The Bareknuckle Groom: The Thompsons of Locust Street

by Bush, Holly

  James made his way to his rooms, his legs shaking with the effort to climb the stairs. Thankfully, the bathing room was empty. He locked the door, stripped, and climbed into a tub of very hot water, the steam rising around his face and shoulders, easing the aches in his muscles from MacAvoy’s grueling training.

  Clean and feeling better, he went to the parlor, hearing feminine laughter and voices. “Muireall. Kirsty. What brings you by today, Elspeth?”

  “Nothing of any moment. Just missing my sisters and brothers,” she said as she crossed the room and kissed his cheek. “It is so good to see you looking well.”

  “It is good to see you too. How are you feeling? Have you seen the doctor lately?”

  “I’m feeling fine! Wonderful, in fact!”

  He chuckled. “That’s good. I’m to the kitchen for some of Mrs. McClintok’s soup and bread. I missed luncheon.”

  “Have you heard the news, James? Elspeth is to have a new neighbor,” Kirsty said.

  “I hadn’t.” James glanced at Elspeth. “Hopefully no one that would cause you trouble.”

  “Oh no. No trouble at all! It will be nice having a friend in the neighborhood.”

  “A friend? Of our family?” James said with a laugh. “Moving into those big fancy homes in your neighborhood? A friend of the Pendergasts?”

  “No, James. A friend of yours,” Kirsty said.

  “A friend of mine?”

  “Miss Vermeal is moving into a home just two blocks away from ours, on Thirty-Eighth Street.”

  “Miss Vermeal?”

  “I sent a note to her telling her to dine with us if her kitchen or staff are not ready.”

  “Miss Vermeal and her father have moved from that mansion they have?”

  Elspeth shook her head. “I don’t believe her father has moved there. From her note back to me, I believe she will live there alone.”

  “Alone?”

  “Quit repeating everything Elspeth says,” Muireall said and shook her head. “Miss Vermeal is no concern of yours. Come sit down, girls. Our coffee is getting cold.”

  James headed to the kitchen, not breaking his stride as he picked up the heel of the freshly baked bread Mrs. McClintok was slicing, and down the stairs to the back door. He could have waited until Elspeth was done visiting and ridden with her in the Pendergast carriage to that neighborhood, but he preferred to catch a streetcar and see exactly what was happening right away. He jumped off the streetcar fifteen minutes later and headed south down the alley behind one side of Thirty-Eighth Street, where the larger homes were located. It did not take him long to find the house with a new mistress. All manner of wagons and carts were pulled behind the stables, where men were unloading trunks and cases and carrying them into the house. He picked up a small trunk and joined the line of workmen.

  “That trunk goes upstairs. Show Mrs. Howell, standing there on the landing. She will tell you what room it is to go in,” Lucinda said and looked up the steps. “I think these are the bedlinens I ordered, Mrs. Howell.”

  “Yes, miss,” the woman said and pointed the men down the hallway. Lucinda turned to the next workman. She could not stop the hint of a smile when she saw who carried the trunk.

  “Mr. Thompson. Are you in the moving business now?”

  “I’m in the business of finding out whether this harebrained scheme of yours to live alone is true.”

  “Harebrained?” She raised a brow.

  James glanced around at the workmen and maids coming and going. “May we speak alone, Miss Vermeal?”

  “Mrs. Howell? Can you take over here for me? I think we are getting to the end of the wagons.”

  Lucinda turned and led James to a small room under the staircase that she planned on using as an office, where she could meet tradesmen or staff. She’d ordered a desk and rolling chair to be put by the small bookcase and a comfortable chair and hassock for in front of the fireplace. It was empty now, although it did smell of paint and wallpaper paste.

  “What may I help you with, Mr. Thompson? What could you possibly—” Her words were cut off when he kissed her.

  She responded immediately as he pulled her tight against him and plowed her mouth with his tongue. He groaned, and she murmured his name. Several minutes later, she pulled her face from his.

  “What are you doing here, James?” Her lips were parted and her eyes soft in response to his claiming.

  He moved her away from him but held her firmly by the waist.

  “Is your father moving in here with you? Or your aunt?”

