautiful woman she’s ever seen.”

  “Really?” James studied the list in the paper. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  Muireall harrumphed. “Do you think stories of the women who you court, although none of them good enough to bring here to meet your family, don’t reach my ears? You are infamous with the unmarried ladies, James, and apparently a favorite among the widows.”

  “You shouldn’t listen to gossip.”

  “Except this young woman, as Kirsty described, did not seem the least intimidated by you or enthralled with your attention. She said she seemed aloof to you but was kind to her. That makes me wonder about her.”

  “Nothing to wonder about, Muireall. Kirsty has always got romance on her mind. She sees it everywhere.”

  “Elspeth has added her, her father, and her aunt to the guest list.”

  James shrugged. “Kirsty will be pleased. She was much in awe of Miss Vermeal.”

  “And you, James? Are you in awe of Miss Vermeal?”

  “In awe? She’s a snob, Muireall. I have no time for that,” James said and buried his face in the paper.

  There were several listings for laborers and carpenters. He had no idea how to be a carpenter, and he didn’t particularly want to dig ditches, which was mostly what the laborers he knew did, that and haul heavy shingles, bricks, and blocks. He could always go work at the Pendergast mill, where MacAvoy worked. Alexander’s father would put in a good word for him, and he supposed he could learn to run one of the massive looms his friend described. He didn’t think he could work for MacAvoy; that would put too much of a strain on their friendship, especially if MacAvoy had to fire him. If these jobs were as boring and repetitive as they sounded, he would do something stupid just to liven his day. What would Lucinda Vermeal think of him if he were a laborer in a mill? He put that thought aside quickly.

  “How did we do last year?” he asked.

  “Do?”

  “The business. The canning business. I imagine you’ll be closing the books on last year soon and adding up all the columns. How did we do?” He dropped the paper to his lap and looked at his eldest sister.

  “We did fine. A little better than the prior year. I’m going to invest part of it in some new labeling equipment. Why do you ask?”

  “Just wondered. One of these years, I may set up in my own rooms somewhere, when Kirsty marries and Payden goes off to school.”

  Muireall stared at him. “You’re assuming I’ll live out my life here with Aunt Murdoch.”

  “Do you have any big plans? You never even leave the house. I assumed you’d stay here until . . . until . . .”

  “Until one of my siblings buries me and sells the house?”

  “Now you’re being morbid.”

  “We cleared around two thousand dollars. I’ll split it between the six of us and give Mrs. McClintok a bonus. She’s saving for an education for Robbie, and she deserves it.”

  “I don’t care if she gets some of the money. We couldn’t do what we do without her. So I’ll clear three hundred dollars or thereabouts,” James said. He had a little nest egg of gold in a pouch buried in the wall of his room and some paper money in the bank from his fights, although sometimes he spent it without thinking, especially after a bout when he and MacAvoy were celebrating and buying rounds for everyone in the tavern, and ten dollars went to Daisy too. “The money from Mother and Father still pays for all the household expenses, or do you have to pay for things out of the canning business?”

  “This house and all the expenses surrounding it, including personal items for any of us, is paid for from the interest on the monies brought from Scotland. I have the principal in a variety of investments in case there’s a bank failure or some catastrophe.”

  “You’ve kept us afloat all of these years, even when we first came here and you were very young,” he said, looking at Muireall with the respect she no doubt deserved.

  “Aunt helped in the beginning, but she was never terribly interested. I enjoy keeping the books and keeping our family as comfortable as possible within our means.” She looked up at him. “What precipitates this sudden interest?”

  He thought about telling her of the offer from the Pendergasts but had some odd feeling that he wanted to keep it close to the vest. Maybe until he could understand it more fully. Maybe until he’d had a chance to finish his conversation with Lucinda Vermeal. He groaned aloud with that foolish thought.

  “What was that for?” Muireall asked.

  Chapter 7

  “Thank you for inviting us,” Lucinda said to Elspeth Pendergast as she stepped into the Pendergast home and handed a servant her cape.

  “We are so happy that you could join us, Miss Vermeal, and your father and aunt too. Kirsty came to see me right after she’d met you and insisted we invite you.”

  “Mr. Vermeal? Welcome to our home,” Alexander Pendergast said.

