“There you are, Richard,” Lord Easton said. “I suppose you enjoyed last evening?”
Richard could not bring himself to prevaricate about it so only shrugged.
“Cheer up, old fellow,” Lord Easton said, “I’ve heard of something that will interest you. The Prince is bringing in Gentleman Jackson for some sort of exhibition to raise funds for mothers and children in Brighton who find themselves less fortunate. I do not suppose the Regent has given those poor people much thought, but it seems Mrs. Fitzherbert has and he is determined to please her.”
“I thought he’d had the decency to be done with that woman,” Richard muttered.
“Oh, you know how those two go on—they’re done and then they’re not, and then they are. In any case, I said you’d be interested.”
Despite his disapprobation of Mrs. Fitzherbert, hewasrather interested. He’d only had the opportunity to train with Jackson once, a few years before, but he’d learned a lot in the session. Jackson went about things in a very scientific fashion, which suited him very well. There was a method to adopt, not luck to pray for—it was full of practicality and sense. Further, he favored boxing for its ability to burn off any temper that might be knocking on the sides of his box. At the moment, there was plenty of irritation that he might pummel out of himself.
“When will it take place?” Richard asked.
“Wednesday, next,” Lord Easton said. “It is to be public and down on the beach. It will be quite a spectacle.”
“Public? I really do not—”
Lord Easton waved his hands. “Yes, I know, you won’t like it being public but it would hardly be an exhibition if it were not. As well, it is for a worthy cause and if that is not enough to spur you on, you’d curse yourself if you sat on the sidelines.”
“I do not suppose the magistrate will approve the thing going on so publicly.”
His uncle laughed and said, “I very much doubt Prinny asked, I suspect he told the magistrate that he can keep his thoughts to himself. Jackson arrives sometime today and trainings are to begin on the morrow.”
His uncle was right, the Regent could do what he liked. Further, it was too big a chance to miss.
“The Prince has told me that all interested gentlemen are to turn up on the green behind Saint Nicholas church at eleven in the morning to begin the training. That location is private enough so you will only be in the public’s eye at the exhibition. On the day, I’ll be your bottle man and Kingston can be your knee man. I’d be your knee man myself but let us be realistic—if you actually sat on me, we’d collapse to the ground in a heap.”
Richard ignored that embarrassing picture. Of course he would go. He could not like the public aspect, but four days training with Gentleman Jackson was a chance not coming round twice.
Miss Upton tripped into the room, looking as if she had not been out until the early hours of the morning. Richard supposed she was one of those creatures for whom sleep was a hobby, but not a necessity.
She brightly said good morning and took a plate from the sideboard. As she approached the table, she glanced underneath it.
“I see Edgar has joined us,” she said. Richard watched her as she went back to the sideboard and added extra pieces of bacon to her plate.
He well knew what she was doing. She was planning on cementing her friendship with his dog by way of a rasher. Unfortunately, he was also certain the strategy would work all too well. Whatever Edgar’s standards were, he threw them over for any sort of meat.
Bramley brought in the morning post and handed it to Lord Easton. He flipped through the letters and then stopped at one.
“Ah hah!” he said, tearing it open. “Alvanley writes, and he’s wasted no time about it. Not even franked, he must have sent a servant to drop it off.”
“That’s probably about the dinner party,” Miss Upton said.
“What dinner party?” Richard asked, as his uncle read the sheet of paper.
“At the rout last evening, he mentioned that he wished to extend an invitation to dinner,” Miss Upton said.
“Did he?” Richard said, drumming his fingers on the table. Why would Alvanley think Lord Bertridge and his family would deign to attend one of his juvenile parties? Richard had never been invited to one, but he had heard of them and firmly decided if he everdidget an invitation, he would decline. It seemed the time had finally come.
“Oh I see,” Lord Easton said. “It is to be a very small affair and he’s only got room for two more.”
“I hardly think my aunt will wish to accompany you,” Richard said, a bit singed that he was not included though he had firmly vowed to decline.
“No, no,” Lord Easton said, “he thinks of myself and Caroline.”
“What?” Richard said, dumbfounded.
“Yes, it says right here, the charming and lovely Miss Upton and her escort Lord Easton. Well, you know, he does say he’s only got room for two.”
