Jenny opened the carriage door, and Edward reached a hand out, helping Emily inside, and then Jenny.
“There you are,” Edward said, a brow raised as if he couldn’t quite believe she’d followed through.
Emily climbed inside and settled onto the bench opposite Edward. The velvety blackness surrounded them inside, and Edward explained, “I thought it would be better not to light the lanterns and attract any undue attention.”
“Thank you,” Emily said, feeling breathless with the excursion and all the intrigue surrounding it.
“Are you sure about this?” Edward said in a quiet voice as Jenny joined them inside the carriage.
“I am,” Emily confirmed.
They rode in silence, but there was nothing silent in her heart about sitting across from Edward, riding through the streets of London in the middle of the night.
Finally, the carriage slowed, and Edward opened the door and climbed out first, handing both women down.
Emily looked around them, gaining her bearings. She didn’t recognize this part of London, but she knew they were close to the river, since she could smell the wet foulness upon the air. And from the building in front of them came a great deal of noise, like a mob of people shouting.
Edward turned to her. “Are you ready?”
She swallowed against the sudden thickness of her throat and nodded.
“Come on then, and stay with me at all costs,” Edward said. He linked one arm with Emily and the other arm with Jenny. Then he led them toward the door that had just shut after another patron had entered.
After a sharp rap on the door, it was opened and Edward handed over a few bills of money. And then suddenly they were inside, surrounded by noise and chaos.
Edward steered them around the perimeter of the crowd. The cheers from the primarily male audience rose and fell, obviously timed with the events inside the ring, although Emily couldn’t see a thing over everyone’s heads. Edward led them up a narrow staircase where they came out onto a row of balconies. He picked the least crowded one and they muscled their way next to those standing at the rail and watching.
“Hold your ground,” Edward said into her ear above the noise. “And don’t let go of my arm.”
Emily could only nod. There was no way her voice would outmatch the noise around them. Her gaze swept over the hundreds of men circling the ring, then her gaze landed on the two men who were fighting. A deep blush flamed her face at the way they were dressed, or undressed. Their shirts were off, and perspiration dripped down their faces, making their muscled chests and shoulders gleam.
One of the pugilists, a blond man, took a violent swing at the other man in the ring. Emily watched as every muscle in his torso and arms and neck bunched. And then the second man crumpled to the ground. The crowd went wild, and even Edward was cheering—yelling something that Emily couldn’t decipher.
The crowd started chanting a countdown as the man on the ground struggled to open his eyes, and finally climb to his feet. His nose was bleeding, and Emily almost had to look away as lightheadedness took over. Thankfully, holding onto Edward and the crowding spectators behind her, helped her stay on her feet.
The fight continued with the blond man swinging again, but this time the second man ducked and threw a punch into the blond’s stomach. Emily felt her own breath leave her as the crowd moaned. It was clear that the blond man was everyone’s favorite. When he gained the upper hand again, Emily found she was cheering along with Edward and everyone else in the room.
Each punch and blow made her wince and her stomach knot, but exhilaration coursed through her as the fight progressed. The sport was so raw, but Emily could see the skill that was being used by the blond man against his opponent.
The crowds on the balcony thickened as more and more people came up to get a better view, and Emily pressed herself against Edward. He held her close, and on his other side, Jenny remained as well, transfixed by all the action. Emily spotted a few other women in the crowds below, but they were women she’d never normally cross paths with if she were to judge by their low cut bodices and bawdy ways. It made Emily all the more grateful for Edward’s presence and protection. And then the blond man delivered a final blow that was deafening even if there was no way possible that Emily could have heard the fist-to-skin contact.
The crowd cheered and undulated below. Emily yelled, too, caught up in the moment and those around her as people slapped each other’s backs in congratulations and shillings and pound notes exchanged hands.
“What are they doing?” Emily called out to Edward.
He looked down at her with a grin. She noticed he was perspiring, too, and realized that the heat of the room and so many people would outmatch a gentleman’s outer cloak. “They’re paying off their bets.”
Emily’s mouth rounded, and the crowd started chanting something she couldn’t quite grasp.
Edward looked back toward the ring, then shouted over the noise, “Come on, we need to get out of here.”
She wanted to ask why, but Edward was already ushering her and Jenny down the narrow stairs, through the crowd on the main floor, and then out the door where the sharp, cold air felt like a slap.
As the door shut between them and the crowd, the quiet outside rang in her ears.
“What’s going on?” Emily asked Edward as he started down the street, keeping his arms linked with each of theirs.
“The German pugilist is calling our man a cheat,” Edward said.
“How can a man cheat at fisticuffs?” she asked.
“New rules are always being made.” He slowed as they came to the carriage and the waiting driver. Edward opened the door and helped both women inside.
The inside of the carriage was warm compared to the outside, but Edward still draped carriage blankets over their laps.
“Thank you,” Jenny murmured. The expression on her face echoed the awakening Emily had just felt as well.
This area in London was unlike any she’d ever visited, and that crowd . . . so much shouting and cheering and emotion.
