The Prizefighter’s Hart by Emily Royal
Chapter Fifteen
How dare he! Did he think himself the only unwilling party in this marriage? And how dare he accuse her of not dealing with his daughter?
Dealing with her—as if she were vermin to be culled!
After his footsteps faded, she ventured out into the garden in search of Rowena. The girl wasn’t going to come to Thea of her own accord, and if Mrs. Ellis had taken to tale-bearing, it wouldn’t end well for her.
The garden appeared to be empty, but Thea spotted a tree that quivered, though there was no breeze. As she approached it, she noticed the book of anatomy at the base of the trunk.
“May I speak with you, Rowena?” she asked.
No answer was forthcoming—though she hadn’t expected one.
“I’m merely curious to know how it was done,” she continued.
A foot appeared, followed by another. Then, with a rustle of leaves, Rowena jumped out of the tree and landed on the lawn.
“That’s better,” Thea said. “I prefer to see who I’m engaged in conversation with.”
Rowena smoothed the front of her skirt, causing a smear of mud across the material.
“That’ll need to be washed,” Thea said.
“I don’t care how I look,” the girl retorted.
“Yes, I can see that,” Thea replied. “But I care about the work Rosie has to undertake in the laundry. I understand you’ve refused to help her.”
“I don’t want to do domestic work,” Rowena said.
“Consider yourself fortunate there’s someone who does,” Thea said. “But I’m not here to discuss dirty linen. I came to ask why you saw fit to furnish the eighth Lord Gillingham with a mustache.”
Rowena opened her mouth as if to deny it, then she nodded.
“I saw it as a challenge.”
“A challenge?”
“Mrs. Ellis said she’d have me sent away to school if I did it again. I wanted to prove that she couldn’t.”
“But I could,” Thea said, and Rowena’s eyes widened in fear.
“I won’t, of course,” Thea continued. A wave of compassion threaded through her as the girl visibly relaxed.
Rowena was adopting the tactics of any normal child faced with boundaries—testing their limits yet terrified of the consequences.
Thea reached for Rowena’s hand, but she snatched it away.
“You’re not my mother,” she said. “I don’t even like you.”
“Good,” Thea replied. “I don’t like you either.”
“Aren’t you supposed to like me?”
“Why?” Thea asked. “Neither of us knows the other well enough yet. I prefer to wait until I can make an informed decision. But you’ve earned my respect.”
“How so?”
“I can weather insults,” Thea said, “for I’ve experienced many. But I will not tolerate being lied to.”
The girl shifted on her feet uncomfortably, much as Thea’s nephew Billy did when she adopted the same tone of voice.
“For telling me the truth about the eighth Lord Gillingham’s rather impressive addition to his facial hair, you have earned my respect.”
Rowena folded her arms. “What if I don’t want your respect?”
“Nevertheless, you have it.” Thea glanced toward the book on the ground.
“Now, forgive me, I must return to the house. I had hoped to teach you a little about Latin.”
“Latin?”
“A fascinating language,” Thea said. “Very logical in its construction. It helps with the study of anatomy and the finer points of the English language. But I’ve been too long occupied with your handiwork in the gallery. I now need to speak to Mrs. Morris about supper. Would you like to help?”
“No.”
Rowena flinched a little as if expecting a reaction. But Thea smiled.
“As you wish,” she said. “I’ll see you at supper.”
Rowena hesitated, then picked up the book and flicked through the pages. Then she glanced up and watched Thea leave. By the time Thea had reached the house, Rowena still stared after her.
The girl wanted to learn—her behavior was the product of a lively and curious mind—but she was afraid to ask.
What made her so scared? Was it something to do with her mother?
Why did Griffin always get so angry when his late wife was mentioned? What did he have to hide?