Page 41 of My Fair Lord

He took one more look about him. There was definitely no sign of Miss Wakechild. He paid his three shillings to the hawker who stood beneath the sign and nodded to Maximillian Rafferty in greeting. Rafferty nodded back amiably.

“How many have beaten you today?” Ned asked.

“No one.”

“That’s good.” Ned removed his hat, coat, waistcoat, and tie and folded them neatly on a stool. “I’d hate for you to lose more than five guineas.”

Rafferty laughed good-humouredly. “Won’t happen now either.”

The crowd was thinning out. No one had taken Rafferty on since the valet had left clutching his belly and groaning. Now a few more spectators drew close.

“Don’t hit my beautiful face,” he said, stroking his sideburns.

Rafferty laughed and beckoned Ned to step inside the roped area. “Can’t promise.”

Ned rolled up his sleeves then stepped over the low rope and raised his fists. The hawker rang the bell and Ned darted forward. He got the first punch in, straight at Rafferty’s abdomen. It felt like hitting a bag of bricks. Rafferty was well used to the game. He let Ned get a couple more glancing blows in, just enough to give him unwarranted confidence.

Ned knew the game too, though. He ducked and danced around lightly on his feet, making a show of avoiding Rafferty when the colossus began to swing. He knew how to fight respectably and how to brawl crudely. Most importantly, he knew how to dodge a fist when it came to it so the impact was lessened. It struck him that he could actually last the round without injury and win himself five guineas. It was very tempting.

All his assumptions that he could win vanished when Rafferty swung his left fist and caught Ned on the right shoulder. Ned staggered backwards, grunting as waves of pain shot down his right arm. He swung out wildly with both fists, losing all sense of how long he’d been there for. He felt his fists strike some part of Rafferty, who gave a deep laugh and pushed him away.

Ned sucked in a breath as he stumbled back, breathing heavily and staring at Rafferty, pondering his best move. It was no good getting a bruised belly or ribs with nothing to show for his exertions. He needed something visible. At some point he would have to grit his teeth and let Rafferty get a punch to the face. Only a slight one, though. Ned didn’t want to actually be injured, but he had to look gruesome enough that Miss Wakechild would not have him anywhere near her party for the next few days at least.

He danced round Rafferty, ducking back and forth while letting the large man spin on his heels. He felt like a toy poodle baiting a mastiff. Somewhere he heard voices begin to count down from twenty. It was now or never.

He licked his lips, sent a prayer up to anyone watching who might not have abandoned him as a lost cause, and stepped face first into Rafferty’s oncoming fist, tilting his head at the final moment so that the blow took him on the side of the face and not straight on the nose. He tasted blood, roared, and threw himself into Rafferty. The prize fighter had not been expecting a return onslaught and landed another punch to Ned’s eye. Lights exploded inside Ned’s head and he staggered but did not fall. It didn’t hurt as much as he expected, but it would leave a hell of a bruise.

Dimly he heard a bell ringing. The crowd erupted into cheers and applause. Ned dropped to his knees and gave a sigh of relief.

“I think I won,” he mumbled, letting himself fall fully to the ground, lying back and staring at the sky.

“Yes.” Rafferty stood over him, eyes narrowed. He held a hand out and helped Ned up. He leaned in close and whispered to Ned.

“You could have avoided those last two punches, but I think you’ve done this before. You’re an absolute fool. If I lose my pitch here because Lord Griggs thinks I’m beating people up, I’ll come after you and finish you off.”

“You won’t. It was my fault. I’ll answer for anything that has to be answered for.”

The two men shook hands. Ned reclaimed his clothing and accepted the five guineas, promising himself that some of his winnings would go to a pint of something good to take the sting away. He wiped his mouth and spat blood. He walked away, wincing and rolling his shoulder back. All in all, he was satisfied with how the encounter had gone.

His elation was short-lived as he turned to see Miss Wakechild standing and watching. Her arms were rigid by her side and her face as pale as fine porcelain. She was wearing the same outfit as before, so she clearly hadn’t returned to change. He stepped towards her quickly, though each limb felt unaccountably heavy, but she shook her head.

“Don’t speak to me!” she hissed.

“I thought you had gone,” Ned began lamely. His stomach heaved and he was flooded with shame. Getting bruises was one thing but he hadn’t intended for her to see it happen.

“I had. I came back because I just knew you were going to do that!”

Her eyes were bright and she looked on the verge of tears. The sight was like a fist driving into his ribs. It was causing more discomfort than anything Rafferty had managed to inflict.

“How do you think I felt watching you in the ring?” She screwed up her eyes then opened them and glared at him. “Why are you so greedy? You don’t need the money. I’m paying you well, though I’ve a good mind not to after that display.”

“That would be fair,” Ned said quietly, dropping his head. Let her think it was self-recrimination that made him avert his gaze. In truth, he couldn’t bear the expression of misery on her face. “It won’t happen again, I can assure you.”

Miss Wakechild made an anguished noise in the back of her throat. “I don’t want to hear your assurances. I don’t want to see you again today. Or tomorrow. Not until Lord Stretford has gone. Perhaps not even then!”

She turned and swept away. Ned’s shoulders sagged. He made his way back to Goreswarth Chase and to his room, taking care to avoid the route Miss Wakechild had taken. He sent for water and dabbed at his bruises. When he heard the clattering of wheels signalling the arrival of Stretford’s carriage, he forced himself to resist looking out of the window. He didn’t want to know how the visit would go. He’d achieved what he needed to do, but the price was far higher than it should have been.

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