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To experience his background.
Some said that although these events were illegal, the law turned a purposely blind eye. Better to allow the lower classes to rage without censure, having worked their fingers to the bone all week, than allow that rage to become revolution…à la France.
To Seth as a lad, it had all appeared so glamorous and thrilling, and let’s be honest, it was better than attending a hanging, the only other event which garnered such a crowd.
“Are you well, Matilda? We can go home, if you wish?” Although they were hemmed in like geese at Christmastide.
“No! No, certainly not. I just…it’s all so overwhelming. I’ve never seen the like.”
“Pa!”
Seth twisted at the shout, finding Chloe and Kian perched upon the coachman’s seat of a carriage two up from his own. With gold trim and spanking wheels, this equipage was fit for a king, whereas in fact it belonged to John Jackson, one of Seth’s rival boxing academy owners, who tipped his hat at them in greeting.
The bugger would no doubt cajole his daughter into parting with information – good luck with that, as she’d fed Jackson a right clanker concerning their fees the last time he’d tried.
A cheer surged then weaved through the crowd like a gust of wind through wheat, the thud of horses’ hooves trembling the earth.
“What’s happening?” Matilda yelled. “I can’t see anything.”
Seth flung himself to the coachman’s pew of his carriage and aided her ascent, their hands clasping.
Once up, he grasped her by the shoulders. “Now, Matilda, this isn’t gentlemanly or proper in the least, so please don’t squeal.” And he swept her into his arms – a featherweight.
No squealing ensued but rather she laughed and clasped him around the neck, fingers linking at his nape…caressing.
Bloody hell.
Every nerve and sinew urged him to fiercely kiss her, out here in the open, amongst friends, thieves and family, but she was dressed as a nefarious footpad, so instead with a lunge he flumped her onto the carriage roof behind.
Now she squealed. “I’ll fall through!”
“It’s been reinforced.” He clambered up and rethought his words. “Not that you’re heavy at all but it wouldn’t have taken my weight. This is where we sit for the best view.”
After tentatively prodding about, she settled, feet tucked to one side, propped on an arm yet leaning into him, their shoulders pressed together.
With the blowing of horns and clanging of bells, two carriages appeared, four prads apiece, the first with claret red postilions, fluttering silks tied to every conceivable corner. Nipping at its wheels came the second with postilions of Royal blue, silks strung along its bodywork.
“The combatants arrive in style. Dusty Dan is in blue and Rolls Roy in red.”
“Fascinating. And the monikers? Does Dan cause his opponent to eat dust? And is Roy’s main tactic to roll his opponent?”
He’d like to say yes as that was rather clever, but… “Dan’s a dustman and Roy’s a baker.”
She huffed and shook her head before they both twisted back to the spectacle, the two warriors shaking hands within the ring whilst their seconds staked colours to the corners.
Then they stripped to no more than breeches, stockings and footwear.
“Oh, my!”
Seth now wished to clamp his hands over her eyes as the two men strutted for the crowd, flexing arm muscles with bare chests puffed. Matilda leaned so far forward she nigh plummeted from the carriage roof to the turf below.
“Enjoying it now, are we?” he grouched.
A mollifying pat of the hand did not mollify, but then she leaned close and whispered, “They are not as magnificent as you.”
Which helped.
Somewhat.
