Chapter Thirty-One

Digby had secured a room in the Green Badger for the next day, where Niles could prepare for the fight in privacy, as much as he could with all the Gents there as well.

"I cannot promise this is the oddest thing you will do as a gentleman's gentleman," Digby said to Wilson, "but it definitely will not be commonplace."

"Do valets not usually cut their employer's hair?"

"Trim it, perhaps," Digby said. "But very seldom will you find yourself cutting it all off."

"I suspect Marston hadn't anticipated, when taking the position as my valet ten years ago," Niles said, "that he would repeatedly help me prepare for bouts in the boxing ring."

Another snip of the shears sent a tumble of hair to the floor. Niles wasn't vain about his hair, neither was he particularly attached to it, but the only time he ever cut it off entirely was in preparation for a fight.

Two hours remained until the battle was scheduled to begin, and it was starting to feel very, very real.

One more snip and Digby declared his hair "sorted."

Niles reached up and ran his fingers through what remained of it: about two inches of hair all around. It wasn't fashionable, but it was the safest way to go into a fight. "Thank you, Wilson," he said.

"Don't get yourself killed in this fight, and I will consider myself well thanked."

Niles rose from his chair, brushing the straggling bits of cut hair off his head. "Have you grown so attached to me, Wilson?"

"No, sir." Wilson's very direct manner of addressing them all was an endless source of hilarity. "But you're important to Lord Jonquil, and it's now my life's mission to look after the people he cares about."

"Look what we have for you." Kes set a twine-wrapped parcel on the dressing table.

Niles looked at them all, nervous and curious all at once.

"It's nothing bad," Aldric said. "Open it."

That was good enough for Niles. He untied the twine and peeled back the paper. Inside was a pair of yellow pantaloons and a black sash, precisely like those he'd always worn when fighting as the Cornish Duke.

"You didn't come to Yorkshire intending to fight," Henri explained, "so we felt certain you don't have your yellows with you."

"I don't." Niles had assumed he'd be fighting in the worn-out riding breeches he'd selected for the purpose. "How did you know where to find them?" He'd not given any instructions. Perhaps his valet had assisted.

"We had them made," Aldric explained. "Marston provided your measurements."

Niles held the yellow pantaloons out in front of himself.

"The Cornish Duke rises again," Lucas said with a grin.

"Let us hope His Grace isn't rising simply to fall on his face." Niles took the black sash from the bundle, hardly believing he was doing this again. "So much more is riding on it now than in the past."

"That's why you're going to go out there and give the Bath Butcher the hardest fight of his career." Aldric held his gaze, firm and unwavering. "Just stepping into the ring earns you ￡100. That gives you options, Puppy."

He'd been telling himself that all morning. That ￡100 wouldn't eliminate all the obstacles between himself and Penelope. And it wouldn't fix things immediately. But he could purchase the estate he'd been saving for and start his time in Parliament. He would save his income from that estate. Penelope would save as much of Fairfield's profits as she could. In a few years, they'd have enough for him to sell his estate and purchase something closer to Fairfield. They would finally be together, building the life they dreamed of.

But winning the fight would change the calculations. Property near her would be almost within his means. Months, perhaps a year, and they would have enough.

He'd decided to believe in miracles, and believing meant doing his utmost to bring about another one.

As the time for the fight drew near, Niles changed into the yellow pantaloons his friends had procured for him. Wilson and Digby helped him tie the black sash around his waist, carefully tucking the ends under so there would be nothing for his opponent to grab hold of.

The Cornish Duke always fought with yellow dots painted on his face—ten on each cheek, forming inverted triangles. It was a nod to the banner of the actual Duke of Cornwall but without copying it exactly. Stanley had been the first to suggest the affectation, not merely because it was appropriate for Niles's moniker, but also because it made him more difficult to recognize outside the ring. It had worked brilliantly.

Stanley had painted the yellow dots on Niles's face for his very first foray as the Cornish Duke. It had become tradition in the years since, whenever the Gents had helped Niles prepare for a fight, for them to take turns painting the yellow dots. It was a reminder that though Niles had lost Stanley, had lost his most ardent and unwavering source of support and encouragement, he wasn't alone. He had the best friends a fellow could ask for. It gave him confidence and reassurance.

Marston had created the yellow paint Niles needed for that day's fight, something he'd been doing for a decade. The Gents, in turn, painted the dots on Niles's face.

"How are you feeling?" Henri asked as they undertook the ritual.

"Determined," Niles said. "I know the odds are not in my favor, but the odds were decidedly against a pure white stallion being at the Hamblestead fair."

"Your Penny got her miracle," Lucas acknowledged as he finished painting the last of the yellow dots.

Niles stood. He rolled his neck, shook the tension from his arms, and squared his shoulders. "Now I'm going to go fight for mine."

