The Prizefighter’s Hart by Emily Royal

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“Oh, look at you, little Francine—haven’t you grown!”

Thea placed a kiss on her niece’s head, breathing in her beautiful baby smell.

“I’ve missed you, sweet one,” she whispered. “Oh, Atalanta, you must be so happy.”

“I am,” her sister-in-law replied, “though I look back with fondness on days when I could indulge in a full night’s sleep.”

“Perhaps we should go and let you take your rest,” Thea said.

“No, stay—Lizzy can see to Francine while we take tea.”

A young woman dressed in a neat uniform deftly plucked the baby from Thea’s lap. Thea watched as she exited the parlor, her heart aching with longing.

“Time for tea,” Atalanta said, rising to her feet. She crossed the floor to the bell-pull by the fireplace. She might have emerged from her confinement two months ago, but she’d regained her figure. Her slim, well-bred form was in sharp contrast to Thea’s own dowdy frame. No wonder half of London had been madly in love with Atalanta—yet she’d had eyes only for Thea’s brother.

And her gown was the most exquisite thing Thea had seen. Pale cream silk trimmed with lace.

Five years younger than Thea, titled, independently wealthy, and adored by all—Atalanta was everything Thea was not.

And she had children—two beautiful children.

Rowena sat beside Thea, scratching the skin around her thumbnail. Thea placed her hand over Rowena’s and caressed the skin with her thumb.

“We don’t want to put you to any trouble, Atalanta,” she said.

“Nonsense!” came the reply. “I’m in need of congenial company, and you can’t take Rowena away from me so soon after our introduction. Besides, your brothers are due back any moment, and they’d never forgive me if I let you leave.”

Shortly after, a maid arrived with the tea things and set them on a table. Atalanta dismissed her and poured the tea.

“Some shortbread, Rowena?” She held out a plate. A glint of mischief shone in her eyes. “Sadly, my cook lacks your flair for fashioning the biscuits into interesting shapes.”

Rowena blushed.

“Meggie gave me one of her biscuits when she returned from visiting you,” Atalanta continued, “and she dared me to give it to Devon.”

“Sweet Lord!” Thea cried.

“Don’t worry,” Atalanta said, “I ate it myself. I had no wish to give him a sense of inferiority with regards to its size.”

Rowena erupted in a fit of coughing and set her teacup down. Thea patted her on the back until the coughing subsided.

Atalanta burst into laughter. “The look on your face!” she cried. “Do forgive me, Rowena. I suppose Dorothea has told you how elegant I am and how you must act appropriately at all times and not to speak unless spoken to.”

Now it was Thea’s turn to blush. Atalanta had repeated Thea’s instruction to her stepdaughter, almost word-for-word.

“She’s right when referring to London society,” Atalanta said. “But, among family, we can speak more freely. I’m so happy you’re here, and I speak for both Devon and myself when I say we’ll be delighted to accept your dinner invitation.”

A door opened and closed in the distance, and footsteps approached. Shortly after, Devon entered, followed by Dexter.

Atalanta leaped to her feet and embraced her husband.

Thea stood to greet her brothers, and Rowena followed suit. As Devon approached, Rowena stiffened and openly stared at him.

To his credit, Devon didn’t react. He must be used to the stares by now, but it still pained Thea to see it—knowing that the world judged him by his appearance.

“Thea, it’s so good to see you,” Devon said. “And this must be Rowena. We’ve heard a lot about you.”

Rowena continued to stare at Devon. Behind him, Dexter scowled.

Then Rowena dipped into a curtsey, just as Thea had taught her.

“Pleased to meet you, Major Hart.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Devon said, smiling. “Meggie has been telling me about your studies, and I know Attie is keen to show you her medical journals and teach you a little of medicine.”

“You are?” Thea addressed her sister-in-law.

“If that’s what Rowena wishes,” Atalanta said. “But I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“I’d love that,” Rowena said. “Thank you, Lady Atalanta.” Then she resumed her attention on Devon.

“Your scar…”

Devon stiffened—almost imperceptibly, but Thea noticed it. So did Atalanta, who squeezed his hand.

“I’ve never met a real soldier,” Rowena continued. “You must have been brave to be injured like that. Did it hurt?”

“It hurt like hell—and still aches, especially in cold weather.”

“Is there nothing you can do?” Rowena asked.

“Attie’s given me an ointment, which helps,” he replied, “though it’ll never completely heal, of course.”

“How awful!” Rowena cried. “Don’t people stare at you?”

“That’s quite enough, young lady,” Dexter growled.

“I’m only asking!” Rowena retorted.

Devon’s eyes widened. Both he and Thea knew that few people answered Dexter back without suffering the consequences.

“You’re being unbelievably rude!” Dexter said. “If I were your father, I’d take my hand to you!”

“It’s just as well you aren’t then, isn’t it?” Thea said. “Rowena’s only saying what most people are thinking.”

“Quite right,” Devon said. “I prefer a frank question over whispered gossip. And there’s no need for decorum among family.”

He gestured toward Dexter. “This is your Uncle Dexter, Rowena. I might be the one with the appearance of an ogre, but my brother has the character of one.”

“Uncle Dexter?” Rowena asked.

