Her Prodigal Passion (6 page)

"I know prizefighting falls outside a gentleman's domain, but given the dishonor I've heaped upon myself, I've nothing to lose, have I?" Paul gave a self-deprecating shrug. "And perhaps much to gain. Two months from now, matches will be held across England to determine the Fancy's next Champion, and Traymore wants to be my patron. He's got a bottle man and knee man lined up," Paul said, referring to the duo that assisted a boxer during matches, "and he'll cover the expenses of the training and accommodations. All I have to do is put in the hard work. So what do you think?"

"You don't want to know," Nicholas said grimly.

Paul felt his hackles rise. "You might consider my plan for more than a second."

"I don't need a second to know that this is an idiotic, harebrained scheme."

"Because it doesn't fit your narrow definition of gainful enterprise?" Just
once
, why couldn't anyone take him seriously? Jaw clenched, Paul said, "Many would argue that trade isn't fit for a marquess and yet you toddle off merrily to a warehouse every day."

Nicholas' brows lowered. "That's hardly the same—"

"Is it sport or true enterprise that you're after?" Hunt cut in. "Because no one gives a damn what you do for leisure, Fines. God knows you top-o'-the-trees gents got plenty of free time."

"I
said
business and I meant it," Paul snapped.

"Where's the blunt to come from, then? Because business involves money." Hunt spoke with the emphasis one might use when explaining matters to a small, slightly daft child. "So far I ain't heard a word about how you intend to profit from dancing pretty around the ring."

Patronizing ass.
"The purse for the tournament is five thousand pounds, and I'll split the winnings with Traymore fifty-fifty," Paul said through gritted teeth. "Which is only fair, given that he will put up the stake."

"Five thousand quid ain't sizeable enough for Traymore to invest his time and effort. I've been to fights hosted by the Fancy; the true profit comes from all the wagering that goes on. And I was under the impression that you'd sworn off gaming," Hunt said pointedly, "having nearly lost your fortune at it before."

"Only because you laid a trap for me, you holier-than-thou bastard!" Paul's face heated, his chest straining beneath his waistcoat. "This is different!"

"The situation may not be as different as you believe." Though Ambrose Kent had remained quiet up until now, his measured words commanded attention. "These matches attract all manner of riffraff—er, no offense, Hunt …"

"None taken," Hunt said.

"… including cutthroats, percents, and bookmakers looking to make an easy mark. These are not the sort of men you wish to get involved with."

"I won't get involved with the wagering," Paul protested. "What Traymore does with his money is none of my business.
My
goal is to win the title. As Champion, I can open my own boxing saloon like Jackson or Richmond before him.
That
is how I intend to rebuild my fortune."

"And if you don't win? What then?" Nicholas said.

Anger scorched like acid in Paul's chest. "Why must you assume the worst of me? Why can't anyone, just once, clap me on the back and support my decision?"

"Because this is an asinine plan," the other snapped, "and I don't want to see you make any more mistakes than you already have."

The blow could not have been aimed any lower. Paul had no defense against the leveler; how could he, when he had indeed made a hash of his entire past and was a failure through and through? Jeremiah's voice, raspy and faint, echoed in Paul's ears.

You could have been more, my dear boy. Far more. That is my greatest disappointment.

He shut out the words, the last he'd heard at his father's bedside. Yet, sensing blood, all the demons roused within him. Rosalind's tear-stained face surfaced.
It's too late, Paul. My father has promised me to Lord Monteith.
He saw himself imbibing bottle after bottle of ruin to wash away the pain. And at the clubs, throwing his money away, brawling over the slightest provocation ... hiding, desperate and despicable, in that hovel in Spitalfields …

Paul pushed to his feet, needing to escape from his failures. From the hiss and snap of his bedeviled past. "Since there's to be no discussion," he said tightly, "I'll take my leave."

"Damnit, Fines, have some bloody sense—" Nicholas began.

"I do. And you're right—I
am
a feckless fool." He paused at the door, his lips twisting. "Damn me for thinking I could ever be more than that."

SIX

"You cannot be serious. You're not truly considering marrying a man you don't love!"