  She shook her head. “No. Aunt Louisa will soon be married, and the entire point of setting up my own household was to escape my papa.”

  “I can’t believe he allowed it.”

  She moved away from him. She had to. Her mind was scattered when he was near. “I told him I wanted to move into one of the homes he owns throughout the city, and of course, he refused. I told him then that I was moving in with Aunt Louisa and Mr. Delgado as soon as they married.”

  “And he was not happy about that?”

  “Truthfully, I’ve never seen him that angry. So much of it is about his plans for me to marry Carlton Young.”

  “Who is Carlton Young?”

  “The son of one of father’s business associates. He says he is perfect for me. He’ll be easily manipulated by Papa while he is alive and by me when Papa is gone.”

  “Does this poor chump know what he’s in for?”

  “Of course not. I have no intentions of marrying him.”

  James shook his head and held a thumb and forefinger to his temple. “You bought this house instead of marrying Young?”

  “No, no. This is Papa’s property. Well, it’s part of the Vermeal estate. He was so furious I’d consider moving in with Mr. Delgado and Aunt that he relented and gave me the keys.”

  James laughed ruefully. “You remind me of a quiet Kirsty. She gets her way by hook or by crook.”

  “Thank you, I guess,” she said.

  “I don’t like this, Lucinda. Not one bit.”

  “I don’t believe you have any say in it.”

  “I don’t?” He stalked closer.

  She shook her head, working to keep her voice calm and steady. “Hardly. I’m not betrothed to you. I’ve not even accompanied you anywhere like the theater. I’ve not even seen you since I visited you on Locust Street and read to you.”

  “I’ve been busy. But I have plans for us.”

  “You have plans? How interesting. Were you going to apprise me of these plans?”

  “At some point.”

  “Mr. Thompson, I do not take kindly to edicts from a man so wholly disconnected from me.”

  “It won’t be an edict, Lucinda.”

  “And what have you been busy doing? Has your family’s business been keeping you from these plans?”

  “MacAvoy’s wedding is coming up. I’m his best man,” James said.

  “And that has kept you so busy?”

  He shrugged. “I’m training six or seven hours a day too. And there’s always errands to do for the business.”

  “Training for what? What kind of training?” Lucinda asked, feeling a prickle of unease as she looked at him. He was not completely comfortable telling her, whatever it was. She could see it in his face.

  “The rematch is set for the twenty-fourth. MacAvoy’s got me in the best shape of my life. I’ve never worked harder.”

  “Rematch? What are you talking about?”

  “With Jackson. The rematch with Jackson is set for two weeks from now.”

  Lucinda felt as if there was not enough air in the room to breathe. She shook her head, staring at him, knowing that it was not a joke and she had not misheard him. She was suddenly and completely furious, making her feel in charity with her father when he lost his temper. But she was a lady. She would not scream. Instead, she pointed to the door of the room.

  “Get out,” she said. “Get out and do not ever, ever set foot on this property again.”
>
  “I have every intention of—”

  “I said get out. Remove yourself, you foolish man. I want nothing to do with you. Ever.” She could feel the tears of her anger welling behind her eyes.

  He stared at her for several moments, but she did not give him the satisfaction of seeing her bend, not in her posture nor her attitude. She could hardly believe it, but he’d said it, clear and concise as could be. A rematch with Jackson. He could die. He could spend the rest of his days in a sickbed. And she admitted to herself, even with all the anger and terror in her mind at that moment, that it was quite possible she’d fallen in love with him. There was really no other rational explanation. Well. That would have to be ruthlessly eliminated from her mind and from her heart, as she had no intention of playing the martyr and wringing her hands over his demise and her unrequited love.

  “Why are you so upset?” he asked finally.

  “Out, Mr. Thompson.”

  “You won’t tell me? Haven’t we been friends . . . maybe more than friends? Don’t I deserve to know what has brought on this reaction?”

  How could he not know that the thought of him in that ring again was making her nauseous? He seemed truly bewildered, but she could not talk to him about her fears without revealing her heart, and she would not do that. She swept past him, opened the door, and called to Mrs. Howell. James Thompson could see himself out of her house and out of her life.

  Chapter 14

  “I’m terrified, James,” MacAvoy said, clinging to his arm. James looked at the hand trembling on his forearm and up at the face of the groom.

