Page 59 of Venus in Disguise

“But what if you’re hurt, Ash?” she said, beside herself with worry now. “I-I couldn’t bear it.”

Ash smiled and shook his head. “Have a little faith, darling. I’ve survived this long.”

He turned away from her to consider the two waistcoats he had laid out earlier, apparently far more interested in his choice of what to wear than the anxiety he was causing.

Narcissa frowned at his uncompromising answer, wondering what to do about something she felt so strongly about, that made her feel sick with fear in case he might be badly hurt. Yet, as he’d said, he had fought for years; it was a part of his life. What right did she have to sweep in and demand he stop?

“Very well,” she said, though the words stuck in her throat, but she must try her best to accept this facet of her new husband, despite hating it so much. “I understand you wish to carry on fighting, no matter how much it frightens me, but I shall come with you.”

Ash spun around, the waistcoats forgotten. “The devil you will!”

Narcissa stared at him, determined to get him to agree to this much at least. “If you are going to fight, I shall be there to support you. It’s my duty. For better, for worse, in sickness and in health, remember? And perhaps if I see you win and how very talented you are, then I won’t worry so much in future. Should you not like me to see your triumph?”

“No! Narcissa, you are being ridiculous,” he said, frustration in his voice. “Ladies, do not attend boxing matches.”

“No ladies at all?” she enquired, with a mild lift of one eyebrow.

Ash’s gaze darkened further. “Not respectable ones.”

“Well, then we shall make an exception. I’ve caused scandal enough already by running away and marrying you, I really don’t see it can make the slightest difference,” she added with a smile, hoping to placate him.

“Narcissa, please don’t make this into a row,” he said, holding her gaze, a warning note behind the words. “I am not going drinking and carousing, I shan’t be dallying with any other women. I am going to fight my opponent, and then I shall come home.”

“But I want to go with you,” Narcissa replied, equally firm in her resolve. “I know you think I am being foolish, but I cannot stay here by myself, wondering and worrying over you. If you think it so very improper, I shall stay out of sight. You may stash me away in some backroom if you wish. Please, Ash, it’s not so very much to ask, is it?”

“Yes, it is, and I am not discussing this any further,” Ash said, his tone one that she would have been a fool not to recognise as something dangerous. “You are not going and piling more scandal atop what we have already achieved. That is an end to it. I won’t be back until well after midnight. Now do stop fretting over me, love. There’s really no need.”

With that, he swept up one of the waistcoats and stalked out, calling for his valet as he went.

“Argh!” Narcissa exclaimed. “The devil you will,” she repeated in frustration.

Sliding from the bed, she pulled on the banyan he had lent her, this one gold with embroidered peacock feathers around the shoulders and cuffs. It was heavy and far too long and difficult to stalk up and down in, for she was obliged to pick up great swathes of fabric, so she didn’t trip.

Finding that striding up and down didn’t help a bit, Narcissa flung herself into a chair by the fireplace, and only then noticed a small pile of correspondence. She remembered then that Mrs Fenchurch had told her there were letters for her, but Ash had distracted her so thoroughly when they’d arrived home it had gone clean out of her head. At once, recognising Delia’s handwriting, Narcissa snatched the letter up, hoping her friend could help her recover her temper. As she read, however, her heart clenched with anxiety.

Narcissa ran from the room, calling for Ash, only to be told he’d left a few minutes ago.

Sick with worry, Narcissa returned to her bedroom, a dreadful sense of foreboding tripping down her spine as her gaze fell upon the neatly pressed and folded garments she had stolen from her brother when she had run away from home.

Mrs Fenchurch had returned them in perfect order, bless her, and just in the nick of time.

Chapter 17

Darling Cissy,

I have just this minute heard the news. Emmeline tells me the ton is alight with the scandal of the Ponsonby sisters, both of you eloping at the same time! Congratulations, you brave, clever girl! I am so very proud of you, if a little jealous. How lucky you are to have captured such a handsome and interesting husband! I only pray your good fortune will rub off on me, too. I should so adore an adventure. I am tired of reading stories of wicked pirates and highwaymen when the fellows courting me are all so very dull. My most devoted beau is Mr Enoch Goodfellow. I have known him since we were children and he’s very kind, the sort you don’t have the heart to rebuke because he’s so very tolerant and kind. Too tolerant, truth be told. I am quite out of patience with him, but no matter how vexed I get, he does not take the hint. I feel thoroughly suffocated by him, but I cannot seem to shake the poor man off, no matter how hard I try. I have even wondered if he’s quite in his right mind, But I am rambling now because there are things I do not wish to tell you, but I really must, so here we go…

Have you heard news of the duke, dearest? I hesitate to tell you, for I do not wish to diminish your happiness, but perhaps it is best you hear it from me. It seems he worked himself into such a rage upon hearing about your marriage to Mr Anson he has made himself gravely ill. Not that I think you ought to spare a moment of pity on the brute after the way he treated you. A man reaps what he sows and I’m afraid, from all we are hearing, he is undeserving of anyone’s compassion. I do not know how accurate reports of his condition are, some say he has suffered a stroke and is incapacitated, others merely that he has taken to his bed, but I thought you should know.

I beg you will forgive me for being the bearer of more bad news, but Wrexham believes you ought to warn your husband, too. He tells me your brother, Lord Richmond, was so humiliated by his defeat at Mr De Beauvoir’s hands that he is out for blood. According to the gossip, De Beauvoir knocked your brother down twice in a row and in front of a large audience. I’m told the print shops are full of images showing Richmond being felled like a tree, and several stories have been published that he is bound to find embarrassing. If you will forgive me for repeating such an impression of your brother, Wrexham says he is a spiteful creature and not to be trusted, but I feel sure you know far better than any of us what he is capable of. Please tell Mr Anson to take great care, for my brother would not say such things to worry you unless he truly believed there was a need to do so.

I hope my news has not spoiled things for you, dearest Cissy, for I am so very happy for you both.

―Excerpt of a letter from The Lady Cordelia Steyning (youngest daughter of Philip Steyning, The Duke of Sefton) to Lady Narcissa Anson.

17th March 1850, The Sons of Hades, Portman Square, London.

Ash moved through the throng, accepting the shouts of encouragement and cheers as he headed towards the back of the club. Often, fights were held in the club's basement but, of late, Ash’s popularity had been such that on the nights he fought the entire membership of the club came out in force, plus guests. So, weather permitting, they held fights in the large but seldom used private gardens at the back. Happily, though it was bitterly cold, the night was clear and bright, and the gardens were illuminated by torches that flickered in the chill breeze.