The Prizefighter’s Hart by Emily Royal

Chapter Twenty-Six

“Mrs. Oake! I’m so glad you’re gracing us with your presence.”

Lady Gillingham descended on Thea, her gown a riot of color—eye-wateringly pink, with flashes of bright green.

The woman was determined to present herself as the premier lady of Sandiford, even if she no longer resided at Sandiford Manor. In all likelihood, she loathed Thea for being mistress of what she considered to be her rightful property.

The unfortunate Lord Gillingham, standing beside his wife, gave Thea and Griffin a stiff bow.

“Oake,” he said, making it sound like an insult. “I trust you’re taking care of the manor.”

Thea folded her arms. “I wasn’t aware you took such an interest in the maintenance of our home, Lord Gillingham,” she said.

He turned his yellow gaze on her. “I don’t believe I’ve heard of your family, Mrs. Oake,” he said. “Hart—is that the name?”

“My brother’s Sir Dexter Hart,” Thea said.

“A baronet?” Lady Gillingham’s eyes glittered with spite. “A lowly title, but acceptable all the same.”

“He’s a knight, not a baronet.”

Lord Gillingham wrinkled his nose. “So, he’s engaged in trade?”

“He owns the Hart Bank,” Thea replied.

Lady Gillingham shook her head. “I’ve not heard of it, but the older families such as ours are very particular about who we bank with. The Gillingham family has banked with Coutts for years. They’re more discerning when it comes to selecting their clients.”

“As is my brother,” Thea said. “He requires a minimum level of financial competence in his account holders—which is probably why you’ve never heard of him.”

Lady Gillingham gestured toward the main parlor. “Do go through,” she said. “You’ll find plenty of comfortable chairs. When you’re a little older than most brides, dancing can be rather strenuous.”

Thea merely smiled. Lady Gillingham had a lifetime’s experience of insulting subordinates, and Thea was no match for her. If only Lilah were here! She didn’t care what people thought, and she’d think nothing of smashing a vase over the woman’s head.

Lady Gillingham placed a possessive hand on Griffin’s arm.

“Mr. Oake, you must oblige me with the first dance.”

“Me?”

“Quite so. And you must partner my niece afterward. I’ve promised you to her.”

Griffin glanced at Thea and raised his eyebrows in question.

“Come, come, dear sir!” Lady Gillingham cried. “You mustn’t defer to your wife. A man of your—virility—shouldn’t be seen hanging onto his wife’s skirts. It’s most unbecoming.”

Could she be any more obvious? Thea half-expected to see her salivate.

“Lady Gillingham,” he began, “I…”

“My husband can partner your wife,” she continued, lowering her voice. “The opportunity to partner a viscount is an honor I’m sure she’ll have no wish to pass on.”

Griffin smiled—he actually smiled! Didn’t he realize Lady Gillingham had just insulted her? Or didn’t he care?

“I’m not inclined to dance at present,” Thea said stiffly. “Perhaps I’ll go in search of a comfortable chair.”

Lady Gillingham resumed her attention on Griffin. “How’s that daughter of yours, Mr. Oake, now poor Miss Ellis is no longer in charge of her education? A gross injustice, but I understand you weren’t entirely to blame. I hear she’s now with her sister. Perhaps, one day, she’ll find a situation where her qualities will be better appreciated.”

How dare she sing the praise of that woman!

“I’m taking her to London,” Griffin said.

“But you have no acquaintance to speak of.”

“I’m sure she’ll make do.”

“You cannot settle for making do!” Lady Gillingham cried. “One word from me, and you’ll have some of the best society in London.”

Really!If Griffin wasn’t going to stop her…

The musicians began tuning their instruments, and Lady Gillingham pulled him onto the dance floor without so much as a backward glance.

A footman walked past carrying a tray of champagne glasses. Thea took one, then made her way to a seat in the corner.

For the first two dances, Lady Gillingham partnered Thea’s husband, while Thea remained sitting, refusing every offer to dance. She only wanted to dance with one person, and he was occupied. Griffin may not know it, but Lady Gillingham would be fully aware of the gossip that would ensue from the special attention she paid him.

Was this why Lady Gillingham had invited her? To teach a lesson to the woman who presided over her former home? Clearly, she considered Sandiford Manor her property. The question in Thea’s mind was whether she also considered Griffin her property.

Judging by the pointed looks in the couple’s direction and the sympathetic looks toward her, the whole company was asking itself the same question.

No longer wishing to watch, Thea rose and slipped out of the dance room, finding solace in the quiet of a side room.

When the music stopped, the chatter rose, accompanied by the familiar sounds of crockery as the guests helped themselves to the buffet. Shortly after, Thea heard Lady Gillingham’s familiar shrill tones.

“…no talent on the dance floor to speak of. That’s why she refuses to dance.”

“I can’t think why you arranged this in her honor, Caroline. A woman like that—whose position is so markedly beneath yours.”