  “You have to relax. The ceremony will be over in short order, and then we’ll go to Elspeth’s and get you a whiskey or something,” James said with sympathy. His friend was white-faced and shaking. “Come on. It’s time to get ourselves to the nave. I don’t see Mrs. Emory being late to her own wedding.”

  “I don’t know if I can do this.”

  “You don’t want to marry her? Be a real papa to Mary? Bed her mother?” he whispered.

  “I do. Dear God, I do,” MacAvoy said.

  “Good. That’s what you’re going to say when the priest asks you. I do. Come along now,” James said, pulling his friend toward the door.

  James barely got MacAvoy in place and facing the back of the church when the doors opened, letting in a blast of cool March air and bringing Mrs. Emory to walk regally down the aisle, little Mary at her side. He jiggled the ring in his hand, waiting to hand it to MacAvoy and worried the man would be so shaken he’d drop it and James would have to crawl around under the pews looking for it. But for now, he listened to the sermon and heard the Bible’s words. Do not urge me to leave you or to return from following you. For where you go, I will go, and where you lodge, I will lodge.

  Unbidden, Lucinda Vermeal’s face floated before his eyes. He wondered what had made her so very angry that day at her new home, pushing him away from her, urging him to leave her. He didn’t believe he would leave her.

  When the time came in the ceremony, MacAvoy’s hand was steady and his color was back as James handed him the ring. It appeared that the groom’s fears were in the anticipation rather than the execution of the marriage. He watched MacAvoy kiss his bride and then pick up Mary and kiss her too. The shy child must have understood the gravity of the ceremony, though, and wrapped her arms around MacAvoy’s neck. James heard her whispered, “Papa.”

  James followed the triumphant groom, still holding Mary, with his bride, Mrs. MacAvoy, at his side. That would take some getting used to. MacAvoy was married. James was nodding and smiling to the guests as he walked down the aisle until a set of pale blue eyes flashed at him and looked away. Ah, Lucinda, looking elegant and unapproachable in brown silk with a wide white collar.

  Lucinda was not sure how Elspeth did it, making every one of the wedding guests in her home feel comfortable, but she did. She’d commandeered staff from her mother-in-law to manage the household and kitchen duties so that her own staff could enjoy the service at the church and the festivities in her home as one of their own was married. There were laundry maids in their best dresses alongside Mr. Pendergast’s parents, scions of Philadelphia society.

  “I understand there’s to be no formal sit-down dinner,” Aunt Louisa said as she removed her bonnet and handed her coat to a servant in the entrance way of the Pendergast home.

  “Perhaps she thought it might make some of the guests uncomfortable,” Lucinda said.

  “Yes. I think that is why she and Mrs. MacAvoy have chosen something less formal.”

  The ballroom had a huge buffet table down the center of the room and small tables for two or four guests scattered around the edge of the room. Muireall Thompson was directing her younger brother, Payden, and their housekeeper’s son, Robert McClintok, on how to fill their plates and juggle a glass of punch as they approached.

  “Miss Thompson? Muireall?” Aunt Louisa said with a light laugh. “Do you think they will be successful making it to one of the tables with their food and drink?”

  “I’m not sure. Payden has plans to tell his sister that the small plates are ridiculous and wants to know how she expects him to get enough food to fill himself.”

  “Mr. Thompson,” Aunt Louisa said as James joined them. “You did an exceptionally good job of keeping the poor groom from fainting. He looked terrified prior to the service.”

  “He was, ma’am,” James said and glanced at Lucinda. “But I convinced him to stand his ground.”

  She took a deep breath. James Thompson was handsome enough to take her breath away on any day and devastating in the dark suit and green silk vest he wore today. She’d watched him at the altar before the bride arrived, encouraging his friend, talking in a low voice to him. Aunt was right that Mr. MacAvoy had looked pale and nervous. And then he had seen his bride, and the change in him had been startling. His face lit, his eyes devouring the very demure, beautiful, and proper woman, his bride, as she made her way down the aisle. When he’d picked up the little girl and kissed her and the child had laid her head on his shoulder, every female in the church had sighed.

