February 7, 1822
Dunbury, England
Two things were clear: Roberta had no interest in leaving without Peter. Christian had no interest in relinquishing his hold on his fighter. Therefore, it was incumbent upon Sera to learn the truth from Peter himself. Did he wish to fight? And was he truly interested in Roberta? If not, then she would plead with him to break her charge’s heart. If he did love Roberta, then she would plead with him to give up fighting and fight for her instead.
Unfortunately, Peter had been constantly under Christian’s watch from what she could tell, which meant she would need to engage in some subterfuge to get him alone.
And when subterfuge was involved, Lord Damon was never far behind.
“You wish me to what?” Lord Damon asked, buttering his breakfast toast.
“Send Christian a note asking him to meet you.”
“What type of note could I possibly send him that wouldn’t have him telling me to sod off, given the hour of the day and its proximity to the fight?”
“I don’t presume to comment on whatever subjects interest gentlemen,” she said.
Lord Damon sighed, rather dramatically in her opinion. “Very well. There is one topic I can consider broaching, but I can’t promise you any more than ten minutes.”
“That i’s all I’ll need.”
She waited outside Christian’s door and as promised, within the hour, a man arrived with a note, and Christian followed him down the stairs to Lord Damon’s quarters on the other side of the inn. With a breath for courage, she knocked on the door. When there was no answer, she knocked again, and a very startled Peter Herron opened it.
He was young, which was a strange thought to have when less than a handful of years separated them.
“Lady… Er, your grace,” he mumbled. “Mr. Hughes is not here.”
“I know, Peter. I’m here to have a word with you. I have my maid with me. Might I step in for a moment?” Without waiting for him to respond, she swept into the room. Peter stumbled backward. He wore the white breeches of a boxer but was still dressed in a billowing white shirt, something out of a pirate book that she was sure Roberta would find very romantic.
“What do you want with me, your grace?” he asked.
She cocked her head. “I’m acquainted with your uncle, the Earl of Landale. Were you aware?”
He shook his head. “We don’t speak much.”
“I understand your family has grown up knowing the Crawfords, and Roberta in particular.”
“Yes, your grace.”
“You don’t say much, do you, Peter?”
He glanced out the window, as if expecting to find Christian climbing through it to rescue him.
“Peter,” she said gently, forcing his attention back to her. “I understand that Mr. Hughes can be a very compelling man, a man who is easy to listen to. But you have no end of compelling examples to follow, should you need them.”
“Are you saying he isn’t worth following?” Peter asked.
It was all so much more complicated than he understood. “Mr. Hughes is a very fine example of a gentleman who has made his mark and followed his heart. But Peter, is fighting in your heart? Or is it something you’ve been drawn to for other reasons?”
“I don’t know,” he said finally. “Maybe at first it was for other reasons. But not any more.”
This surprised her, although she didn’t know why. Because of Roberta’s report, she’d always assumed he was boxing under duress, under pressure. But now she wondered if he liked it for its own sake. “Peter, just because you are drawn to one thing doesn’t mean you should leave all else behind. Do you understand?”
“I think so, your grace.”
“Roberta is a lovely young lady, do you not agree?”
His face lit up, and she saw the raw emotions he felt for Roberta, plain as day. “She is the best and sweetest of women, your grace.”
“You’re aware she cares for you very much, and doesn’t want to see you hurt.”
He hung his head and stared at the floor. Since being with Christian, he seemed to have developed some of the stillness of his mentor. “Miss Crawford would be best giving her affection to someone more worthy.”
“More worthy? You are infinitely worthy.”
“Because I’m the Earl of Landale’s nephew?”
“No, because you’re a good man.”
“Then what if I wasn’t?”
“Wasn’t a good man?” she repeated, confused.
“Wasn’t the Earl of Landale’s nephew.” He refused to meet her gaze.
Peter Herron, a bastard? Is that what he was implying? Is that what had driven him away from his family?
A voice from behind her interrupted her thoughts. “That’s enough, Sera.”
His voice was a gentle rumble, and it was the first time he had addressed her with such familiarity. She turned back to Peter, unsure how best to reassure him.
“You are who you are,” she said. “The rest is just a name.”
She walked past Christian, her head held high.
You are who you are. The rest is just a name.
Had she meant what she said? Had she meant all of it? About him being a fine example of a gentleman? She’d spoken about him with such respect. It was at such odds with the image he’d assumed she had of him over the years.
That he was just a bit of fun.
What a sorry pair they made, he and Peter in the carriage headed for the hill. It was important not to expend unnecessary energy prior to the fight, so there would be no walk today. He imagined Jackson and his fighter were also in their carriage.
