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“You can ask him. He’s sitting in the second row of the stand. The bigwig in brown. Fights are never scheduled as such, the time and location spread by rumour so that the shoulder-clappers don’t find us.”
With eyes wide, she tugged Seth’s coat and raised herself on tiptoes to see. “And that’s Lord Farleigh, is it not? Next to the magistrate.”
“He’s the sponsor, a bang-up fellow. It’s a hundred-pound purse today for the winner.”
“Well, he can’t waltz for a sixpence. Trod on my foot thrice.”
A snort and they took a turn around the grassed area as though gentlefolk in a drawing room. Many acquaintances nodded at Seth or clapped him on the back, and although he wore elegant clothing, including a pale-blue waistcoat with intricate paisley pattern and bright gold buttons, he fitted in – his breadth commanding respect and his fighting past their admiration.
Clothed in the finest of green silk jackets, a tall black-skinned gentleman warmly shook hands with Seth, and it seemed to Matilda they made a small wager.
Was that lawful at an unlawful event?
The fellow nodded at her, winked, and then strode away with a swagger, his stature cutting a swathe through the mingling groups.
Matilda beamed. “Is that gentleman from the African continent? I would adore to travel there. What part is he from?”
“New York, I believe.”
Matilda blinked.
“That’s Bill Richmond, a fellow champion who also fought with me before the Heads of State last year, yet he was born into slavery. Took me under his wing a bit when I first started. Told me the golden rule is to focus and not let anger fuel you. An extraordinary man. Retired now but beat Shelton only two years back – a chap half his age.”
A finger to her chin gently closed her mouth.
“Prizefighting is open to all ages, trades and nationalities. The sole requirements are being able to fight and having a motivation to succeed.” His brow furrowed. “And I’d imagine slavery provides plenty of that.”
“You must think me very unworldly, Mr… Seth.”
Fingers raised her muffler but then abandoned her skin after the slightest caress.
“No, Miss… Matilda, I think you enchanting.”
A coiling warmth dispelled any chill that lingered from the bitter dawn. Enchanting. Was she really? The word garnered images of delicate fairies and seductive mermaids, not a loquacious nitterwit who wore yellow.
They strolled on and she gawked at the array of folk gathering at the outer fence – shabby coats rubbing with silks, the beaver hats of the Corinthians bashing the slouched caps of farmers.
Seth abruptly hastened his stride. “Apologies, but we’d best head back to the carriage as the fighters will soon be making their entrance. Then the mayhem ensues.”
They retraced their steps through Harry’s gate and battled through laughing lordlings and chortling ragamuffins, much like the scrum at a ball for supper, but soon she glimpsed the coaches encircling the melee, folk sat atop for the best vantage point, and even the trees beyond were leafed with lads.
“The followers are called the Fancy,” Seth shouted, “be they lackeys or lords, although some say the swells are just the visitors and don’t truly belong, that these fights are for the men of the streets and stews.”
A gnarled fellow knocked into her, grunting his anger, before a broad-shouldered woman barged past with a bottle, and all at once, Matilda felt a little afraid, her feet stumbling in the churned grass, the crowd pushing and pulling.
Perchance she did not belong here either.
But a strong arm gripped low on her waist and pulled her from the hurly-burly to where the coaches were lined up cheek by jowl.
“I’ve got you, Matilda. Never fear.”
Fright wasa rare emotion for Seth.
Yet as a ruffian and his bobtail had barrelled into the dainty frame of Matilda, it had clattered his pulse, and he’d asked himself what the hell he thought he was doing bringing a lady to a heathen fight in the middle of a bloody common.
As a rule, these contests began jovial enough, but frequent brawls broke out amongst the Fancy, pickpockets ran rife and the language spoken so ribald, he wished to clamp his hands to her ears.
Yet that was rather why she was here…
