Page 49 of Educated By the Earl (Second Sons of London 1)

Chapter Fourteen

“Ah, we’re here,”Lord Ellington said. “Number Thirteen Bond Street in West London.”

The carriage door opened and Ellington left the vehicle first. Spencer followed him, glancing about at his surroundings.

His companion motioned. “That building contains a fencing school run by Henry Angelo, a friend of Jackson’s. Several men on thetonalso take lessons from Angelo, as well.”

Spencer had enjoyed fencing lessons at school and had been quick on his feet, an asset in fencing. Perhaps he might need to visit this Henry Angelo. That would be another day. Now, his focus was on his upcoming sparring match with Lord Ellington.

“Shall we?” he asked, heading toward the entrance of Jackson’s gymnasium.

The two men entered and immediately he was assaulted with the smell of sweat and leather. He perused his surroundings, seeing men practicing on punching bags hanging from the ceiling and pairs sparring in marked off areas of eight feet squared.

Several called out Ellington’s name and the earl said, “I will be back momentarily, Middlefield,” striding off and getting a sound greeting from a group who gathered about him.

“They think he’s as good as I once was,” a voice to his right said softly.

Turning, Spencer saw a well-built man in his mid-forties. “You are Gentleman Jack,” he guessed.

“That I am. And who might you be, my lord?”

“Middlefield. Formerly Major Haddock.”

The owner of the establishment nodded. “I have a soft spot for a military man. Your brother came here two or three times. Boxing didn’t hold his interest for long.”

“I didn’t know him,” Spencer shared. “He was a decade older and had nothing to do with me.”

“Well, you’re here now. And in Lord Ellington’s company. Are you friends?”

“Acquaintances. We met at a dinner party last night and the earl offered to spar with me today.”

The ex-boxer chuckled. “Pummel you is more like it. Lord Ellington is talented. He’s taken my lessons to heart.” He eyed Spencer a long moment. “Something tells me that he has no idea that you might be better than he is.”

“I don’t know that for a fact but I am fast on my feet and highly motivated.”

“Ah. Sounds as if a lady is involved.”

“You are very perceptive, Mr. Jackson.”

“Come with me to the dressing rooms. We’ll see you outfitted properly. Lord Ellington will be along shortly.”

As they ventured past the other boxers and through a door to a back area where gentlemen could change, he said, “I was too young to know much about your career, Mr. Jackson, and have been away at war for a good number of years. Tell me about your best matches.”

Gentleman Jack chuckled. “I was known as a remarkable amateur boxer before I became a paid pugilist, my lord. But I only fought three professional bouts.”

“Three?” he asked, surprised.

“Yes. I was nineteen for the first. Defeated William Futrell in a bout that lasted a little more than an hour. Futrell was undefeated. Eighteen victories in all. He was so large that I nicknamed him Goliath in my head. I was younger though. Faster on my feet. It’s all in the footwork, you know.” He tapped his temple. “That and what’s here. You have to know you can beat your opponent.”

“What about your second match?”

Jackson shook his head. “A sour defeat, I’m afraid, fought nine months after the first one. I lost in five rounds to John Ingleston. It only took twenty minutes.”

Spencer whistled. “What happened?”

“A broken leg about sums it up. Not an uncommon injury in boxing. It had been raining and the ground was rather slippery. I thought—and many who bet against Ingleston thought—that I would have won the bout if not for the broken limb. I could barely stand after it occurred and my opponent made quick work of me. I even announced my retirement afterward. I had a sleek physique and modeled frequently for sculptors and painters.”

He looked at the former champion’s long, sloping forehead and large ears that fanned out from the sides of his head and decided these artists must have only used the boxer’s body and not his face in their work.

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