The Prizefighter’s Hart by Emily Royal
Chapter Thirty-Six
Thea embraced Rosie, who continued to cry.
“It’s my fault! When I was helping mistress Rowena undress, she said she was unhappy—and she wished Mr. Oake wasn’t her father! I should have told you.”
“You’re not to blame,” Thea said, caressing the girl’s hair. “In the heat of the moment, all young people say things they don’t mean.”
“You don’t understand! I—I told her that she should find a way to be happy! What if she left because of me?”
Griffin swore.
Rosie flinched. “Are you going to beat me?”
“Of course not,” Thea said. “Others are to blame—those who made her unhappy in the first place and those who sought to turn her against the people who love her. Now—why don’t you go and ask Mrs. Morris to make you some sweet tea?”
“Tea?” Griffin cried. “My daughter’s missing, and all you can think about is tea?”
“Rosie needs to calm down,” Thea said. “And we need to apply reason to the problem by first determining how they left.”
“I want to hunt down that bastard and kill him! How can you speak of reason?”
“Because that’s how we’ll find them,” she replied. “If they left on foot, they could have gone in any direction but will be traveling slowly. If they left on horseback, they’re likely to have stuck to the roads.”
“We have no way of knowing in which direction they’ve gone.”
“Did Mr. Ogilvie speak of where he was going when he left last night?” Thea asked.
“Do you really think he’d be that foolish?”
“Overconfidence leads to folly,” Thea said. “And Mr. Ogilvie is nothing but overconfident, particularly when boasting about his prowess in the arena.”
“That’s it!” Griffin cried. “His winnings—he’d have to collect them from the White Hart.”
“Then we’ll start there,” she said.
“He’d be long gone by now.”
She rolled her eyes. Why were men such knuckleheads? “The easiest route to finding our quarry is to follow his exact path,” she said. “Like a trail of breadcrumbs.”
Griffin pulled his jacket on. “I’ll check the stables first, then the White Hart. Wait here until I return.”
“I’ll do no such thing. I’m coming with you.”
“It might be dangerous.”
“Rowena’s my daughter, too,” she replied. “I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t do everything I could to find her.”
His expression softened, and for a moment, she thought she saw moisture in his eyes. Then he addressed Rosie.
“Find Will and tell him to ready the carriage. Help him if necessary.”
The maid sniffed and nodded, and he patted her shoulder, his eyes narrowing with guilt as she flinched.
“Then take your tea,” he said, “with plenty of sugar and some of Mrs. Morris’s shortbread. You mustn’t blame yourself. If anyone’s at fault—it’s me.”
The maid bobbed into a curtsey and fled the chamber.
“Dear Lord!” Griffin cried. “Is this my punishment for concealing the truth?”
“You weren’t to know this would happen,” Thea said. “You told me last night that you’d done it to protect her.”
“But I didn’t protect her,” he said. “Oh, Thea—what if I never see her again?”
“Hush, husband.” She drew him into her arms. “Let us not worry while there’s every chance we’ll find her.”
Rather than indulge in her own pain, Thea needed to be strong for her husband. But though she yearned to reassure him—the fear remained in the back of her mind.
That Rowena might never be found.
*
“No, Griffin—he’s nothere.”
Breathless from running, Thea leaned against the bar in the White Hart while her husband quizzed Mr. Watkins.
“Are you sure, Ned? It’s important.”
“He’s gone, all right,” the barman said, “along with one of the horses. He arrived late last night to collect his winnings from the fight, then he took a room. The bastard left before I was up—without paying. Some people never change.” He set down the glass he’d been polishing. “I thought you wanted rid of the man.”
“I did,” Griffin said, “but not with my daughter!”
“Rowena’s gone with him? Bloody hell!” He glanced at Thea. “Begging your pardon, ma’am, for cursing. How much does Rowena know?”
“Not everything,” Griffin said. He shook his head. “What if Ogilvie tells her? It’ll destroy her!”
“We must find them before he does,” Ned said.
“But where the devil do we look?” Griffin asked, his voice rising.
Thea took his hand, and he drew in a breath as if calmed by her touch. “Remember the breadcrumbs,” she said. “Where was he before he came here—Horsham Gaol?”
“Surely he’d not take Rowe there!”
“If he wishes to conceal himself, he’s more likely to go somewhere he knows,” Thea said.
“What about the Royal Oak?” Ned suggested. “Tom Barnes told me he’d seen him there some months ago.”
“Is it far?” Thea asked.
“It’s in Dencombe—the next village but one,” Griffin said. “We’ll need the carriage—it’s ten miles away. Ned, will you come?”
“The carriage should be ready by now,” Thea said.
“You’re not coming, Dorothea.”
Thea glared at her husband. “She’s my daughter as much as she’s yours.”
His eyes narrowed in pain, and regret flooded through her as she realized what she’d just said.
“Forgive me, Griffin,” she said. “I only meant that I love her as much as you.”
He drew her to him and kissed the top of her head. “There’s nothing to forgive, my love. This is my fault—and it’s for me to deal with. I don’t want you in danger.”
“What of the danger Rowena’s facing?”
“I can take care of Alex Ogilvie,” Griffin said. “I’ll knock him into the next century and drag that child back home, trussed up like a hog if I have to.”
“Then you need me more than ever,” Thea said. “Haven’t you learned by now that it takes more than brute strength to achieve your heart’s desire?”
“You’ll not take no for an answer, will you?”
“No,” she said. “I, too, will fight for those I love. The only difference between us is the weapons we use.”
“Then I shall relent,” he said, “for I’ve come to learn that my wife is a better warrior than I’ll ever be.”