“Mr. Oake might be uncouth,” Lady Gillingham said, “but I can’t think why he offered for her, unless the rumors are true.”

“Rumors?”

“Oh, my dear Letitia, didn’t you hear?” Lady Gillingham let out a titter. “She compromised herself in order to secure him!”

“Women of her sort can be cunning when they want to.”

This was not to be borne! Thea approached the group of women, Meggie’s words echoing in her mind.

Courage…

“We all know Mr. Oake’s not very particular about where his money comes from,” Lady Gillingham continued. “The poor man thought he was gaining a wife when, in reality, he’s shackled to a woman of a certain age who dresses like a governess.

“I say, Caroline, aren’t you being a little unfair?”

“Oh, Letitia! You saw the dreadful ensemble she’s wearing! I heard her fortune’s thirty thousand, yet she can’t even run to a new gown. I daresay he’s regretting his choice, though it wasn’t really a choice if he was tricked into it by a…”

An explosion of crockery interrupted Lady Gillingham mid-sentence.

“What the bloody hell’s going on!” a voice roared.

The crowd parted to reveal Thea’s husband—a shattered plate and what looked like a chicken thigh, at his feet. Lady Gillingham’s niece stood beside him, trembling. He pushed her to one side, then strode forward until he was inches away from Lady Gillingham. Hands clenched, body shaking, he looked like he was about to strangle her.

“What the devil have you been saying about my wife?”

“I-I thought you were with the gentlemen.”

“That much was apparent,” he hissed through gritted teeth. His hair had worked loose, and his eyes flashed with fury. “Would you care to repeat what you said about my wife?”

Lady Gillingham grew pale, and he moved closer.

“Well?”

“I—I was asking my friends why you married her.”

“Shall I satisfy your curiosity?”

“There’s no need.”

“There’s every need, Lady Gillingham,” he said. “I married her because she’s the one woman in the world who can make me happy. She’s intelligent, caring, and kind. And I happen to think she’s beautiful—all the more because her beauty comes from within. Whereas you…” He curled his lip as if he’d just encountered a particularly bad smell. “You’ve no right to insult a woman who surpasses you—and every other woman in the room—in every quality that matters. Not a day goes by that I regret taking her for my wife, and I’ll thank you to show her greater courtesy.”

He glanced up, and his eyes widened as he spotted Thea.

“I think it’s time the dancing resumed,” he said, “and this time, I wish to dance with my wife, if she’ll have me.”

He offered his hand to Thea. Lady Gillingham turned and gasped as she saw her. Whispers threaded through the crowd. Thea wanted nothing more than to run out of the room—but with everyone’s eyes on her, she had no wish to give Lady Gillingham the satisfaction of witnessing her shame.

She took his hand, and he led her to the center of the floor.

“I don’t want to dance,” she whispered. “I wasn’t lying when I said I don’t know how.”

“Then we’re well-matched,” he said. “I cannot dance either. I trod on Lady Gillingham’s foot at least five times. Though, given her little speech earlier, I have no regrets and can only hope that it swells to the size of a watermelon.” He hesitated, uncertainty in his expression. “Or, perhaps, that it goes green and falls off?”

She sighed. “I want to go home, Griffin. Can’t we leave these dreadful people?”

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “There’s nothing I want more than to take you home. But I ask you to oblige me this once—so we can show Lady Gillingham we’re not afraid of her.”

“Afraid?”

“I’ve met men like her in the ring,” he said, “bullies who pick on someone they perceive to be weaker. But they crumble at the slightest show of strength. This ball is supposed to be in our honor, even if Lady Gillingham’s objective was to insult you.”

Thea shook her head. “I didn’t realize you’d understood that.”

“Not at first,” he said, “but as the evening wore on, it became clear what the woman was about.”

“Then why must we stay?”

“To show Lady Gillingham—and everyone else—that we have every right to be here.”

She allowed herself to smile at the earnestness in his voice. “Perhaps you are ready for London,” she said.

He held her close and moved across the dance floor. His steps might be clumsy, but she barely noticed as she looked into his eyes, her heart swelling at the pride in their expression.

His pride in her.

As the party drew to a close, Griffin issued a stiff goodbye to Lady Gillingham. Then, taking Thea’s hand, they set off together on the short walk back to Sandiford Manor.

“Thank you,” she said.

“What for?”

“For defending me.”

He smiled. “It’s my duty as your husband.”

“Your duty.”

“And my pleasure.”

He stopped walking and drew her close—so close that she only needed to tip her head up, and their lips would meet. He parted his mouth and flicked his tongue out, moistening his lips. She clung to him, her heart hammering, fighting the burning need to kiss him.

Then she lowered her gaze. He may have defended her against Lady Gillingham, but the wound inflicted by his rejection of the other night had not yet healed—and she had no wish to be rejected again.

She pulled herself free.

“We should get going,” she said. “I’m uneasy about leaving Rowena on her own for so long.”

A lame excuse, but he gave no objection, and she set off. She thought she heard him sigh, then his footsteps followed her home.