The Prizefighter’s Hart by Emily Royal
Chapter Ten
Thea jolted awake as a hand touched her shoulder, dissipating the delicious dream of being claimed by Griffin.
Where was she?
She didn’t recognize her surroundings, and a wave of panic rippled through her.
“Dorothea?”
Deep, and rumbling, it was the voice from her dreams.
The voice of the man who was now her husband.
“Forgive me for waking you,” he said. “We’ve arrived.”
“Already?”
He smiled. “You slept almost the entire journey.” He opened the carriage door, then hesitated. “I’m sorry—do you go out first, or do I?”
“You’re supposed to,” she said. “Then if I trip, you can break my fall—and it spares the indignity of you seeing me climb out from behind.”
“That’s a pity.”
Her cheeks flamed as his gaze wandered up and down her body.
Then he climbed through the door, took her hand, and helped her out.
“Welcome to your home.”
A lawn stretched before her, flanked by trees and bisected by a path that led to a large, red-bricked manor house.
“Sandiford Manor,” he said, pride in his tone. “It was built during the reign of Henry the Eighth, in recognition of the military services of Henry Sharke, the first Lord Gillingham.”
“He’s not your ancestor, is he?” she exclaimed, then flushed and lowered her gaze. “Forgive me, I meant no offense.”
He let out a laugh. “I’ve heard far worse from the current Lord Gillingham. His father lost most of his fortune speculating in the South Seas, and he lost the rest five years ago as a result of gambling antes—one of which was staked on a fight I won. He backed the loser and sold Sandiford Manor to clear his debts.”
“To you?”
He nodded. “Lord and Lady Gillingham live on the outskirts of the village.”
“I rather wonder at their remaining here after losing their home,” she said. “I don’t think I could.”
He let out a laugh. “I paid handsomely for Sandiford Manor, but once Gillingham’s debts were cleared, they had little left. They enjoy a life of consequence in Sandiford at little expense compared to London.”
“Will we be receiving them?” she asked.
“I bloody well hope not,” he said, and she flinched at his profanity. “They have their own circle of admirers and sycophants—and are never seen at the White Hart, where I spend most of my time. You’ll see them at church, and that’s it. Unless you wish to be received by the only titled family in the village?”
“I’d rather not,” she said.
“Mr. Oake, sir!” a voice cried out in a soft country accent, and a young man appeared from the side of the building, dressed in plain trousers with a rough linen shirt.
He bowed to Thea. “Welcome home, Mr. Oake—Mrs. Oake.”
Griffin looked about him. “Where is she, Will?”
“Mrs. Ellis can’t find her.”
“Very well,” he sighed. “I’ll hunt her down.”
“Ned’s waiting for you at the White Hart, sir.”
“I’ll go there directly, Griffin said. “I’m sorry, Dorothea. I’d told my daughter to make sure she was here to greet us—insufferable child!”
He led her along the path until they reached the line of trees, where he stopped.
“Rowe?”
Thea looked about her, but there was no sign of anyone. Then she looked up.
A pair of legs dangled from the nearest tree.
“Rowena Oake!” he growled.
A face appeared, like a wild wood nymph—unkempt dark hair with eyes to match.
The tree shook, then the nymph landed on the gravel path.
It was a young girl, dressed in a white muslin gown, streaked with what looked like grass stains. Her hair was a cascade of messy curls which tumbled over her shoulders. She was a beauty—but she either didn’t know how pretty she was, or she was doing everything in her power to hide it. A smear of mud adorned her face, and her eyes flashed with defiance.
“Why weren’t you here to greet us?” Griffin demanded.
“I’m here now, aren’t I?” the girl said, her voice sulky.
“You know what I mean, Rowena. I expected you to greet your new mother like a lady, not like some urchin halfway up a tree!”
“Devil take you!” the girl cried. He stiffened and fisted his hands. “I should thrash you for that, you insufferable…”
“Leave her be,” Thea said.
“What’s it to you?” the girl sneered.
He stepped forward, his body vibrating with anger. “Damn it, Rowena, I’ve got a good mind…”
Thea placed a hand on his arm. Fear replaced the defiance in the girl’s eyes as she shrank back.
“Why don’t you go and see the man who’s waiting for you—Ned, is it?” Thea suggested. “I’ll take care of things here.”
“Are you certain?”
“It’s why you married me, isn’t it? I might as well start now.”
“Very well,” he said. “I’ll be back before supper. Will, take care of the mistress.”
“Of course, sir.”
As if relieved to rid himself of both his wife and his daughter, he turned and set off for the village.
“If you’ll follow me, ma’am, I’ll show you the house,” Will said.
“Very well, lead the way,” Thea replied. She offered her arm to the girl. “Rowena, will you accompany me?”
“You’re not my mama,” the girl replied, “and you never will be.”
Ignoring the stab of hurt, Thea smiled. “That’s a relief,” she said. “I’ve no wish to mother a wildcat.”
