Page 73 of The Viscount's Silent Pugilist

For the time being, sending for her siblings would have to be done in secret so that her father couldn’t prevent it. A well-known viscount and his scandalous new boxing viscountess would attract entirely too much attention. A ghost in the shadows would have to do the rescuing—and with her own resources—which would take time. As for her engagement? Could she marry Jonathan while keeping her identity a secret?

Probably not. At least not in the near future.

Jonathan squeezed her shoulder. “Are you crying, Genevieve?”

“Tears of happiness,” she lied as she snuggled against him.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Hiring Jacob Thurstanwas one of the best business decisions Jonathan had ever made. He’d given the man a small office on the third floor, and Thurstan had attacked the documents piled on Jonathan’s desk with gusto. Soon they would all be read, dealt with, and filed away.

“I have some difficulty reading if I am presented with too much information at once,” Jonathan had explained to Thurstan the day he employed him. He’d lifted his chin and swallowed his pride as he’d presented his reading thingamabob. “Which is why I use this. Gen—” he’d continue referring to her by her shortened name publicly until she told him to do otherwise—“the pugilist I sponsor, made it for me. A veritable miracle because it eases my eye strain.” Not all of it, but enough that he could read at least half a page at a time without getting a headache.

Jonathan had not detected judgement when Thurstan said, “Ingenious, my lord.”

“Miss Gen also suggested that graphs and charts might help me process information,” Jonathan added.

“What a marvelous idea, sir,” Thurstan had declared enthusiastically. “I enjoy making such things because they help me organize my thoughts.”

“I actually have a symbol code I use when recording wagers,” Jonathan said.

“If you would like to teach it to me, I’m sure we can incorporate it into our communications and organizationalmethods,” Thurstan declared so enthusiastically that it was obvious the challenges of the position pleased him.

Jonathan’s conscientious man of business created visuals that were masterpieces. The Davenport farms were mapped out and placed beside pictures of the crops and the season’s yields. Thurstan did the same thing for the farmland Jonathan rented to local farmers. He represented every individual inhabiting each property with a neatly drawn stick figure—one of Jonathan’s coding methods. He created intricate graphics showing every detail of the timber sales and coal mines—timber in green and coal in gray. For the first time since Ralph Kincaid’s death, Jonathan knew what was happening at each of his properties and with his investments. He had a calendar of property maintenance. He knew who owed him and whom he owed. Thankfully, he now had proof that his holdings were still profitable. Most importantly, he didn’t plan to neglect one of his workers’ or tenants’ families ever again.

Additionally, Jonathan was no longer drowning in shame. Genevieve had been correct. Once he embraced his reading difficulties, he no longer felt embarrassed by them.

As Genevieve’s mill edged closer, the Davenport household adhered to her strict schedule. There were early morning runs, companionable breakfasts of eggs, porridge and fruit, late afternoons and early evenings at The Silk Knuckles Saloon, a prodigious amount of perfectly prepared meat at dinner, and early bedtimes.

Jonathan’s only complaint was the lack of kisses, touches, and private time with his secret fiancée. First of all, Genevieve seemed intent on following Coach Valentine’s no tupping for a week before a mill rule. Not that it mattered, because his mother hadn’t left them alone for more than a few minutes, except for their runs, since the night they’d made love. The woman was turning out to be more of a pego-jammer than the mutt.

Each time Jonathan was about to pull Gen into his arms, his mother swept into whatever room they happened to be in, chirping nonsense.

“My, ’tis lovely today,” she cheerfully announced a few times a day.

Not at all. London was smoggy and gray at this time of year.

“Heavens, breakfast was delicious,” she’d declare as she barged into his study in the late afternoons.

Mrs. Porter was the epitome of cooks, but his mother’s constant declarations were unnecessary. Not that he and Gen were ever alone in his study these days, since Thurstan spent so much time with him.

“Do not keep Gen up late tonight, Jonathan,” his mother reminded him every evening. “She is training hard and needs her sleep.” Her furrowed brow and pursed lips seemed to say,I know what you did the last time I left you alone. Don’t do it again.Although maybe that was his guilty conscience speaking.

More than once, while in the middle of their run, Jonathan considered pulling Gen behind a building or tree to kiss her. But a viscount caught kissing a bloke would be the scandal of the decade, not to mention dangerous as hell. He’d also abstained because he channeled his energy into keeping up with her. Besides that, she was much too dedicated for him to do something self-centered that sabotaged her training. However… Now that Gen was his fiancée, she seemed to have pulled back on the outward signs of affection—the looks of adoration, the stolen touches—but that was probably due to the no-tupping-before-a-mill rubbish. At least, that is what he told himself.

Still, he’d been looking forward to spending time alone with Gen during the carriage ride to Redhurst House. Even if they couldn’t rut like beasts, he could at least kiss and fondle her. But yesterday, Nicolas had declared, “Davenport, why don’t Josie,Franny, Edward, and I ride to Griffendale’s estate with you, your mother, and Gen?”

“What fun,” his mother had said. “Unfortunately, I won’t be attending. Gen, I am sorry to miss your first mill, but there is so much to do with the new girl’s school, our fight for female autonomy, and Helena’s social events. I also told Calder that I will help him care for The Silk Knuckles Saloon while Josie and Franny are gone.”

“Do not work yourself to exhaustion,” Jonathan had said.

His cautionary reminder was unnecessary because his mother seemed happier and healthier than she’d been in years. Since Coach Valentine had Harry and Jane Brown to help him run the saloon, he didn’t need her assistance. He suspected his mother simply wanted to spend time with the man.

Jonathan pulled himself from his reverie to give his carriage driver the last-minute instructions. “Ivan, I’d like to arrive at Redhurst House before noon.” That would give them the afternoon to settle in and relax.

“Then we should be on our way, my lord,” Ivan said.

“Time to board,” Jonathan called to his fellow travelers.