The Prizefighter’s Hart by Emily Royal

Chapter Twenty-Three

As Thea entered the breakfast room the next morning, her husband and Rowena were already seated at the table.

An envelope was propped up against Thea’s teacup. The sight of her name, written in a familiar hand, swelled her heart with hope and love.

“Meggie…”

She traced the direction with her forefinger, following every curve of the letters. Then she set it aside.

“Why don’t you open it?” Rowena asked.

“I’ll wait until after breakfast,” Thea said. “It’s not polite to read during a meal.”

“Is that something I must learn for when we go to London?”

“Do you want to go?” Thea asked.

Rowena glanced at her father, then she nodded. “You’ll come, too, Dorothea, won’t you?”

“Of course she will,” a deep voice said. Thea glanced up to see her husband looking straight at her. “We’ll be going together—as a family.”

Then he smiled. “Read your letter, Dorothea,” he said. “I know how much you miss your sister. Of course…” he hesitated, “…you’ll want to read it in private.”

She opened the letter. “I can read it now—I have no secrets.”

He glanced at Rowena, discomfort in his expression.

Thea opened the envelope and let out a cry of joy as she read the first paragraph.

“Oh! She’s coming to stay next week—that is, if you’ve no objection.”

“None at all,” he said. “We’ll do all we can to make her welcome—won’t we, Rowe? If you help Dorothea with the house, I’ll see to the estate. There’s a huge pile of logs needing chopping.”

“I can chop firewood,” Rowena said.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I…”

Thea cleared her throat. He glanced toward her, and she raised her eyebrows.

Then he smiled and nodded. “Of course you can help.”

Rowena smiled. “Thank you, Papa!”

He reached for Rowena’s hand. She hesitated, then took it. The surprised smile on his face tore at Thea’s heart. Unwilling to intrude on the tenderness of the moment, she rose to her feet.

“I should see to Mrs. Morris in the kitchen,” she said. “There’s much to be done before Meggie arrives.”

*

“It’ll be goodto have a guest in the house!” Mrs. Morris said as she sprinkled water onto the flour mixture and stirred it with her hands.

She squeezed the dough into a ball and lifted it up. “Is this the right consistency?”

“It needs to be sticky,” Thea said. “A wet dough makes a lighter bread, though the kneading’s a little messy.”

“How can you tell when it’s sticky enough?”

“You throw it at the wall,” Thea said. “If it sticks, then it’s just right. Shall I try it?”

“Mrs. Oake!” the cook exclaimed. “You wouldn’t waste a good dough, would you?”

“Of course not,” Thea laughed. “Now, can you remember how to plait it, like I showed you?”

“Show me again.”

Thea split her dough into three, rolled each part out, then folded them over each other.

“This is Meggie’s favorite,” she said, “particularly if there’s rosemary in the mixture. Well, perhaps her second favorite, behind my shortbread.”

Rowena appeared at the kitchen door. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“Baking bread for Meggie’s visit,” Thea said. “I’m making shortbread next.”

“May I help?”

“Weren’t you going to help your papa with the wood?”

Rowena’s voice took on a note of shyness. “I—I’d like to help you, if you’ll let me.”

“Then you shall,” Thea said. “Mrs. Morris, I’ll keep an eye on the loaves. Perhaps you’d like to take the rest of the day off?”

“Can I?” the cook asked. “I could visit my niece. Her confinement’s any day now, and she needs all the help she can get, with her twins being such a handful.”

“Good, then that’s settled,” Thea said. “Once we have a full complement of staff, you must spend more time with your niece. Why don’t you take her a slice of that meat pie from the store?”

“Thank you, ma’am!” The cook bobbed a curtsey, then disappeared, singing to herself.

Rowena remained in the doorway while Thea set out the ingredients. Though the girl seemed to have made progress, Thea still had no wish to force a relationship.

What was it Dexter always said when negotiating a business deal?

Always let the bid come to you.

Thea tipped flour into a bowl, followed by pieces of butter, then rubbed them together with her fingertips.

Soft footsteps approached, and Rowena appeared at the opposite side of the table.

“She’s happier since you came to live here.”

Thea sprinkled sugar over the mixture. “You mean Mrs. Morris?”

Rowena nodded. “I think everyone’s happier.” She gestured toward the bowl. “What can I do?”

Thea tipped the mixture onto the table and fashioned it into a ball. “You can cut out the biscuits if you like. My nephew likes me to cut it into the shape of a lion—which isn’t as easy as it sounds.”