  It was such a romantic tableau. Nothing like the furor she was feeling for the man standing beside her, crowding her and letting their arms touch. She turned without speaking and walked away. He followed her, as she knew he would. She stopped and spoke over her shoulder.

  “Find someone else to follow, Mr. Thompson,” she said and continued walking toward the door to the ballroom, her destination unknown.

  “Lucinda. Stop.” He touched her arm. “I want to talk to you.”

  “How embarrassing for you,” she said. “I don’t want to talk to you. Leave me alone.”

  She hurried as much as good breeding would allow, attaching herself to Elspeth’s in-laws. She saw James in her peripheral vision, standing in the middle of the room, staring at her, his hands in his pants pockets, looking more gorgeous and manly than any male had a right to.

  She would not satisfy him by looking at him. She would not satisfy him in any way, she thought. No more stolen kisses and caresses. She was twenty-four and the only daughter of an incredibly wealthy and influential man. She was not unattractive. She knew that men liked to look at her. She’d been kissed before. Several times. But up until the first time James Thompson laid his lips on hers, she’d have said with all honesty that kisses were nothing to be excited about. Most were boring, some too forward, some too timid, some sloppy. But not so when he kissed her. Her mind ceased functioning when he kissed her. She belatedly realized that Mrs. Pendergast had asked her something, and she had no idea what.

  “I’m terribly sorry,” she said. “I’m not feeling well. I’m going to find my aunt.”

  She and Aunt Louisa gave their thanks to Elspeth and her husband, spoke to the bride and groom for a few minutes, and walked down the street side by side, having refused several offers to see them home, although Lucinda noticed a uniformed servant trailing them.

  “I was hoping to have a s
lice of the wedding cake,” Aunt said as they walked.

  “I’m sorry, Aunt Louisa. I’m not feeling well. You should have stayed.”

  Her aunt laughed. “I’m teasing you, dear. I don’t need a piece of cake. My waistline is disappearing as it is, and Renaldo will be waiting for me soon.”

  “Oh.”

  “What is the matter? You hurried away from Mr. Thompson, and usually you are pleased to chat with him.”

  “I don’t ever want to speak to James Thompson again,” she said breathlessly. It was such a terrible thing to think, especially now, hearing herself say it aloud. She wanted to cry but would not give in until she was safely in her home in her private sitting room.

  Aunt stared at her as they walked and finally began to converse on the guests at the wedding and how wonderfully romantic it had been when that little girl hugged the groom. Lucinda listened with half an ear.

  Mr. Delgado’s carriage was waiting outside Lucinda’s house. He stepped out of the carriage and helped Aunt Louisa into it after speaking quietly to her and kissing her cheek.

  “I would dearly love to see your new home, Miss Vermeal, if you would grant me a tour, but your aunt and I have an appointment to inspect a house that I am thinking of purchasing for my family and they have asked us to arrive earlier than our scheduled time. I was going to send a message to Louisa and see if I could convince her to leave the wedding party. But here you are!” He kissed her hand. “My Louisa was dearly hoping you’d make your home with us, but I understand you’re looking for some . . . independence. But know that you are welcome to come to us anytime, for a short stay or a long one. Your aunt is missing you desperately.”

  “Thank you. And another time, Mr. Delgado, I would love to give you a tour.”

  Aunt blew her a kiss through the carriage door and Renaldo walked her down the stone pathway, waiting with her until her butler, Brandleford, opened the door. Mr. Delgado bowed over her hand and bid her good day.

  She climbed the staircase slowly. Giselle was waiting for her and helped her remove her dress and unpin her hair from the elaborate style she’d worn for the occasion. She let her eyes close as her maid brushed through her hair. Then she dismissed her and stretched out on the chaise in front of the tall windowed doors that led to the balcony outside her rooms. She thought about James Thompson. She could not help herself. She thought about the night of the match and the sound of a fist hitting bone and his slumped and unconscious figure on the floor of the ring. She thought about his calling for her in his incoherent ramblings and let the tears run down her cheeks. She had best harden her heart to him now rather than risk loving him and losing him, even though he was not hers and never would be. And she must not love him! She could not risk it. She intended to rid herself of that ridiculous notion immediately.