The Prizefighter’s Hart by Emily Royal

Chapter Twenty-Two

“Would you like a bread roll, Rowena?” Thea handed the plate to her stepdaughter, who took one with a smile.

“Thank you.”

“I made them with Mrs. Morris, especially for our picnic,” Thea said. “We added herbs and cheese to the mix. What do you think? They’re still warm.”

“It’s delicious,” Rowena said.

Thea looked around her, taking in her surroundings—the apple trees which had begun to blossom in the warm summer air, and the babbling stream which danced over rocks and stones, the clear water twinkling in the sunlight. The urge to climb one of the trees needled at her, as did a desire to paddle in the stream. She slipped her shoes off, rolled down her stockings, then stepped into the stream.

The water was cold, but she relished the refreshing feel of the stones beneath her feet.

Rowena finished the roll, then wiped her hands on her skirt and wrapped her hands round her knees.

“Did you have hot bread rolls when you had picnics with your mother?” Thea asked.

Rowena frowned and stared into the distance. “I can’t remember.”

“Do you remember anything about her?”

“Papa doesn’t want me to talk about her.”

“But I don’t mind,” Thea said. “We should always remember our loved ones—especially those who are no longer with us.”

“Papa said she died when I was young.”

“Don’t you remember?”

Rowena closed her eyes. “I remember hearing voices—shouting. And screaming.” She opened her eyes again and shook her head. “There was something else, but I can’t quite grasp it.”

“Do you remember what she was like?”

“Papa once said that Mama was a free spirit.”

“You’ve certainly inherited that,” Thea said, smiling. “I wonder if she doused her governesses with buckets of cold water, too?”

Rowena colored and looked away.

“Mrs. Ellis got what she deserved,” Thea said. “I hear Reverend Flint is most relieved that she’s gone to live with her sister in Hertfordshire. She won’t be bothering us again.”

She kicked her foot in the water, sending a splash toward Rowena. “Why don’t you come in? The water’s lovely.”

Rowena grinned, then she slipped her stockings off and joined Thea in the stream.

“Damn—that’s cold!” Rowena cried. Then she gasped. “Oh, forgive me!”

Thea laughed. “You should hear young Billy curse!”

“Billy?”

“My nephew—Meggie’s son. I adore him.”

“Who’s Meggie?”

“My brother’s wife,” Thea said. “I’ve invited her to stay—I do hope she comes.”

“Will she like me?” Rowena asked.

“She’ll love you!” Thea said. “She’s a free spirit, as well. Did you know, my brother once came upon her half-naked, swimming in a lake? He was furious! But, last summer, Meggie persuaded him to swim in the lake himself. I wish I could have seen it!”

“Weren’t you there?” Rowena asked.

“I remained in London to mind the house.” Thea sighed, remembering Dexter’s townhouse, empty and forlorn with only her in it. Meggie had asked her to accompany them to the country, but she’d chosen to remain in London. She loved seeing her brother and his wife so happy together—but sometimes, she had to quietly turn away from it.

A hand caught hers, and she looked round to see Rowena’s chocolate brown eyes watching her, bright with sympathy.

“Don’t frown,” Rowena said. “You were smiling before. You should smile more often.”

“Should I?”

Rowena nodded. “Even at your age, you look quite pretty when you smile—not that being pretty is something anyone should aspire to.”

Thea laughed. “I think I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Rowena colored. “I’ve said the wrong thing again, haven’t I? Mrs. Ellis was always admonishing me for it.”

“You spoke the truth,” Thea said. “Whether or not that’s something others wish to hear is their problem, not yours. But…” She cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. “You’ll have to learn the art of diplomacy if you’re to triumph in London.”

“Diplomacy—what’s that?”

“Being polite to people you don’t like.”

Rowena withdrew her hand. “Why must I go to London?” she asked. “I won’t like it.”

“Your papa wishes it.”

“I don’t want to go.”

“Don’t you want to try new things?” Thea asked. “Have you thought about what you want to do in life?”

“Not really,” Rowena said. “Why should I?”

“You’ll have to consider it at some point,” Thea said. “Better to decide sooner rather than later when the choice may be taken from you. You’re fortunate enough to have a choice, and you have a father who loves you enough to let you make that choice—if you’ll give him a chance.”

“He won’t listen to me,” Rowena said.

“Perhaps he’ll listen to both of us.”

“Why would you help me?”

Thea took Rowena’s hand and patted it. “Because there’s nothing more tragic than unfulfilled potential.”

She blinked, and tears pricked at her eyelids. Rowena stared at her, understanding in her expression as if she knew that Thea was speaking about herself.

It was time to change the subject. Thea gestured toward the picnic basket.

“There’s shortbread in there,” she said. “Would you like me to show you how to make it?”

Rowe opened her mouth to protest, but Thea continued. “Consider it part of your education.”

“In the domestic servitude of a woman?”

“My brother-in-law bakes it often,” Thea said, “and he’s a duke.”

“A duke?” Rowena’s eyes widened with interest. “What’s he like?”

“Very affable, for all that he has a title—and he loves my sister Lilah with all his heart, which is admirable given that she’s even more of a hellion than you are.”

Rowena gave a laugh, which warmed Thea’s heart.

“Lilah is so like you,” Thea continued. “Fraser, her husband, is magnificent. A real Highlander, like the ones you see in paintings, with flame-red hair and a booming voice, you can’t help liking him…” She closed her eyes, drawing on her memory for the image of two cherubs, so full of life and laughter. “…and little Flora and Campbell. How you’d love them! Perfect in every way and always so sweet to their old aunt.”

“Do you want children of your own?” Rowena asked.

Thea blinked back a tear. “I have you, have I not? You’re not a child anymore, but I can try to help you as best I can.”

“To bake biscuits and keep house—like a servant?”

“Making biscuits needn’t represent a loss of liberty,” Thea said. “It’s about being self-sufficient, so you don’t need a husband to pay someone to do it for you. You might think managing a home a dull occupation, but it requires skill and good judgment, and I had to acquire both on my own, for I had nobody to show me. I even learned to chop wood.”

Rowe’s eyes lit up. “You did? Papa chops wood. But he never lets me help.”

“Perhaps we can persuade him—together,” Thea said.

“I’d rather chop wood with Papa than bake biscuits with you.”

Thea ignored the stab of hurt. “As you wish—we don’t all have to like the same things.”

She stepped out of the stream and sat on the blanket, wiping her feet. Shortly after, Rowena joined her.

“May I have a piece of shortbread?”

“Of course,” Thea said. “Have as many as you like.”

She lay back and closed her eyes, relishing the warmth of the sun on her face and the delicate, musical babbling of the stream—gentle sounds, infinitely preferable to the bustle of London.

She heard Rowena rummaging about in the hamper, followed by crunching as she helped herself to a biscuit.

“Dorothea?”

“Mmm-hmm?” Thea murmured, unwilling to open her eyes, as she drifted into a doze.

“This shortbread is delicious.”

“Don’t eat it all, Rowena, or you’ll not do justice to supper.”

“If I do eat it all,” Rowena said, “you must show me how to make more—if you have no objection.”

Thea smiled to herself. She may never know the love of a child of her own, but the olive branch her stepdaughter offered was something to nurture.

“No, Rowena, my dear,” she said. “I have no objection at all.”