Chapter One
WATCH A BOXING MATCH
“Icannot believe,” Laura whispered, her voice barely audible above the low, smoky rumble of the tavern, “that I let you talk me into this.”
“You weren’t talked into anything,” Caroline murmured back, tugging the brim of her cap lower over her brow. “You volunteered. Rather enthusiastically, if I recall.”
“I said perhaps, and that is not volunteering.”
“In my experience, a ‘perhaps’ from you means yes. Now stop fidgeting. You’ll draw attention,” Caroline chastised, and with that, her friend’s hands stilled against her thighs.
Across the narrow passage that served as an entrance to the tavern’s backroom, two men were shouting at each other about a wager, their voices thick with ale and conviction. The room beyond smelled of tallow, sawdust, and sweat; nothing at all likethe powder-and-hothouse-flower scent of every assembly room Caroline had ever been ushered into.
She breathed it in.
It was magnificent.
The backroom of the Black Boar was not large, but it was crammed with bodies: working men, merchants, and a few gentlemen in plain coats who had shed their titles at the door. Around the perimeter of a roped-off ring, benches were packed three-deep. Above the noise of conversation, the clank of tankards, and the occasional roar of laughter, Caroline could hear the measured thud of fists against leather mitts, then a roar of triumph as one of the two fighters was declared the winner.
Thankfully, there would be more than one match tonight.
Caroline felt the tightness in her chest loosen. It was a tautness she had been holding inside her ribcage for months.
“Two ales,” she said to the barman, deepening her voice with what she hoped sounded like authority and tossing the coins across the bar before he could look at her too closely.
The man swept the money up without interest, and a moment later, two dented pewter tankards were slid in Caroline and Laura’s direction.
Laura regarded hers the way one might regard a small, unpleasant animal. “You know your brother will have us both transported if he finds out.”
“Lewis won’t find out,” Caroline assured Laura as she handed her the drink and steered her toward a gap on the nearest bench, settling in as naturally as she could manage.
At least, she hoped her elder brother would never find out, because he would most definitely be incensed by her audacity.
Caroline’s borrowed coat was a little long in the sleeve and smelled of horse and starch, but it fit well enough in the shoulders. Her maid, Jane, who was either the most loyal woman in England or the most reckless, had sourced them both from a footman’s spare wardrobe and asked no questions whatsoever.
“Besides, he is at his club tonight. His dear wife Esther thinks we’ve retired early with headaches,” Caroline added.
“We’ll have genuine headaches by the time this is over,” Laura mumbled.
“Laura.” Caroline looked at her friend; beneath the cap, Laura’s dark eyes were wide and roving, cataloging the room with an alertness that she was trying very hard to disguise as unease, but Caroline knew her better. “Don’t tell me you’re not the least bit curious about the spectacle before us.”
A beat. Laura pressed her lips together. “Only marginally.”
Caroline smiled and lifted her ale.
She had been imagining a boxing match since she was sixteen years old and had found a tattered sporting pamphlet tucked into the back of her uncle’s library—the same library from which she had been explicitly barred. The pamphlet had described a bout in terms so vivid, so thrillingly physical, that she had read it three times before returning it to its hiding place, heart hammering.
She had thought about it often, in the years since. In drawing rooms and at tea tables and during the interminable lessons on posture that Lady Hayward, her aunt from her mother’s side, had inflicted on her across half the continent while they were traveling together. She had thought:someday.
That someday was tonight.
And once the next pair of fighters stepped to the center of the ring, her heart fluttered with excitement.
“He’s been worse this week,” Caroline said, not taking her eyes off the ring.
The taller of the two fighters, wiry, quick, with the economical movements of someone who had learned his craft through genuine necessity, had just landed a neat jab that sent the crowd around them lurching forward.
“What?” Laura whispered.