Page 5 of The Boxing Baroness

“Yes.” The wax was a dark red that was almost black.

“You gonna open it?”

Marianne tore the letter in half, and then tore those pieces in half.

Jack sucked in a breath. “Annie!”

“What?” She opened the small stove and tossed the letter inside.

“You ain’t gonna read it?”

“Why should I?”

“Er . . . well, ’e is a duke, after all.”

“Listen to you. I thought you believed all men were equal.”

“I do. But that don’t mean some ain’t more equal than others.”

She laughed.

“It’s unwise to make enemies of that sort, Annie. Besides,” he added, “you don’t know what ’e wants.”

“He’s a man. I have a fair idea of what he wants.”

Oddly, Marianne was disappointed by the thought. Everything she’d read about the Duke of Staunton indicated the man was upstanding, moral, and decent—a noble bulwark against the profligate excesses of mankind—especially the men of his class. Yet here he was, sneaking messages to a female pugilist.

“Maybe you’re wrong, luv. Maybe ’e don’t want that.”

“If not sex, then what? What else would a man like that want from a woman like me?”

“You ain’t curious?”

“Not in the least.”

Jack clucked his tongue. “Well, the man must be touched in the upper works.”

“Because he’s pursuing me?” she teased.

“Don’t be daft. I just mean that ’e’s got some nerve after what he said about the Fayre and women pugs.”

Jack was referring to the Duke of Staunton’s diatribe the year before—in Parliament, no less—after a female pugilist was killed during a bare-knuckle fight. The duke had linked the decline of morals to females boxing, among other tawdry activities. Although he’d not singled out her uncle’s circus, he had lumped the Fayre in with operations that had rat pits, bear baiting, cock fighting, as well as cruel and revolting dog and children fights.

Barnabas had been livid about Staunton’s speech. Something he seemed to have quickly forgotten now that he was a messenger boy for the duke.

Marianne yawned and stood up, stretching. “Staunton’s a preachy sort, but you have to admit his crusading has done a great deal to eradicate child labor and the virgin trade.”

“That don’t mean the ’igh and mighty Duke o’ Staunton don’t fancy run goods ’imself.”

Virgins, or run goods in the vulgar cant, were an expensive commodity which usually only the wealthy could afford.

“I’ve never heard any rumors of Staunton fancying children.” Indeed, his name was conspicuously absent in the scandal sheets that Cecile left scattered all over their house. Nothing she’d read about him suggested that he engaged in any of the self-indulgent behavior most aristocratic males believed was their right and privilege. Or maybe the duke was just better at concealing his debauchery.

Jack gave an irritable shrug. “I doubt ’e’s up to any good lurkin’ about and eyeballing you.”

“Maybe he’s lurking about to gather evidence to shut us down on the grounds of moral turpitude.” The Duke of Staunton wouldn’t be the only one to come after Farnham’s. There were numerous women’s groups who’d made closing her uncle’s circus their goal in life.

Fortunately, the Fayre would be leaving on tour at the beginning of March, and Marianne would be gone almost a year. She hoped their extended absence would force London busybodies to find another target for reform.