"Please lower your voice, Percy. I don't wish for everyone at the picnic to know my private affairs," Charity said.

Casting a glance about, she was relieved to note that none of the other guests were looking in their direction. She and Percy had excused themselves to take a stroll around the perimeter of the garden. Finally alone with her friend, Charity had shared the news of her soon-to-be arranged nuptials.

"But this is
madness
. You don't even know this man," Percy said in a furious whisper.

"Mr. Garrity is my father's business associate. He's come to the shop on several occasions." Three, to be exact. "Father likes him very much."

Percy narrowed her eyes. "And what do
you
think of him?"

Charity bit her lip. Mr. Garrity was a tall, dark, and elegant gentleman in his thirties. Many would consider him handsome. Yet there was something about his eyes—cold and dark as onyx—that stirred her unease. As she'd gone about her duties, he'd watched her the way a predator might watch its small, furry supper.

"I think that he will be a boon to Sparkler's," she said truthfully.

"Then Mr. Sparkler should take him on as a business partner, not a son-in-law!"

"You know how Papa is about the shop. He doesn't trust anyone but family."

"Well, that's easy enough for him to say. He doesn't have to marry ... oh
God
." Percy stopped in her tracks, pained horror spreading across her face.

"What's the matter?" Charity said with instant alarm. "Is it the babe? Are you—"

"
I'm
fine. But, Lord, it just occurred to me. If you wed this man, you'd be ..."—Percy's blue eyes widened—"
Charity Garrity.
"

An awkward name, admittedly.

Charity cleared her throat. "Marriage is about more than a name."

"Exactly. It ought to be about love and passion." Percy's skirts swished against the carpet of grass, her pace in rhythm with the rapid-fire cadence of her words. "Marriage should be about the mating of two
souls
—not the joining of business interests."

Charity smiled wryly at her friend's incurable optimism. "Most marriages
are
based on practical considerations. Yours is the outlier, dear."

"Better to be an outlier than the unhappy norm," Percy said decisively.

"We can't all be outliers, can we?" Charity said in reasonable tones. "Besides, I would be content knowing that I'm doing my duty. Father is getting older, and his constitution is frail."

A chill crept over her. Over the past few months, her papa had become increasingly grey and tired. He'd had several spells; the physician had diagnosed him with a weakening heart. Yet neither the good doctor nor she could dissuade her father from working his grueling hours.

"Between us, sales have fallen. Papa needs someone to help turn things around," she said tightly. "He can't do everything by himself any longer."

"Why doesn't he let
you
take over the shop? Lord knows you could run the place if you put your mind to it." The cornflowers on Percy's hat fluttered as she said with emphasis, "You know Sparkler's inside and out,
and
you're the most organized, efficient person I know."

Percy's words stirred a dangerous accord in Charity. That secret, wayward part of her that believed that she could run Sparkler's—if Father would entrust her with responsibilities beyond what he deemed proper for a young woman. It wasn't that she minded keeping the shop tidy or helping customers when needed; it was that she suspected that she could do far more.

When she'd gathered the courage to suggest this to her father, he'd given her an incredulous look.
A girl—managing a business like Sparkler's? Don't be ridiculous. Get back to your duties, Charity, and don't waste any more time on this nonsense.

A hot feeling flared beneath Charity's breast bone; she tamped it down, told herself it was immodest to assume that she could run the shop. Such vanity would only anger Father, and he might bar her from the shop entirely. Then where would she be? She couldn't risk losing her role at Sparkler's; she'd
earned
her place there.

All her life, she'd worked hard for the privilege of accompanying her papa to work. For it was there that she could share a few moments alone with him, just the two of them. After the store closed for the night, she'd help him unpack the new inventory, and he'd take the time to show her the beauty of each piece.

Look at this pearl. It isn't flashy like a diamond, but its value is in its purity and substance.
His grey eyes would focus on her.
Be wise, my girl, and don't be fooled by glitter.

She felt a pang. She couldn't bear to disappoint her father.

Clearing her throat, she said, "Whoever heard of a woman running a business as large as Sparkler's? It simply isn't done."

