Page 46 of The Boxing Baroness

Marianne chuckled, earning another startled look. “I deserve that. As to Derbyshire, I stayed there one Easter with a schoolmate.”

“Where did you go to school?”

“I went to Miss Nolan’s Academy for Young Ladies.”

“I’ve heard of it. An excellent school.”

“You’re probably wondering how I managed to get in?”

He gave her a pained look.

“Sorry, that sounded a bit, er, snappish.”

“A bit. But yes, now that you mention it, I thought the school had a waiting list.”

“It does.” Marianne cut him a shrewd look. “I was fortunate in receiving a recommendation from the Countess of Morecombe.”

The duke frowned, his expression that of a man cudgeling his memory. “Isn’t that—”

“Dominic’s maternal grandmother.”

“You’ve known him since you were a girl, then?”

“Not personally. It was my uncle who arranged that. I didn’t actually meet Dominic until after I’d left school.” She watched with interest as he absorbed that information. Just what would the duke ask next?

But when they reached the park gates, he surprised her by saying, “Did you wish to run?”

“Not just yet.” She gave him a sheepish smile. “I’d like to get used to Cassio first.”

He nodded.

After a moment, he said, “I am glad to hear Dominic was able to use his influence for good.”

“For a change?” she added.

“Well, you were the one who said it first—that Dominic was motivated solely by money.”

“I did say that,” she admitted. “And that’s why he talked his grandmother into lending her support. He owed my uncle for something or other. I’m fortunate that Barnabas thought to seek repayment in such a form,” she said, meaning it. Her uncle, for all his faults, had managed not only to get her into the best school for girls in Britain, but also to scrape together the not insignificant funds for it.

“Did you enjoy your time at school?”

“Surprisingly, yes.”

“Why surprisingly?”

“Come, Your Grace, you must know what a cuckoo I was in that particular nest. I wasn’t one of the few scholarship students—whose lot in life was significantly worse than mine—but neither was I accepted by the fashionable crowd.”

“I can’t see you cultivating their approval. And before you bite my head off, I just meant that you do not strike me as a tuft-hunter.”

“I’d have had as much chance of scaling such social heights as I would flying. But I found my level—mainly among the daughters of merchants. Although even some of them were leery of associating with the niece of a circus owner. My uncle had advised me to lie about my background, but I saw no point in falsifying my life to please strangers. I never went so far as to invite friends to visit me, of course, but several girls were kind enough to have me on the holidays.”

“Do you still keep in touch with them?” he asked.

“When I began boxing in my uncle’s circus, that was the end of most connections.” She chewed her lower lip when she thought about Deborah Barton, her best friend at school. “I severed the last of those friendships myself after Dominic—” She cut him a wry look. “I’m sure you’ve read or heard about all that.”

He didn’t leap to deny it, as many people did. Instead, he said, “You are not what I thought you would be.” He spoke more slowly, and carefully, than was usual for him.

“What did you imagine? A loud, brash strumpet who dressed in red satin, cursed like a sailor, and drank gin by the pint?”