“Yes,” Devon said. “Don’t forget the uncle—he insists on it. In fact, he prefers Uncle Dex.”

“Don’t tease the poor girl, Devon darling,” Atalanta said. “Do forgive us Rowena—what must you think of us!”

“You’re not as bad as I was expecting,” Rowena said.

Dexter’s scowl returned, but Devon laughed.

“I think we can take that as a compliment,” Attie said. “The benefit of uncles and aunts is that they’re more willing to be indulgent than parents. As a consequence, they’re often loved to a greater degree. I daresay I shall envy Thea when Sebastian and Francine show their marked preference for her because she can spoil them, knowing that she’ll hand them back to me to dampen their joy with parental discipline at the end of the day.”

Thea tried to smile, but Atalanta’s words cut her more deeply than she could have imagined.

If only Attie knew how much Thea envied her!

“How right you are, Atalanta,” Dexter said, “Meggie’s told me how much Lillian’s looking forward to seeing her Aunt Thea again, and she never shows the same degree of enthusiasm after Meggie returns from a day out. There’s a big difference between a child’s mother and her aunt, isn’t there?”

Devon met Thea’s gaze, then took her hand.

“As for Billy…” Dexter began, but Devon interrupted him.

“I hear there’s a pinery at Sandiford, Thea!” he exclaimed, his voice overly bright.

Dexter frowned and opened his mouth to continue.

“You must tell me all about it,” Devon added. “I once tasted pineapple while serving in the militia. Fossett said it was the most disgusting thing he’d ever tried. You remember Fossett, don’t you, Thea?”

“I do,” Thea said. “Is he well?”

“He’s now a brigadier general,” Devon replied. “He always was a better soldier than I. He’s yet to take a wife—in fact, he’s shown little interest in courting anyone. I had thought he’d do for you at one point, but it all worked out for the best. How is your husband, by the way? I’ve not forgotten his promise to teach me a few moves.”

Dexter moved toward the window and stared out, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Rowena, dear, shall I show you our library?” Atalanta asked. “I’ve set aside some works I think will be of particular interest to you. I understand you’re proficient at Latin—and anatomy, of course.”

Rowena hesitated, then rose and took Attie’s proffered hand, and the two of them left the parlor.

“Dexter, you needn’t stay on our account,” Devon said. “I’m sure you’ll want to get back to the bank.”

“I consider myself dismissed,” Dexter said. “I’ll see you at your dinner party, Dorothea. We can talk then.”

Almost as soon as Dexter left, the atmosphere warmed.

“Forgive him,” Devon said. “He has the emotional maturity of a boiled egg. He doesn’t know how much you’ve wanted a child. And besides,” he took her hand, “now you’re married, you’re bound to have children of your own.”

“At my age?”

“Thirty isn’t old!” he laughed. “The Duchess of Westbury is older, and she gave birth to twins last year.” He lowered his voice. “Given the reputation the Mighty Oak has amassed over the years regarding his…er…prowess, you’re bound to announce a happy event very soon.”

Thea blinked back a tear.

He squeezed her hand. “What’s wrong? Is your husband unkind? Dex might be an arse, but he’ll help me flatten Oake if he treats you poorly.”

“He’s a good husband,” Thea said. “It’s just, he doesn’t…I mean, he hasn’t…”

His eyes widened in understanding, then he patted her hand. “Shall I speak to him?”

“Good Lord, no!” Thea cried. “Do you want to further my humiliation? Besides—what could you possibly say to him?”

“That he’s neglecting his wife?”

She shook her head. “He’s very attentive—and thoughtful. But he…” Unable to articulate her feelings, she made an aimless gesture in front of her. “Oh—I don’t know—perhaps he doesn’t want me.”

“Then he’s a fool,” Devon said. “Perhaps all that pummeling has softened his head.”

He gave her a sympathetic smile. Soon, his expression would turn to pity—which was something she couldn’t bear.

“Rowena seems an interesting young woman,” he said.

“Oh yes!” Thea said. “She’s extremely intelligent.”

“She’s lucky to have you,”

“I’m very fond of her,” Thea said. “I love her, even—perhaps as much as I would have loved a child of my own.”

“It’s plain to see she adores you.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” he smiled. “You’ve always been so perceptive when it comes to others, but you lack such insight with regard to yourself. I saw how she looked at you when you defended her against Dex. You’ve made a difference in her life. You’re preparing her for the world, so that she may strike out as an independent woman and thrive. Isn’t that what every parent wants for their child?”

“I suppose you’re right, Dev,” she said, “but I can’t help wanting a child of my own. I always have.”

“I know how much you want a child. But unfulfilled dreams lead to despair. You have much to be thankful for.”

“Such as a brother who understands me.”

The door opened, and Attie returned, with Rowena, carrying an armful of books.

“Look what Aunt Attie has lent me!” Rowena cried.

The enthusiasm shining in her stepdaughter’s eyes warmed Thea’s heart.

Devon was right—she had much to be thankful for. She had a daughter. Maybe not one of her flesh, but Rowena had secured a place in her heart.

If Griffin didn’t want another child—then she owed it to Rowena and to him to do the best for the child he had.