“What did you think?” Edward asked her, his gaze on her face.
“It was wonderful,” she said. And it was true.
Edward’s brows shot up, and then he laughed. “You are truly a remarkable woman, dear Emily.”
Emily felt her face heat in a way that even the warm competition room hadn’t brought on. “It was fascinating, really,” she said. “Not that I enjoyed watching the men hurt each other, but they were so intense and so determined. I felt like I was watching two men fight for what was dearer to them. Even though fisticuffs is just a game.”
“It is a game,” Edward conceded. “But you might be onto something. Some of these pugilists make their living out of this sport. To lose is to lose money, and perhaps their livelihood, if their injuries are severe enough.”
Emily leaned forward, catching the expression on Edward’s face in increments as they passed by glowing street lamps. “What does it feel like? To be hit like that and to keep fighting even after the pain.”
Edward’s eyes bore into hers, and it was too dark for Emily to properly read into his gaze.
“It’s a shock, I’d say,” Edward said. “Then once you realize you’ve been struck, the pain roars through your body, almost crippling it. But then, miraculously, it fades into a strange numbness, and you just keep moving. The pain becomes a motivator, and you want to fight harder, faster, and avenge yourself.”
Emily nodded, captured by what he was saying, and even more captured by the way he was looking at her and speaking to her. It was like he was sharing an intimate part of his soul. And Emily knew she’d cherish this entire night for the rest of her life.
As they turned a corner that was more familiar to Emily, she noticed Jenny had fallen asleep, leaning her head back, her eyes closed.
Edward seemed to notice the same thing for he moved forward on his bench so that his knees brushed against hers. Warmth shot through Emily at the touch, spin
ning her thoughts into a dozen directions.
“Emily,” he said in a soft voice, taking both of her hands in his. “I’d like to visit with your mother tomorrow and request your hand in marriage.”
She stared at him, and knew that even though they sat in fractured darkness, his eyes were a deep blue. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. “Truly?”
“Truly, dear Emily,” he said. “Think of it. You could help me run my estate, our estate. I wouldn’t have to wait days to get an answer to one of my questions. You would be nearby to help your brother as well. And . . . you’d be able to paint day and night without interruption. Well, with minimal interruption.”
“It sounds like I’d be of great use to you,” she said.
“More than that,” Edward said, leaning closer until she could feel the warmth of his breath. “I don’t want you to marry anyone else. I need you.” He brushed his lips against hers ever so gently. “I love you, Emily.”
She blinked and drew away. “You love me?”
He nodded and kissed her again. This time the kiss lingered and was just as gentle, but Edward made no move to draw away, even though the carriage started to slow, which meant that Jenny would be waking up.
When he did draw away, it was only a short distance, which felt like no distance at all. “Do you love me?” he whispered.
She didn’t have to think in order to answer. She did love him, but hadn’t dared to hope that she’d be united with a man both in love and friendship, and now she wouldn’t move far for marriage.
“Yes, Edward Blackwood, I do love you,” Emily said. “And my mother would be more than happy to receive you tomorrow and consider your request.”
Edward’s laughter was light, and Jenny stirred, mumbling sleepily.
He released Emily’s hands and sat back in his seat. “Now that it’s settled,” he said in a quiet voice, “let’s see what we can do to advance the cause of Jonathan Downs and your cousin.”
“Did I tell you that I love you?” Emily asked.
Edward grinned. “You did.”
Epilogue
A double wedding might have been a groom’s nightmare, but for Edward, he couldn’t be happier. In fact, if Peter were still alive, Edward knew his brother would be impressed.
This morning, Edward would meet Emily at the altar, right after Jonathan Downs and Adele Gerrard were married by Jonathan’s father. Then Jonathan, in his first act as a new vicar, would pronounce Edward and Emily man and wife. And Edward couldn’t be more pleased, or more impatient.
His mother had taken on the wedding plans with the force of a gale wind, and from the moment he had announced his engagement, his mother had determined to invite anyone within traveling distance to come to the wedding feast. A handful of relatives had arrived a full two weeks in advance of the wedding, filling the spare rooms, and areas of the house that hadn’t been breathed upon in years had been cleaned and prepped.
And not one thing bothered Edward. No, his mother could throw a ball fit for the royal family if she cared to. In fact, she could throw an entire week full of balls. Edward’s thoughts were only filled with Emily. Since their engagement, she’d allowed a few more kisses, which Edward had enjoyed with increasing intensity, but it was more than the attraction he had for his future wife that kept his thoughts consumed. He was retrofitting a set of rooms in the east wing of the house into an artist’s studio. It had been completed two days ago, and Edward couldn’t wait to show it to Emily.
She’d promised to meet him at the ruins early this morning, and he’d escort her back to the house before any of the guests awakened from their late nights. Edward couldn’t wait to see her expression. Emily had been curious about what his wedding gift might be, but then she told him she had a wedding gift of her own, and that she’d be bringing it to the ruins. Which meant it was small enough to carry.