The Gents offered final words of encouragement before slipping out of the inn. Niles would remain behind for a time in order to arrive separate from them so his identity would be harder to ascertain. Even in the silence left behind, their support remained with him, buoying him as he faced what was likely both the most important fight of his career and the last.

"I believe in miracles," he said. "I believe in Penny. I believe in us ." He bounced a little with pent-up tension and energy, the way he always did before a fight. This time, though, he felt more focused. And he felt more confident, despite being inarguably outmatched.

Pugilists were meant to arrive at the ring with a second, not entirely unlike duelists on the field of honor. The Cornish Duke was known not to do so. The oddity had been attributed to a quirk of the already unusual boxer. Truth was, Niles couldn't risk his identity being known to any more people, and none of the Gents could fill that role.

He made the long walk entirely on his own from a side door at the inn, across a wide field, toward the din of the crowd. It was a lonely journey he knew well. He had kept his courage up during previous walks to the ring by reminding himself he was getting that much closer to claiming his dreams of owning an estate and serving in Parliament. During this solo trek, Penelope filled his mind. Winning this purse would mean they could be together sooner, with less waiting or struggling ahead of them. It was an opportunity fate wouldn't offer again.

We're going to build a life together. That's what I'm fighting for. For us.

The gathered crowd, quite possibly the largest he'd ever fought in front of, pulsated in a great mass around the fighting ring.

Niles knew his part.

He held his chin at a proud angle and walked with confident, almost arrogant steps toward his destination. As he approached, someone in the crowd called out, "The Cornish Duke!" His yellow pantaloons and yellow dots painted on his face made him easily identifiable.

This was the point in every contest when his nerves ebbed and the exhilaration of the fight began to invigorate him. He knew he was good at boxing, and that was a great feeling for one who was far more accustomed to applauding others for being adept at their various undertakings. And the possibility of adding to his coffers was exciting as well.

Martin was easy to spot, and not merely because he, too, was stripped from the waist up. Though only two or three inches taller than Niles, the Bath Butcher was far more solidly built, with thick, powerful muscles testifying to his profession.

He is not undefeated nor undefeatable.

The crowd roared as Niles stepped into the ring at the same moment Martin did. Niles took a fortifying breath but didn't allow his uncertainty to show. Confidence, even if it had to be somewhat feigned, was an important strategy.

But Martin looked every bit as confident as Niles was taking pains to appear. More than that, the man looked fiercely determined. The Butcher had lost his last two fights, highly publicized affairs that had led to questions about his future in the sport. The man would be fighting with every bit of strength and ability he possessed, intent not to lose again.

But this wasn't a matter of reputation for Niles; he was fighting for a future with Penelope.

The cheers and jeers that sounded all around him faded into indistinguishable cacophony as the fight began. Niles had learned early on not to pay any heed to whose side the crowd seemed to be on. Spectators were notoriously fickle.

Niles and Martin circled each other, each sizing up the other. The Bath Butcher was a hesitant fighter, taking his time and pulling back after each swing or jab. He also had a shorter reach than first impressions would lead a person to expect. Niles knew all that.

He also suspected his opponent was well aware that the Cornish Duke didn't deal blows as powerful as others of their profession and had been felled in the past by less devastating blows than others could endure.

Speed was Niles's greatest asset in this fight. Brute strength was Martin's.

The first four rounds were uneventful. Martin landed a few grazing blows. Niles managed a few of his own. He might have dealt more damage if the Butcher hadn't insisted on hovering just out of reach.

By the fifth round, Niles knew he had to take the fight to his opponent. Getting within striking range was a risk, but the fight would go on for ages otherwise. Niles's quickness would prevent at least some of Martin's blows from landing.

Niles stepped closer and feinted to the left. Martin took the bait and swung hard, but Niles sidestepped. Martin stumbled, and Niles landed a crushing blow.

Cheers erupted. Niles ignored them. He needed to remain focused.

The same tactic worked once more. Martin absorbed the punch but moved a little slower afterward. It would take a lot of well-landed blows to bring down the Butcher. Three more slowed him but didn't topple him.

Then the Bath Butcher's fist found Niles's face. Pain sent him stumbling backward.

Niles did his best to shake off the blow. He managed to duck another swing. But not the next one.

The Bath Butcher grew more spirited. Seeing it, Niles took a bolder approach as well.

They were both still on their feet when the sixth round began. Niles could see his opponent was flagging. He hoped he was hiding his own pain and exhaustion better than Martin was.

A life with Penelope. Niles's fist found Martin's jaw, sending him reeling backward. But the man made a surprisingly fast recovery, lunging forward in the very next instant. He landed a blow to Niles's midsection.

The air rushed from Niles's lungs. He staggered but stayed on his feet.

Fighting for a miracle.

Niles set his feet once more.

A future of our own .

He raised his fists to fighting position.

A life with Penelope.

Niles met the Butcher's fearsome glare with one of his own.

And swung.