Page 39 of A Brilliant Match
The urchin hit him again in a way that caused the boy to topple to his seat. That was enough. Miles had to intervene. The stripling was going to get himself killed if no one stopped it. He pushed forward, and that was when he caught a glimpse of the boy’s face.
It was Dorothea’s brother.
“Move out of the way!” he yelled, pushing through the crowds in time to catch the urchin by the waist, just as he was about to kick the earl’s stomach who was now on the ground.
“Let me go!” The urchin was as vicious as a rat, and Miles set him down and gripped him by one shoulder, easily catching the fist that attempted to reach his midsection as soon as the boy was loose.
“Oh no, you don’t. I’m not a lad you can easily take out. I’ve had my share of fights, and won my share too.”
He leveled his gaze on the urchin. “If I release you, will you be gone?” The street urchin glared at him, then gave a nod. Miles let him go, and the boy ran off. He turned to look at the crowd that had gathered, noticing belatedly how ungenteel the fairgoers all were.
“This show is finished. I propose you all go and look at the entertainment that is here for your benefit.” He went over to help the Lord Poole to his feet as a uniformed officer arrived on the scene, grumbling about the disturbing of the peace.
“I am responsible for this young man, and I will take it from here,” Miles said firmly, gripping Lord Poole’s elbow. It took a little more effort and a discreet coin to win the officer over before Miles was allowed to leave with his charge.
Lord Poole spit from the side of his mouth, then wiped it with the back of his hand. “You had no need to get involved. I didn’t ask for help.”
Miles took no offense at his surly tone, especially since he could hear the hint of tears underneath it the boy valiantly clamped down.
“You certainly didn’t, my lord. You were doing a fine job on your own. However, I don’t think Dorothea would like to see you come home bloody, bruised, and your fine suit in tatters.”
“You know Dorry?” he replied in surprise, his voice suddenly sounding much younger. The boy looked at Miles more closely with the one eye that was fully open. “Ah, yes. You were at our house, although I don’t remember your name. I apologize.”
“No matter,” Miles said, tempted to smile as he remembered the boy’s cocky words when he’d been in the earl’s drawing room.
They walked on a space and Miles handed him his handkerchief. “How is it that you are here on your own?”
Lord Poole scowled at him. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly in short coats. I’m old enough to do anything I please.”
Miles shook his head with a patient smile. “No, that was not what I meant. Where are your friends? It’s not common for a young man of a certain…milieuto be wandering around a place like this without friends.”
“Oh. I came here with Arthur. He’s not precisely one of my friends, but we met at the cock fight last week. He invited me to go around with one of his chums who knows how to sneak into the Royal Menagerie, and I was keen to see what it looks like inside. But then we couldn’t get in, and he talked about how there was a woman who had an actual beard at the Peckham traveling show, so I decided I would just come with him this once. We didn’t get to see the lady though.”
Despite a sort of nasally tone to his voice, the young earl had started to sound more cheerful. Miles attempted to bring him back to the fight.
“So, how did you end up fighting this… I assume it wasn’t Arthur you were fighting?”
“No.” Lord Poole’s face took on a look of disgust. “He introduced me to that lout who said his name is Rufus. And Arthur had only brought me to meet him so he could pick my pockets, knowing I was a green’un. I know it was so. Except I felt him do it, and when I reached in, I no longer had the half-guinea. So I challenged him to a fight so I could get it back.”
Miles absorbed this with an air of serious contemplation. “Only, you realize he has grown up fighting on the streets. It’s much dirtier fighting than you’ll find at Eton. I’m surprised he didn’t pull out a knife.”
“Oh, he did. Went right for my gullet, too,” the earl said. “But I grabbed it from him and threw it. Told him he needed to fight fair.”
“Well done,” Miles said, torn between admiration for the boy’s gumption and horror at what had almost happened to Dorothea’s brother. She would never recover if she lost him. Not only that, Miles had no idea who was set to inherit should something happen to Lord Poole, and he could not be sure she and her sisters would be taken care of.
That led him to wonder if this could have been a planned attack, but he dismissed the idea from his mind. Perhaps, but the most logical thing was for it to be a simple matter of targeting a boy who—despite his courage—was a bit of an innocent and relieving him of his purse.
“Why don’t I flag down a hackney and take you home,” he said. “There’s one just arrived whose passengers are alighting.”
“I don’t need you to take me home,” Lord Poole said. “I will be fine on my own.”
“What if I told you I wished to call upon your sister and that since we are going in the same direction, I am offering you a ride?” Miles turned to him with a lift of the brow.
“I would wonder why you didn’t have your own carriage and are in need of hiring a hackney,” the boy shot back. Dratted boy.
“And you would be wise to ruminate on such a thing, but your manners might be improved by keeping such thoughts to yourself and simply thanking me for the gesture.” Miles led him over and negotiated the fare. “In you go.”
“Thank you.” Lord Poole sank into the seat and leaned his head against the side of the carriage. “I had no more money.”
