by Jade Lee
"Have you noticed how those monks disappear for long stretches of time?" he abruptly asked. "I mean, they don't spend much time among the guests, do they?"
"I rather think it is uncomfortable for them," she inserted. "Besides, aren't they praying?"
"That's what they tell us," he drawled. "And of course, you are busy managing all the guests." He glanced sideways. "You are doing wonderfully, by the way. I can't imagine this has been easy for you. No surprise that you wandered off last night."
"I just needed a moment's respite. I keep feeling like—"
"Of course you did. But don't you see? I think I've discovered the truth behind them." He grinned at her, his expression almost boyish. "I've been following them. Spying on them, so to speak. Truly, it's been rather exciting."
She forced herself to give him a wan smile, though panic set her heart to pounding. What had he seen?
"The truth was to be found with their servant," he continued. "It always is, you know. But of course you do. You manage the servants better than anyone. A true master at it!" he said as he once again lifted her hands to plant a warm kiss on the back of one. "So I suppose it is to you that I owe the inspiration."
She looked at him, her thoughts spinning in anxious circles. "I don't believe I have ever seen you this giddy. Christopher, what have you discovered?"
"Ah. Well, as to that. . ." He coughed and turned his head. "You understand that I am not completely certain yet. I shall know for sure this afternoon."
"Chris! You cannot mean to keep this from me!"
He turned back to her. "They are boxers, Evie! Common boxers. They have traveled throughout England earning money by fighting."
She nodded, but she couldn't quite understand his glee. "Well, I suppose that explains why they had so much money. But I don't see how that solves our problem."
"Ah, but that is because you are not a man!" He turned, walking backwards as he spoke so that he could face her directly. "These men, these boxers, gain a reputation, and then the money dries up."
She frowned. "I'm sorry?"
"Well, if you are known for never losing, then who will be against you? No one! The big money comes from being a nobody and winning. Everyone bets against you. Then when you win, you can collect a king's ransom. But only if no one knows who you are." He spoke so rapidly that she had trouble following. "Especially if you are good, but not great. I mean, the great will go on to make history and the real money in London. The merely good must find other ways to survive."
"I suppose that makes sense. But how does that help us?"
He stopped walking to clasp both her hands together between his. He was so giddy that she couldn't help but smile. She didn't think she had ever seen him this excited about anything—their marriage included.
"Don't you see?" he asked. "Our Jie Ke is nothing more than a common boxer who had to reinvent himself. But fighting styles are like a signature. They can be traced. I will bet that a little digging will reveal our Jie Ke has been around England and Europe all his life making money from fighting." He leaned forward. "That means he is not Jacob. He never was!"
Evelyn nodded, but her smile was strained. "How soon will you know? How soon will you have proof?"
He grinned. "That is the greatest laugh of all! This afternoon, Evie! There is a fight this very afternoon."
"I had forgotten that," she said with a frown. Of course she'd known there would be a fight. One could hardly miss the local talk about it, though such a thing was generally not for her ears. In fact, she believed it had been planned specifically for after her wedding so that the men could enjoy themselves a bit while the women gossiped. This was the way things went in the country.
Meanwhile, Christopher guided her to sit at a stone bench. "I have a friend who is mad for boxing," he said. "Never misses a fight. Even went to them all across the Continent during his grand tour. If anyone would recognize the man, it would be he."
"And he will be here this afternoon?"
"I can't imagine he would miss a fight this close to London." He leaned forward and dropped his forehead against hers. "Never you worry, Evie. We will have this monk exposed by evening, and then everything can return to normal."
It was a good thing that Evie was looking down, because she couldn't bring herself to grin. For the first time in her life, her normal, everyday life didn't seem so exciting. She told herself that she was being ridiculous. Of course she wanted all this confusion to end as quickly as possible. Finding out certainly that Jie Ke was a bar would accomplish that. But she couldn't bring herself to believe it.
"Are you sure?" she said as she pulled away from her fiancé. "I mean, he doesn't seem like a liar. The stories he tells seem so real."
Christopher's eyes brightened. "So, you have been talking to him? You have been ferreting out his Chinese make-believe?"
She looked at her fiancé. She stared into his green eyes and saw a lifelong friend before her. He was a good man who deserved to know the truth about the woman he was marrying. And so she formed the words that would confess her sins. She would tell him everything she had done with Jie Ke and pray that he could forgive her. "I've spoken with him several times, Chris—"
"But it doesn't really matter, does it?" he interrupted. "I mean, how would you know if he bed to you?" he returned. "A man who is well traveled could easily make up stories about China. Certainly if he had a good imagination and a gift for pretending. You wouldn't really know the truth, would you?"
She swallowed her words of explanation. He was too giddy right now to listen.
"Don't worry, my dear," he said as he caressed her cheek. "I will sort this all out and then we can be married just as we planned."
She smiled because that was clearly what he wanted. But she couldn't keep completely quiet. "What do you see in our future, Chris?"
"What?"
"What do you think our lives will be like?"