  Lucinda watched her father shake hands with the host and kiss the hand of the hostess with his best superior attitude on display. It would be difficult for this young couple to not realize he was being so infuriatingly condescending and haughty. But they were both gracious and warm in their greetings. Elspeth Pendergast looked at her husband as if he set the stars in the sky, and he was no less conspicuous when he gazed at her and touched her arm.

  She followed her father and aunt as they were directed down a long hallway to a set of open double doors. The room was crowded and filled with laughter and chatter.

  “Dear Lord,” her father said. “Can’t these people speak to each other at a normal level? It’s like walking into a circus.”

  “If you wish to go, Henri, we will make your excuses,” Aunt said as Kirsty Thompson hurried to them.

  “I’ve been waiting right there,” she said with a broad smile and turned to point to a group of young people, “so that I wouldn’t miss your arrival.”

  Aunt laughed and gestured to Kirsty’s gown. “I was right. You look beautiful in that color.”

  “You were! I would have never guessed that it would suit, but it’s perfect!” she said, swinging her skirts and then glancing at Henri Vermeal. “Oh, oh. Where are my manners? I’m sorry. My name is Kirsty Thompson; my sister is the hostess, Elspeth Pendergast.”

  He stared at her and her outstretched hand. “Miss Thompson,” he said finally, taking her hand in his and kissing the back of it.

  “Oh,” Kirsty said, now red-faced. “You’re so elegant!”

  Lucinda held her breath. Her father was not skilled at being charming to outspoken young women. More than likely he would be dismissive, and then Aunt or she would have to cover his harsh words, whatever they may be. Her father shook his head and then smiled, actually smiled.

  “Miss Thompson, I am charmed,” he said. “My sister is right. You look lovely in that dress, although I imagine you look lovely in whatever you choose to wear.”

  Kirsty’s face reddened further. “I . . . I . . .”

  “I assume you know your brother-in-law’s family to some degree?”

  “Oh yes. The Pendergasts are very good to me and include me in their parties and outings.”

  “How kind of them. I would like to meet young Mr. Pendergast’s aunt and uncle. We have a mutual interest, and I am anxious to make their acquaintance. Could I count on you to manage the introductions?”

  “Do you mean Aunt Isadora and Uncle Nathan?”

  “I believe I do,” he said with
a smile.

  “Oh yes. Come with me, sir.” She slipped her hand around Henri’s arm. They walked away as Kirsty chattered on.

  “Dear me,” Aunt said. “I was worried he’d be short with her.”

  “I am amazed that he was so pleasant, especially to someone as . . . enthusiastic as Kirsty. But then, he wants an introduction to Isadora Pendergast’s brother.”

  “At least he is out of our hands.” Aunt grinned. “Let us find a servant and enjoy some champagne.”

  Lucinda nodded at several acquaintances as she and her aunt wandered the edge of the room, sipping their drinks and looking at the artwork and sculptures. Apparently, the Pendergasts were collectors. She turned to the door as the chatter from the crowd increased.

  And there he was. James Thompson looked devastatingly attractive in his dark suit and gold vest, already surrounded by some young men and women. Her heart skipped a beat as he found her in the crowd and held her eyes with his. She turned back to her aunt, who was discussing a bust on a tall pedestal.

  “Lucinda, dear,” Aunt said. “Are you well? Your cheeks are bright red.”

  “I’m fine,” she replied in a breathy voice, glancing over her shoulder at the crowd at the door. Her aunt looked that way and smiled at her.

  “He is uncommonly attractive,” she said after a long sigh.

  “He is rather handsome,” Lucinda said and stared up at a painting, her back to the door.

  “Mr. Thompson, it is very good to see you again, isn’t it, Lucinda, dear?” Aunt said.

  She turned, preparing herself for the magnetism that seemed to crackle between them. “Mr. Thompson.”

  “Ma’am,” he said with a nod to Aunt. He turned to her, and his eyes traveled leisurely over her, a small grin on his face. “You manage to make every other woman here dim in comparison, Miss Vermeal.”

  They looked at each other for a few long minutes, long enough that Aunt turned away to another piece of artwork, leaving Lucinda to drink in the sight of him, his freshly shaven cheeks, his twinkling green eyes and dark tousled hair. She desperately wanted to touch him, push back the curl of hair that was falling over his brow or touch the bump on his nose. He lost his grin as she leaned toward him, her breath coming in shallow pants.