Page 58 of The Lyon's Pretty Pugilist

“The Silk Knuckles Saloon,” Josie said, testing out the name. “I love it. What does your father think?”

They swiveled so that Josie could secure Franny’s dress.

“He loves it, too,” Franny said. “I have been thinking, we should create a special room on the second floor where women can meet, and discuss important matters. Drink coffee, tea and chocolate during the day. Mayhap a glass of port or brandy at night?”

Once Franny’s dress was buttoned, she faced Josie, her cheeks red from exertion, and her green eyes shimmering. Feeling as elated as Franny looked, Josie grinned. “I love that idea. Men have special clubs. Why shouldn’t we?”

“Exactly,” Franny said, and then, “This was exceedingly fun.”

Josie hummed her agreement. “Please stay for the tea.” She sent Franny her pleading eyes that, occasionally, made her stubborn friend cave to her whims. “Do not leave me alone with Lady Davenport’s company. They shall eat me alive.”

“Not for a million biscuits.” Franny chortled. “Although it sounds like they wouldn’t let me eat my fill anyway.”

“Oh, bollocks.” Josie’s pathetic look proved useless today.

“Remember your genteel language today. No—”

“Bloody hells, shites, arses, or friggins,” they chanted together and then burst into giggles.

Franny kissed Josie’s cheek. “Don’t give up on Nicolas.”

What had made Josie think they could be together? “We aren’t of the same class. As awful as Lydia is, she would make him a better wife.” How unfair that in his pretentious world, a woman who wanted him for his title made a better wife than the one falling in love with him.

Falling in love? Egad!

“Make him see the error of his ways,” Franny said so nonchalantly it was as if she didn’t understand class differences in the least. Of course, her mother had been a governess and her father a pugilist, andthey’d defied society by falling in love, so maybe she didn’t. Not entirely.

“How am I to do that?” Josie asked.

“I am sure you will think of something,” Franny said. “Good luck this afternoon. Don’t let the nobs get the best of you.”

“You could say something a bit more comforting,” Josie grumbled.

Franny smiled. “I believe in you. And obviously, so does Lady Davenport, or she would never have agreed to this.”

That was true, wasn’t it? Josie could do this. All of it.

Arm in arm, their boxing equipment swung over their shoulders, they strolled from the carriage house, discussingThe Silk Knuckles Saloonsign they’d hang in front of their new business.

Using only abar of Pears soap, water, a brush, hair pins, a velvet choker, and a borrowed dress, her lady’s maid turned Josie from a sweaty athlete into a regal lady. Diana was such a miracle worker they even had a few minutes to spare before Josie was expected at the tea.

Doing her best to move gracefully, Josie entered the drawing room.

Large vases of fresh flowers adorned the elegant space. Silver trays, polished until they shone, held colorful iced cakes, biscuits, sliced fruit, and sweetmeats.

Agatha’s gray hair had been fashioned into a simple but elegant coiffure, and her green dress, trimmed in matching satin, was the same color as her eyes.

Those lovely eyes sparkling, Agatha patted the cushion of the settee she sat on. “Come join me. Our guests shall be arriving any time now. By the by, you look positively beautiful.”

“As do you, Cousin Agatha,” Josie said as she perched beside Agatha and concentrated on breathing slowly and steadying her nerves. She was almost calm by the time Peters ushered the first guests into the room.

“Allow me to introduce my cousin, Miss Josephine Martin,” Agatha said as she presented Josie.

Josie concentrated as if her life depended on it as Agatha introduced Lady Lucille Hillcaster and the dowager countess, Lady Helena Siddons.

The ladies chatted as they sipped tea from delicate china cups. As conversation whirled around Josie, she did her best to speak slowly and move carefully so as not to betray her upbringing and make a buffoon of herself.

“Is this your first time in London?” Lady Hillcaster, the pinched-faced marchioness in the modest blue dress, asked.