"Well, exactly how they ought to be!" He frowned, obviously not understanding her question. When she didn't reply, he squatted down before her, his gaze, full and troubled, on her face. "You are truly upset, aren't you? You manage so well—the house, the crofters, and the guests—I forget that this must be a horrible strain on you."
"I. . . yes, I suppose." This wasn't what she wanted to talk about. "I have been acting so unlike myself lately. I went out last night."
"Yes, I know. But that is really not so unlike you. You have always mucked about in thunderstorms and the like. I sometimes think you would prefer the Irish moors—all that dark, spooky wind . . ." He smiled and tweaked her cheek. "I think of it as your charming eccentricity."
She did not like the direction this conversation had taken. Did he not understand that she had done more than just walk? Of course he couldn't know that, perhaps must never know that, but this was Christopher, the man she was to marry. She would bear his children! Could she really keep such secrets from him?
"I am wandering with no purpose," she said. "There is no future in what I do, and yet I cannot stop myself."
He laughed, the sound carefree and rather condescending. "But, my dear, that is the point of wandering, isn't it? As I said, it is your eccentricity. All the best countesses have one, you know. Much better in my book than a predilection for dogs. So long as you keep to the near grounds, I shall know you are safe. And, of course, don't teach it to the children. The boys will wander because that is what boys do. But we can't have the girls haring off. Who knows where they might get to?"
He waggled his eyebrows at her. He was making a joke of sorts, and at one time she would have laughed. Girls, after all, couldn't be trusted to know their own minds. And hadn't her nighttime exploits proved exactly that? She could not be trusted beyond supervision.
"So that is what you see?" she pressed. "Marriage. Children. And I shall be doing, well, exactly what I have been doing all my life," she realized with shock.
"Well, of course, except there will be more of it. M
ore property to supervise means more peasants to watch. Eventually
I shall take my seat in the House of Lords, and you will have our children. I understand that takes up a great deal of time, even with a nanny."
She watched his expression closely. Was he teasing her? Did he truly have no idea how much time it took to raise a child? Even with a nanny?
"Chris, do you know how to sew?"
He drew back slightly in disgust. "I beg your pardon?"
"Do you know how to use needle and thread? I mean, if you needed to, would you be able to sew something?"
"Of course I know how to sew!" he said, humor dancing in his eyes.
"You do?"
"Why, yes! You bring your purse to the tailor and tell him what you want!" Then he laughed fully and heartily at his own joke. When she didn't join him, he slowly sobered. "Why is this important? Why ever would I need to know such a thing?"
She shook her head, then pressed her hands to her heated cheeks. "Oh, I am being silly, aren't I?" She released a laugh that was too high-pitched to be natural, but he didn't notice. "Truthfully, I could not do a neat stitch if my life depended upon it. We are completely dependent upon our servants, aren't we?"
Why had that thought never rankled before? It certainly bothered her now. It made her want to run upstairs and immediately practice darning. Except, of course, such a thing was ridiculous. She had plenty to do without adding darning.
"Don't worry, my dear," Christopher said fondly. He held out his arm and she obediently rose to take it. "I shall have it all worked out this afternoon."
"The fight, yes. Christopher. . ." Her voice trailed away on a hopeful note. He was in such a happy mood, perhaps he would be indulgent.
"Yes?"
"I should very much like to go to this fight."
He didn't even hitch in his step. "I wondered when that would come up."
"Well, it is my life as much as it is yours. I should like to be there when we are set back on track."
"Mm-hm."
She turned, hope sparkling in her eyes. "Does that mean you will take me?"
"No, my dear, it does not." He smiled at her, but she was not fooled. There was a core of strength behind his eyes. She did not see it often, but she would have been a fool not to recognize it when it was there. "Fights are not so tame a thing as you imagine. The very worst element gathers for such events."
"But you will be there. And your friend."
"It is not a place for a countess."
"I am not a countess yet!"
"Neither are you going." He patted her hand. "I swear I shall tell you all about it when I return."
"No, Christopher." She didn't know why she was being so stubborn. Usually the argument would have ended long before this point. She knew he would not change his mind; she could read it in his body language and the tone of his voice. And yet, she could not stop herself. "I wish to go," she said firmly. "I will go in disguise if I must, but I will be there."
He laughed. Truly, he laughed with full good humor. "No, my dear, that will not fadge. I know you. You have too much sense to go without a chaperone, and I will not take you, no matter how much you beg."
She stopped, suddenly pulling her arm away from his, and planted her hands on her hips. "Christopher, I am not teasing. I intend to go."
He frowned, his eyes growing stormy. "Evie, I do not know what has gotten into you. It is this whole monk nonsense, I know, but do not give me reason to doubt your sense. You are to be a countess and must—"
"And must at all times act as such. I know! I was raised from the cradle on such words. But what if I want to choose how a countess acts? What if I want... I don't know ... to go to the rookeries and help impoverished children?"
"Whatever are you talking about? Where did you hear of the rookeries?"
She threw her hands up in the air. "Does it matter where I learned of them? I learned. And I know. You called me the smartest girl you knew. What if I want to travel to all those places I have read about? To the colonies, maybe, to see an Indian?"