The knee man and bottle man had gone ahead with a bucket of oranges and one of water, so they were alone. He normally made it a policy not to interfere with his charges’ lives, but he couldn’t forget what he’d overheard.
“A man’s parentage is a complicated thing,” he said.
“You know from experience,” Peter noted.
“Aye.” He didn’t know how the boy had discovered there were doubts about his own, but it didn’t matter. It changed everything. It always did. “So you do have an understanding with Roberta?”
“Nothing official, thank goodness, for her sake. Else there might be a taint to her reputation.”
“But you’ve not spoken of this with her?”
“Of course not. How could I?”
“Are you certain of your situation? Has anyone verified it?”
“No,” he said. “But… she is more than Miss Crawford now. She has connections. Important ones. I can’t ask her to set that aside for me.”
“Would you have set them aside for her?” he asked.
“Of course.” Peter’s scowl grew fierce. “But how could I ask it of her? How could I put her in such a position? It’s disgraceful.”
“I would be inclined to agree,” he said. He’d felt the same that night, but he’d asked anyway. And she’d responded that she was just having fun. He’d always focused on that, instead of what Sera had said afterward. Instead of what Sera had done afterward.
It came back to him now, in a wave, in a rush, all her love for her family and all the sacrifices she had made.
“But I have it on good authority that as much as you want to make a heroic sacrifice, as much as you want to be a hero, sometimes you must leave it to your woman to be the heroine instead.”
There had to be a crush of twenty thousand bodies, a good proportion carrying parasols, but being the Dowager Duchess of Rivington and in attendance with the Viscount Savage had its benefits. She was seated in an exclusive white tent beneath the shade of the oak trees in the east corner of the ring, sponsored by the Earl of March’s family. She enjoyed an ice with Lady Francesca while simultaneously playing the conversation through her mind.
She understood the boy’s instincts, but they frustrated her to no end. It was another example of men thinking they knew best. Of their denying her sex the right to make their own decisions, their own choices.
Not that she knew how Roberta would decide when faced with such a choice, but shouldn’t she be given the opportunity?
“Did you speak with him?” Roberta asked, eagerly clutching her hands. The young girl was trembling with anticipation. Sera brushed the curls back from the girl’s face.
“I did, but am unable to share the contents of that conversation.”
“You’re just like him,” Roberta said with a stomp of her foot.
“I know you must be frustrated.”
“What would you have me do? I love him.”
She knew what a future Patroness of Almack’s would advise, but realized this was not what she would advise. “Beg him to tell you the truth. Listen responsibly. Do not react, but hear what he must say.”
“I have!”
“No, you haven’t. You’ve said you would rescue him. You’ve begged him to come back. But you’ve never asked why he left in the first place. Do you understand the difference?”
“I think so,” Roberta said, looking crestfallen… and thoughtful.
The crowd erupted into applause then, drawing their attention back to the ring. Both fighters made their approach, their mentors behind them, support teams to their sides. Two umpires met in the center of the ring and spoke to each other, comparing notes.
It had been impossible to watch Christian fight yesterday, and that had been for only three abbreviated rounds. She couldn’t imagine what Roberta must feel to have to watch the love of her childhood fight into the night or until someone was knocked out.
Peter looked up and saw Roberta under the tent, and approached her. Just as Christian spoke to the umpires.
Sera didn’t think the fighters were allowed into the crowd, but he walked right up to Roberta and said, “May I speak with you?”
Roberta nodded happily.
“Now?” Sera asked. “Are you not engaged in a fight?”
Then one of the umpires cleared his throat and called for attention. “We have a change in the ticket. In lieu of Peter Herron, Christian Hughes will fight.”
Chaos reigned, primarily as bets were reassigned. Sera pushed her way up to the ring, shoving past the crowd and creating an all-out spectacle. Christian seemed to pay her no mind as he shook hands with his opponent and returned to his corner.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she seethed. “That boy will kill you. He’s half your age, and unlike you, he wasn’t in a fight yesterday and doesn’t have an injury.”
“By all means,” Christian said, “speak loudly of more of my weaknesses for him to exploit.”
She lowered her voice, well aware that there were gossipers and bystanders all around them. “What are you hoping to accomplish?”
“That,” he said, nodding at the tent.
She glanced back across and saw Peter on his knees, kissing Roberta’s fingers as the girl nodded happily. There would be repercussions, of course, but they would face them as a family and with the strength of their respective societal and financial bonds.
“Doesn’t bode well for you at Almack’s, does it?” he said.
She shrugged. “I suppose not. Is that why you did it? To destroy my chances there?”
“Not at all. I did it because I know that above all, you’d sacrifice anything for the happiness of your family.” He stood and leaned across the rope, his face close to hers. “I did it so that for once, Sera, you would let me be your hero.”