Page 14 of The Lyon's Pretty Pugilist

Palm up, Davenport swept his hand over the table. “Be my guest. Enjoy.”

She nodded, sat down, and devoured a slice of beef.

Nicolas frowned. When was Lady Davenport going to step in and tell Josie she couldn’t behave like a starving guttersnipe if she meant to marry a duke? Of course, what did it matter since she wasnotmarrying a duke? Which meant Nicolas would never get Blue Cliff Manor back from the Widow of Whitehall.

“You are exceedingly lovely,” the viscountess said. “I also believe you are quite intelligent. So we shall give this our best effort. The duke just has to propose to you, correct? He doesn’t actually have to marry you?”

Josie lifted her gaze from her plate. “I suppose so. But if he don’t marry me, how am I supposed to get me boxing saloon? Unless he asks me to be his fighter. Which, according to some people at this table, he ain’t going to do. Ruth the Jewel. Yuck!” Josie feigned an unladylike gag.

The dowager countess’s eyes lit up.

“What are ye thinking, Agatha?” Josie asked.

Even though Lady Davenport had insisted Josie call her by her given name, Nicolas still winced.

“Well, my dear,” Lady Davenport said, “we simply need him to propose and offer you the position as his fighter. You accept one and turn down the other. Then everyone wins, and the three of you will be able to go about your lives.” Following her announcement, Lady Davenport sipped her coffee nonchalantly as if there were no holes in aplan riddled with caverns.

“The Widow of Whitehall has already stipulated that Jonathon and I can’t ask Tristan to make a fake proposal,” Nicolas said.

“Oh, that woman.” For a second, Lady Davenport’s eyes sparked as if she were amused, however, after closer inspection Nicolas decided it must have been a trick of the light.

“In my humble opinion, it takes more discipline to be a pugilist than it takes to be a lady,” Lady Davenport said. “So, it shall be easy to turn you into a debutante and present you to the duke at Lady Siddons’s Spring Blossoms Ball in a few weeks. Helena is a dear friend of mine and she is Griffendale’s aunt. She married the much older Earl of Siddons, and when he passed he left her a very wealthy widow. Not that any of that matters. What matters is that the ball provides us a perfect opportunity to present you to Tristan. I will write to her immediately and tell her that I am bringing my cousin.”

“Cousin?” Josie and Nicolas asked at the same time.

Lady Davenport’s deep-set brow gave her the air of someone contemplating world domination. “My dear favorite cousin’s daughter. Who would think to even question it?” Sweeping her hand as if introducing Josie to a room full of people, Lady Davenport announced, “Meet my cousin, Miss Josephine Martin.”

Nicolas inwardly moaned. “But what will happen to you when you are found out, Agatha? You risk being ostracized and humiliated.”

“Psh.” The dowager viscountess flicked her wrist. “I am not worried about that. Let me tell you a little secret: there are many who enjoy my eccentricities. They expect nothing less from me.”

“A bloody ball?” Josie quirked her brow, looking as skeptical as Nicolas felt. “I’d rather stab me eyes out.”

“Pardon my skepticism, Agatha,” Nicolas said. “But Griffendale has already seen Josephine, as has the Fancy. They will know she is not your cousin.”

Lady Davenport grinned. “They have seen a sweaty pugilist. I shallintroduce them to a genteel lady.”

Josie swallowed her mouthful and winced. “But I don’t wanna be a lady. I wanna be a pugilist.”

“First things first,” Lady Davenport said. “We must get you an audience with Tristan.”

This was the worst plan in the history of harebrained plans.

“Our introductory lesson is that soup is to be consumed from the side of the spoon. Never the tip. Like this.” Lady Davenport lifted the utensil to her lips and daintily sipped.

For a moment, Nicolas thought that Josie might throw a tantrum and toss her bowl across the table. After an interminable silence, she scooped her spoon into her bowl and brought the tip to her lips. Scowling, she reangled it.

The liquid dripped down her chin and plinked onto her lap.

“Bloody friggin’ hell.” Josie blotted at her dress with her napkin.

Jonathon chuckled.

Certain that the frowning countess was about to correct Josie’s language, Nicolas exhaled a long, frustrated sigh.

“Jonathon and Nicolas,” Lady Davenport said as if reprimanding recalcitrant children. “The two of you will treat Josephine like a lady unless you wish to feel my wrath.”

“Thank ye, Agatha. See what I must put up with?” Josie harrumphed. “Always looking down on me because I weren’t born and raised with their advantages.” Shoulders thrown back confidently, Josie angled her spoon correctly. Unfortunately, a sound like a pig at a trough followed.