"They just had a war over there!" he snapped.
"Fine, then what about Africa? Or China?"
"Now you sound like my uncle! Haring off to God knows where and getting himself killed. Really, Evie, I had not thought you so irresponsible."
And right there was the death knell of her argument. The moment Uncle Reginald's name was invoked, the word irresponsible reared its ugly head and all was lost to the holy altar of what one ought to do. "Chris," she whispered, "can you not understand? I merely want more from my life."
"More?" he scoffed. "More than children? More than becoming a countess? My goodness, one would think that would be enough for any woman!"
She swallowed. Put like that, she did sound ungrateful and horribly greedy. "How much land does the earldom hold?"
"A great deal. All told, there will be five times the land to supervise now."
Five times the numbers of crofters. Five times the Ben and Nan Browns. Five times the baskets to make, cradles to order, and surgeons to pay.
"And don't forget the children," he reminded her.
Ah yes. Five times the number of babies too, plus her own. "I will have no time to travel, will I? We won't ever go anywhere but London and here and the family seat." She didn't know where this sudden urge came from, but it reared up so abruptly that she almost thought it belonged to a different person, a different Evelyn altogether.
"Well," he said slowly, his face lifting into a sly smile. "I suppose there will be time for a party or two." He winked at her. "Or many more. After all, a new countess must be celebrated."
"But I won't be a countess yet."
"A future countess, then. A grand ball, I should think, in the London town house." He lifted her hand and set it on his arm. Then he began walking them toward the house. "That should keep you busy, I should think."
"I don't need more things to do!" she snapped. "I need . . ." What did she need? "I need different things to do."
He laughed. "Ah, now I see what the problem is. You are feeling your oats."
She pulled back, a little startled that he would compare her to a horse. "Christopher—"
"Hear me out. The horses—usually the young ones, but sometimes the older ones too—have a moment when they cannot wait to begin the day. They have eaten their food and feel strong and powerful. It's quite a fun time, actually. They prance around and act extremely foolish and are said to be feeling their oats."
"I know the expression," she said dryly.
"You are offended, my dear. My apologies, but hear me out. You see, you just have to let them dance for a bit, maybe ride them hard for a time, and eventually they settle down and become excellent goers."
She sighed, wondering if perhaps there was some merit in what he said, much though it hurt her pride to admit it. "You think I am merely anxious to begin my . . . our future and am—"
"Fighting the bit, so to speak."
Evelyn grimaced. "Well, if that is true and I will settle down in a bit, then there is nothing wrong with letting me, er, dance now, right?" She stopped to challenge him directly. "Take me to the fight, Chris. I shall obey your dictates completely, but I simply must see this fight."
He smiled and chucked her under the chin. "Ah, but you see, it is the stable master's job during these times to watch the filly in question—to let her dance in a safe place and not hurt herself."
Her shoulders dropped and she glared at him. "I am not a horse, Chris. And I am not helpless." She lifted her chin. "I will go to that fight."
He smiled, then suddenly leaned forward to plant a swift kiss on her lips. "No, my dear, you will not."
She would have argued more, but she could see the steel in his eyes. He would not budge on this no matter how much she pleaded. In short, he acted exactly as she had known he would from the very beginning.
She was not going to that fight.
She was going to that fight.
; The determination did not take long to surface. The same undeniable drive that pushed her outdoors last night became overwhelming within moments of being away from Christopher. She wasn't sure what was happening to her. She'd had a lifetime of ingrained proper behavior that included following Christopher's dictates. After all, he was older, male, and her future husband. Furthermore, his orders usually made sense. Therefore, she had been following his direction—or his mother's—since the very beginning.
Until now.
Now she was calmly, methodically setting up a disguise so that she could go safely to the fight. It turned out to be relatively easy. Even discounting her brother's vast wardrobe, she had men's clothing for emergencies, for times when she had traveled to one crofter's hut or another's in the dead of night.
At those times, it was best to dress in pants and ride astride. At those times, she pinned her hair up beneath a cap, darkened her face, and wore a heavy greatcoat. It worked beautifully so long as no one looked too closely at her face.
The next problem was finding the fight itself. There were miles of possibilities for such an event, and she really hadn't the foggiest idea where it might be. After all, she was supposed to be on her honeymoon. She hadn't cared what the men did while she was away. Fortunately, she knew just the woman to ask.
Evelyn wandered into the kitchen, found Gladys within moments and inquired about her brother and what the man was doing this afternoon. The whole story came tumbling out, location and all. And how funny that it was a place quite well known to her: the large grassy area behind the smithy. Horse fairs were sometimes held there, as well as the yearly county fair. They even had stands: crude planks built up in a dozen rows for people to sit upon. According to Gladys, the men had a raised square platform and put rope around the edges. The fighters would fight, the men would bet, and a great bloody time would be had by all. She and Gladys shared a womanly moment of disgust at men's need for blood sport, then it was over. Evelyn commented that she intended to go riding for a bit and disappeared to her room to change.