"You could be the first," her friend replied stoutly. "Remember all those late nights we spent talking about our deepest, most innermost dreams? You said you wanted to have your own shop—and now you have the opportunity."

"Dreams aren't the same as reality."

"You've always supported me in
my
dreams." Percy's blond curls tipped to the side. "Now I'm married to Mr. Hunt and writing novels. If I can find the ultimate happiness, why can't you?"

Because Percy was pretty and spirited, deserving of everything good. Whilst Charity was ...
Never gild a lily or a weed. Keep your head down. Do as you're told.
She chased a rock away with the tip of her kid boot.

"Picture a new sign on the storefront." Percy waved her hands with dramatic flair, as if unveiling a grand masterpiece. "
Sparkler & Sparkler: Purveyors of the Extraordinary.
It has a ring to it, don't you agree?"

"Only because you've a way with fiction." Tucking away her longing, Charity said, "The reality is I have suggested it before, and Father wouldn't even hear of it. Marriage to Mr. Garrity is the only way to help the business
and
make my papa happy."

"But what about
your
happiness?"

"I'll be happy knowing that I've acted prudently and in the best interests of everyone."

They walked on in uncharacteristic silence. Charity was struck by unease, justified when her friend said, "What about ... Paul?"

The sounds of the garden melded into a loud buzz. Charity's heart raced; her skin tingled. All at the mere mention of his name.

"I know you have feelings for my brother," Percy said quietly, "and if he weren't such a numskull, he'd recognize it too. But I think he is finally ready for love, Charity. And if you'd let me tell him what you did for him—"

"
No.
" Charity clutched her friend's arm. "You
promised
, Percy. You gave me your word on our friendship that you would never disclose my visit to Spitalfields."

"I know I did, which is why I haven't breathed a word of it to anyone. But, Charity," Percy said with obvious frustration, "don't you think my bacon-brained brother ought to know the truth? You risked your reputation, your very
life
, to nurse him when I couldn't do so. You were as brave as any heroine, and I wish you'd let me tell him so."

Charity shook her head, in desperation and ... guilt. For she'd kept the truth of what had transpired between her and Mr. Fines a secret, even from her best friend. The humiliation of being kissed by mistake was already too much: she couldn't bear Mr. Fines finding out and offering for her out of obligation.
Pity
, for God's sake.

Embers smoldered in her chest. She could endure many things—but never that.

"What would that accomplish?" Charity said as calmly as she could, "The truth is I count it a blessing that Mr. Fines was too inebriated to take note of my presence. Going to him was an act of folly rather than heroism, and as for my feelings for him ..."—mentally, she crossed her fingers—"they were naught but a passing infatuation. I've grown up, Percy, and I'm quite done with that foolishness."

"But that was only nine months ago. And you're the most constant person I know."

"Done," Charity repeated.

"I just think that if Paul had any inkling—"

"If you divulge my actions now, you'll only ruin my reputation and my chances of marrying Mr. Garrity. He will help Papa and save the business. Ergo, he is the man I must wed."

This was exactly the sort of sensible, practical argument she ought to be making. Yet the words felt as dry as sawdust in Charity's mouth.

"My brother might not seem to possess business savvy, but I assure you he can do anything he puts his mind to." Her expression troubled, Percy said, "In retrospect, I think Papa erred in trying to browbeat Paul into working at Fines & Co. My brother is as stubborn as a mule: the more you push him, the harder he plants his heels. He and my father had endless rows over it."

Charity recalled some of these arguments. Several times, when she'd been over visiting with Percy, she'd overheard the raised voices coming from Jeremiah Fines' study. Words like "irresponsible" and "reckless" had seeped through the walls.

Empathy had filled her. Living up to a parent's expectations was never easy. She'd tried to please her father all her life.

Mr. Fines, on the other hand, had seemed inclined to employ the opposite strategy.

"My brother
is
a capable fellow, however," Percy went on, "and when he decides upon a thing, he's utterly dedicated. Look at his success at boxing. And he's loyal too: even at his lowest point last year, he risked life and limb to defend my honor." Her eyes shimmered. "I've always looked up to him."