“It’s easier than chopping wood.”

“Did you help your father with the logs?” Thea asked.

“Papa let me try, but he said my technique was so bad that I was in danger of taking a limb off.”

“That’s not very kind of him,” Thea said.

“Oh no—he was right!” Rowena exclaimed, and Thea smiled at the girl’s defense of her father. “I narrowly missed his hand. He pointed out that, unlike an apple tree, he only had two upper limbs, neither of which would grow back.”

“A woman needs to master the technique all the more than a man,” Thea said, “due to her lesser physical strength.”

“Are we always to be the weaker sex?”

“Physical strength isn’t everything,” Thea said, rolling out the biscuit dough. “There’s wit, intelligence, and strategy. Men think they have the upper hand, but the trick is in getting them to do your bidding while simultaneously convincing them it was their idea.”

“Is that what you’re doing with papa?”

“Heavens, no!” Thea laughed. “Nobody can convince your father to do anything he doesn’t want to.”

Certainly not me.

She picked up a knife and sighed. A slim hand touched her wrist, and she looked up. Rowena’s eyes shone with compassion.

“Let me do it,” she said.

Thea handed Rowena the knife, then wiped her eyes. “Why don’t you cut the dough into whatever shapes you like, while I clear away the bowls?

“Isn’t that a job for servants?”

“It does no harm to understand what the work entails,” Thea said. “I did all the cooking and cleaning when we were growing up before we could afford servants.”

“What was it like being poor?” Rowena asked. “Was it really dreadful?”

Thea poured water into the sink. “Life was simpler then—our needs were simpler.”

“How so?”

“All we wanted was enough food so we’d not go hungry—and enough coal so we wouldn’t freeze.” Thea smiled at the memory. “We had each other, which was all that mattered—Dex was away most of the time.”

“Dex?”

“My brother, Dexter.”

“That’s Papa’s banker, isn’t it? Sir Dexter Hart?”

“The very same.”

“But he has a title!”

“Dexter earned his knighthood through hard work,” Thea said. “Until he married Meggie, he didn’t understand what matters in life.”

“And what’s that?” Rowena asked.

“Love,” Thea said. “Meggie taught my brother how to love.”

“How?”

“By being herself,” Thea said. “You’ll understand—when you meet her. There’s something about Meggie that makes you want to love her.”

“What?”

“I think it’s because she wants everyone to be happy—and in love.”

Even me.

Thea wiped her eyes, then turned from the sink to face her stepdaughter. “How are you getting on with those biscuits?

Rowena said nothing but cleared her throat nervously.

“Rowena?”

The girl colored and set the knife down, suppressing a giggle. Thea looked over the dough, recognizing the shapes. Rowena had, indeed, been busy with the knife. How a girl of fourteen could draw the outlines with such accuracy was beyond her. But Rowena was an intelligent young woman, and she’d clearly put that anatomical reference book to good use.

Rowena had cut the shortbread into the shapes of male parts.

“What do you think?” Rowena asked, her voice tight with apprehension.

A bubble of mirth swelled inside Thea. “I applaud your attention to detail,” she said. “What’s that supposed to be?” she asked, pointing to the markings indented along the shape.

“Veins.”

“Oh, my sweet Lord!”

Rowena’s eyes widened, and she took a step back. “Are you angry?”

“Angry at what?” a deep voice said.

Rowena let out a shriek.

Griffin stood in the doorway.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Shortbread,” Thea said. “For Meggie.”

“May I try some?”

“We need to bake it first.”

He stared at the dough, then raised his eyebrows.

“May I be excused?” Rowena asked. Without waiting for a response, she fled.

Griffin approached the table. “If they’re supposed to be life-size,” he said, a glint of amusement in his eyes, “then I should be affronted.”

“I wouldn’t know, would I?” Thea asked bitterly.

He took her hand. “Thea, I…” He hesitated, then drew close, lifting his free hand to her face. With a touch that was surprisingly delicate, he traced the outline of her face with his fingertip, then placed his palm against her cheek, and he stroked her skin with his thumb.

Her skin tightened with need as a rush of warmth flooded her body. How could such a giant of a man elicit such tenderness with a single touch or ignite such a burning need within her?

Then he lowered his hand and withdrew.

“I should see to the wood,” he said. “Will felled a tree yesterday, and it’ll take weeks to chop into logs.”

She nodded and turned away, not wanting him to see the disappointment in her eyes. By the time she turned back, he’d already gone.