Ashley tied the ribbon on her aunt’s bonnet. “I shall be fine. As I already told you, I have a great deal of correspondence to catch up with. I have been remiss in keeping up with some of my friends from the academy. And I could use the rest of a quiet day or two.”
As lies went it was a tiny one, considering most of the correspondence she planned to engage in related to finding a position at another academy.
They exchanged hugs and farewells, and as soon as her uncle’s carriage was out of sight, Ashley hurried to the desk in her room, the latest newspapers with job postings tucked under one arm, and got to work.
By midday, her hand was cramping and her stomach rumbling, but she had several letters ready to drop in the tray for the outgoing post, and the sun was shining. Remembering the treat Madame Zavrina would offer the students and staff at least once per term after a storm, as soon as she was done eating she informed the butler and housekeeper she was giving the staff a half day off.
“Enjoy the sunny afternoon,” she told them when they looked uncertain. “We can all have a late supper when you get back.”
Delighted at the bonus time off, they went to spread the news to the rest of the staff.
Upon returning to her room, Ashley debated whether to lie down for a nap or actually write letters to friends from the academy. The sun shining in her window drew her gaze to the garden in back of the house. Such a lovely spring day, everything fresh and washed clean from the rain.
“Sally, would you mind going for a walk with me before you leave?”
The maid paused in the act of tidying the dressing table. She glanced out the window, and a smile spread across her face. “That sounds lovely, miss.”
Soon they were both dressed appropriately for the mud they were likely to encounter on their walk, and with a last glance to be sure no other clouds loomed on the horizon, they set out.
Chapter 8
David hurried along Bond Street, enjoying the sun breaking through after the morning’s rain shower. He had a meeting at the House of Lords later this afternoon, but first needed to meet with his steward. Liam had taken on new students and was giving lessons in his apartment at the Albany, so David was on his way to his steward’s hotel.
He paused to sniff appreciatively at the scents emanating from Mr. Jamuna’s Bakery, decided not to go in to buy any of the sweet Indian pastries, and kept walking. As he neared the butcher shop, he heard a commotion in the alley—a male voice raised in anger, punctuated by a female’s pleas for mercy. Her cry of terror struck him. He darted around the corner and saw a man dressed in cast-off finery standing over a woman who knelt at his feet. The brute shouted another curse, and struck the woman across her cheek so hard she fell backward into the mud.
“Here now! Stop that!” David strode toward the pair. Other people had already gathered in the alley, street vendors and shoppers alike, but no one else tried to put a stop to the spectacle.
“This ain’t none of yer affair,” the man growled. His outdated and worn clothes were filthy. When the woman at his feet tried to move away, he grabbed a handful of hair that had fallen from her once-neat bun. Tears coursed down her cheeks, smearing her face powder and rouge. One eye was already swelling closed. Her red silk dress, cut too low for daytime wear, had muddy skirts and was ripped at the shoulder.
David searched the crowd again. Would no one protect her from this brute? “I’m choosing to make it my affair.” The brute was about three inches taller and three stone heavier than David, but David had sparred with Gentleman Jackson just last week. “Does it make you feel like more of a man to beat on a woman?”
The crown let out a collective,“Ooh!”
Brute let go the woman’s hair and turned to face David, drawing to his full height. “I do what I ‘ave to, t’ keep me girls in line.”
The woman in the red dress scrambled backwards until she huddled against the wall of the butcher shop. Street urchins began to circulate through the still-growing crowd, probably picking pockets.
“Damaging the merchandise does not seem like a wise business decision.”
Brute took a step toward David, his fists clenching and unclenching. “You calling me stupid?”
The crowd behaved as though they were watching a sporting match, their gaze swiveling from David to the brute and back, keeping away from them in a semi-circle. Another glance at the terrified woman strengthened his resolve to not back down, despite the dwindling possibility of settling this with words.
“I would never impugn the intelligence of a businessman. I would, however, say that a pimp who beats his whores is stupid and a coward.”
With a roar, Brute swung his huge right fist toward David’s jaw. David ducked. His hat fell off and rolled, and was picked up by an urchin. David slammed his fist into the brute’s midriff. As the pimp doubled over, David shoved his other fist upward beneath Brute’s chin, snapping his head backwards.
His jaw was much harder than the practice dummy at Gentleman Jackson’s. David shook out his stinging hands and stepped to the side, rethinking every decision in his life that had brought him to this moment.
On his way to straightening up, Brute grabbed David at his waist, swung him high, and slammed him into the ground.
Stunned, David lay motionless in the cold mud, the breath knocked from his chest. Brute turned to acknowledge a man’s cheer for showing the gent what-for. David rolled to his knees, ignored how the ground was spinning, and with the side of his hand clipped Brute behind his knees. He climbed to his feet just as the pimp crashed to the muddy ground. Gasping for air, David tried to step backward, and ran into a human wall of muscle and bone.
Oh hell. The pimp had a friend.
The second attacker yanked David’s coat from his shoulders halfway down his arms, pinning him. David abruptly shoved his head backwards but the giant holding him was so tall, he only impacted the man’s collarbone. Despite the sun in the sky, stars floated across David’s vision.
Brute climbed to his feet. His lips twisted in a snarl and his hands curled into massive fists as he advanced.