She turned toward the house. Shortly after, footsteps followed as the girl kept pace with her.
“Why did you marry Papa?” she asked. “Was it for his money? He’s very rich.”
“No, it wasn’t,” Thea said. “I have money of my own. Your papa wanted a wife to teach you how to be a lady.”
“Why did he choose you?” the girl asked. “There’s a long list of women—younger and prettier—that he could have chosen.”
The insult hit her. “Perhaps I was the first one of that long list willing to face the challenge,” Thea said, “and I can now see the enormity of it.”
The girl’s eyes narrowed with hurt. She might be insufferably uncivil, but that was no excuse for Thea to behave in the same manner.
As they reached the main doors, she spoke again. “Will you punish me if I don’t do what you say?” Her voice had lost some of its confidence, and Thea detected a note of fear.
“It’s not my place,” Thea said.
“But Mrs. Ellis said…” the girl began, then she broke off.
A steady tap-tapping echoed from inside the house, and a woman appeared. With her black gown, thin frame, and sharp-nosed features, she reminded Thea of a corpse. One bony hand curled around the top of a cane.
“Mrs. Oake, I presume,” she said. “Where’s Mr. Oake?”
Thea ignored the demand. “Who are you?” she asked.
“I’m Mrs. Ellis—Rowena’s governess and housekeeper.”
The woman thought too much of herself if she believed she filled both roles—and Thea’s husband had no idea how a home should be run.
“It looks as if I have much to do here,” Thea said.
“You do,” Mrs. Ellis agreed. “I’m glad that, at last, I’ll have assistance in controlling the child.”
Who the devil did this woman think she was?
“You’ll be the one assisting me, Mrs. Ellis,” Thea said sharply.
“Naturally,” Mrs. Ellis said. “But Rowena’s a badly behaved child at the best of times. She has much to learn about respect.”
Defiance shone in the girl’s eyes, but Thea spotted the bravado for what it was.
“May I return to the garden, Mrs. Oake?” she asked.
“If you wish,” Thea said, “though there’s no need to address me as Mrs. Oake.”
“I won’t call you ‘mama,’ if that’s what you’re wanting.”
“Very well,” Thea said. “Mrs. Oake, it is then.”
The girl skipped off and disappeared round the side of the house.
“Come inside,” Mrs. Ellis said. “There’s tea waiting in the parlor, then I’ll show you around.”
Thea followed her into a parlor on the ground floor. Griffin’s obvious wish to leave her the moment they’d arrived had cut her deeper than she cared to admit. A pot of tea might not compensate for a husband who’d declared he wouldn’t love her, but it was better than nothing.
“That child will take advantage unless you’re firm from the outset,” Mrs. Ellis said, pouring a cup. “It’s harder to discipline her if she believes she can continue unpunished.”
“Unpunished?” Thea asked.
“I’m a firm advocate of the saying that if you spare the rod, you spoil the child.”
Thea glanced at Mrs. Ellis’s cane. “I trust you’re speaking metaphorically.”
Mrs. Ellis dipped a spoon into the sugar bowl. She lifted it to her nose and sniffed.
“Salt,” she said. “Devil child! That’s the second time this week. You see what wickedness I have to endure?”
“Just silly mischief, surely?” Thea suggested.
“That’s not all she does,” Mrs. Ellis said. “She smeared honey on the handle of my cane last month, and she knows I cannot bear to have sticky hands. And just last week, she…”
Thea looked out of the window, her attention wandering while the woman droned on. If Mrs. Ellis knew half the tricks Thea’s nephews played, she’d have a fit. Last week, young Billy had managed to catch a grass snake and placed it in the flour. The cook’s screams could be heard halfway across London.
A face appeared at the window.
Rowena. The girl pressed her nose against the glass and lowered her face until her nose was splayed out like a pig’s snout. Then she poked her tongue out and crossed her eyes.
Thea lifted her teacup to hide her smile. The girl frowned, then stepped back and raised her skirts, displaying her petticoats. A mouthful of tea caught in Thea’s throat, sending her into a fit of coughing.
“Mrs. Oake? What’s the matter?”
Thea shook her head and waved away Mrs. Ellis’s offer of assistance. By the time the coughing had subsided, Rowena had disappeared.
Mrs. Ellis stood. “Shall I show you round the house?”
Thea shook her head. She’d already had enough of the woman’s company.
“No, I’m a little tired,” she said. “When will supper be ready? Do I need to speak to the cook?”
“Mrs. Morris will serve it at eight like she always does.”
“Mrs. Morris?”
“The cook.”
“The cook serves supper?” Thea asked.
Dear Lord—what sort of house was Mrs. Ellis running, where she undertook the role of both governess and housekeeper—and the cook served the meals?
Even if she couldn’t tame her stepdaughter or make her husband love her—she could turn Sandiford Manor into a well-run household.