Page 42 of Lord Lonbourn's Daughter
Which meant slim to none. Hazard had not lost a fight in years.
“Thank you, Richard!” he managed to croak whilst fighting his misgivings.
“I shall leave you and go to find Bingley.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
Darcy kept his head down, trying to block out the noise.
John Jackson had created rules in his academy which included using only fists rather than scrapping with the entire body. Hair holding and kicking were also illegal. A fight lasted a maximum of fifty rounds, and a round ended when one of the combatants went down.
Jackson called the fighters to begin. The crowd roared while Darcy positioned himself as he had been taught, angling his body with his head and shoulders leaning forwards, knees slightly bent and at ease. He lifted his fisted hands into the defensive position called the guard. Jackson left the ring; the fight was on.
They studied each other. Darcy dealt a couple of left straight jabs to keep his opponent at a distance and block his attack. Darcy feinted and landed a good blow on Hazard’s ribs, but the follow-up, a hook to his opponent’s jaw, caught air as Hazard astutely pulled his head back. A stupid mistake, Darcy thought, but he erased the blunder from his mind in the next moment. As Jackson would have reminded him, dwell on the past and you will die in the present.
Darcy hit the floor in the first three rounds. The crowd grew restless, whistled and taunted him. To the assembled throng, nothing was happening, but Darcy felt Hazard was tiring; he had lost a tick, as Jackson used to say. Now was the time to pay attention.Don’t lose a tick, watch for that dropped guard, keep your eyes on the prize. Be patient, take your hits, Hazard will make a mistake.
Fifth-round bell; Hazard had gone down twice in a row. Darcy sat on the stool, tasting blood in his mouth from a cut inside his cheek. Richard was back, massaging his sore shoulders, his voice washing over Darcy like a comforting hard ride. He did not process a word that was uttered. Sixth-round, a minute in, Hazard made another mistake. His first major mistake. Darcy sent him sputtering to the floor. A couple of teeth mixed with the blood, but Darcy’s hope of evening out the game ended in a right hook that made him see stars. Still, he managed to haul himself up into a standing position. Eighth round, he could not see straight. He was knocked to the floor almost immediately, but the blow was not that hard; he was off-balance to begin with and rose quickly. Ninth-round, he could hardly manage to right himself before he was knocked out cold for a few seconds, or so he believed. He tried to get up, but Jackson had already called Hazard the winner. He must have been out longer than herealised. Richard hovered over him with concern written on his countenance.
Hazard had finished his victory roar and received his accolades from the cheering crowd. He walked by and offered his hand for a shake and to thank him for the match.
“I want a rematch!” Darcy barked.
Lord Hazard looked incredulously at him before he smirked and nodded.
“Certainly, Darcy. Name the place and the date. I shall be there. Shall we say another thousand guineas?”
“Yes. Right now. Rotten Row, the Serpentine ride. I shall race you from Queen Elizabeth’s gate to the West Carriage Ride.”
“Accepted!” Hazard shook his hand for the second time. Darcy winced at the pressure on his sore knuckles.
“This is madness, Darcy, you are in no condition to race!” Richard whispered tenaciously into his ear.
“I have no choice,” he admitted but did not explain further.
“You will do Georgiana no good if you are dead,” Richard hissed.
“Georgiana will be dead if I do not race Lord Hazard.” There, he had said it. The last of the miscreants’ demands—this time.
“What about Elizabeth?” Richard spoke in riddles.
“Elizabeth who?” he enquired. His mind was blank at the moment.
“Lord, Darcy, your wife! You are married! Can you not even remember?”
“Oh, yes, of course. I remember dearest Elizabeth. She is the most beautiful, bewitching creature I have ever beheld.”
“Exactly. You should go home to your ethereal beauty.” Richard sounded relieved, but he had no reason to be.
“No!”
Darcy struggled to get up off the floor. A couple of foul remarks were thrown his way, but he disregarded them. The pain in his body was more difficult to overlook. He had hardly an inch of flesh that did not hurt, though his face, chest, and knuckles outshone the rest of his battered body.
He sat down to change his clothes. It was soon clear that he could not manage without a little help from his cousin.
Hazard returned, looking for him.
“Come on, Darcy, I have not got all day!”