As Edward finished dressing on his own, since it was much too early to be bothered with the help of his valet, he thought of the one thing that would have made this day more perfect. Peter. And he knew that Emily wished her father could have lived to see her married.
Edward gave up on knotting his cravat and left it in a simple loop. He would spend all of his time and energy making sure Emily was happy. They’d both been through enough sorrow, and hand in hand, they’d greet the future.
As ready as he was going to be this early, Edward strode out of his bedchamber and down the stairs through the main house, then out the door. The groom was already waiting out front with his horse, and within moments Edward had mounted and was riding through the mist toward the ruins.
When he reached the first signs of the outcroppings of crumbling stone, Emily was nowhere in sight. Edward dismounted and let his horse graze. He hoped Emily would still come. If he didn’t show her the artist studio early, he might not get a chance to until after their honeymoon. Their day and evening was packed with events, and they’d be traveling by carriage tonight to the next village where they’d spend two nights at a small house Edward had rented out. He wanted his bride all to himself before they set out on their honeymoon.
The sound of approaching horse hooves cut through his thoughts, and he turned to see a form coming through the mists. Within moments, Emily’s shape was defined, and as her face came into view, Edward found that his heart was pounding. A familiar feeling now. He scanned her luminous features, her brown eyes, and the dark curls that framed her face. She wore a deep green riding habit.
Edward approached her horse as it slowed and handed her down. Her hand fit perfectly into his, and he drew her close, leaning down and saying, “Good morning,” before brushing his lips against hers.
“Good morning,” she answered with a smile, and Edward felt as if he were falling into the depths of her eyes.
He leaned in for another kiss, pulling her closer, but she placed a hand on his chest, and said, “I’ve brought you something. I want to show it to you before I change my mind.”
He drew away, and before he could say anything, she turned back toward her horse and unbuckled a satchel she had attached to the saddle.
Edward was surprised to see her face pink as she handed over the satchel for him to see inside. He grasped the satchel and put his hand inside and touched something square and thick, yet too lightweight to be a book. Taking it out, he realized it was an unframed canvas. When he turned it over, he could only stare for a moment at the man standing in a fisticuffs ring. Edward knew immediately that the shirtless fighter was him, and that the opponent, mostly in shadow, was Mr. Gifford.
He examined the detail and lines and shapes, marveling how the scene seemed to be moving although it was only paint on a canvas.
“You painted this for me?” he asked Emily at last, still overcome with amazement.
“Not exactly,” she said, moving to stand next to him so they could both gaze at the work of art. “I didn’t intend to draw you at all, but I actually started this before leaving to London. And when we returned, I had to finish it. I’d seen an actual fisticuffs match in person and so I had to make a few changes from my original creation. But you . . . you were mostly the same.”
Edward met her gaze, and in the brown depths of her eyes, he saw her insecurity and her desire to know what he thought. It wasn’t hard, and he didn’t need to gloss over any truth. “This is remarkable, Emily. And not because I’m your subject, but because you captured the emotion perfectly.” Surrounding the image of Edward were spectators in all stages of watching the impending match. Edward recognized several of the characteristics of the people they’d seen that night. Emily had brought them all together in a riot of color and action.
And then there was his image. Strong, muscled, determined, yet there was a hooded look in his eyes that spoke of the knowledge that what he was doing had many risks.
“I’m going to hang it up,” he said.
“Oh no,” Emily protested. “I couldn’t possibly let my mother or your mother know that I’ve painted your bare torso.”
“My aunt will probably faint if she sees it.” She smiled back at him, her face flushing pink again.
Edward moved his head close to Emily’s and breathed her in. “Would that be such a terrible thing? I mean, we’re about to be married. And I have the perfect place to hang it.” When she shook her head, he continued, “Don’t say no until I’ve shown you the wedding present I’ve prepared for you.”
Emily turned up her face, her brows raised with curiosity. “Is this the present that no one else can know about yet?”
“Correct,” he said. She was so close to him that he had to take the opportunity to kiss her again. He loved the way her body softened against his, chasing away all the space wherever they connected.
“We should go, then,” Emily said, sounding breathless. “The sun is rising.”
The mist was quickly dissipating as well, and after Edward helped his almost-wife onto her horse, he mounted his own. They rode through the summer meadows and down the sloping lawn leading to the house. They took the horses to the stable, and then Edward led Emily around to the back of the house where they entered through the garden parlor.
The house was silent save for the murmur of voices coming from the kitchens where the cook and maids were beginning to prepare yet another feast. Edward kept Emily’s hand in his as he led her up the back stairs the servants used, then up another flight of steps until they were on the third floor of the house. Guests were staying in one wing, but Edward led Emily to the east side.
He’d had double doors installed when he had the carpenters combine two rooms into one.
“Ready?” he asked as they came to a stop in front of the doors. “Close your eyes and walk with me.”
She dutifully closed her eyes, and Edward opened both doors then led her inside. Once he had her in the middle of the studio, he stopped and let go of her hand.
A Season in London (Timeless Regency Collection Book 6) Page 15
