Chapter Twenty-Four
“Did we do the right thing, Ambrose?” Marianne murmured later that evening.
Shucking his robe, Ambrose got into bed and gathered his wife against him. He stroked her silky hair, pensively watching the play of light and shadow on their bedchamber walls.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But short of locking Rosie in her room—an idea I’m not entirely opposed to—I don’t know what else we could have done. You know what she’s like when she’s set her mind on a course.”
“Of course I know. Where do you think she got that damnable tendency from?”
His lips twitched. “You mustn’t blame yourself. If anything, I ought to have been firmer with her as a child.”
In his mind, he saw Rosie as a small, bright-eyed poppet, and his chest tightened. How had time passed so quickly? In a blink of an eye, his little girl had grown into a woman… and now she was facing mortal danger.
“I was too lax when it came to discipline,” he said heavily.
“You did your best, darling. Rosie always found some way to charm or cajole her way out of trouble.” His wife sighed. “After we rescued her from that monster, we were both careful with her. Too careful, in retrospect, and me especially. I regret hiding the truth from her. I should have listened to you, Ambrose, and told her about Coyner’s despicable plans much sooner.”
“You wanted to protect her. You’re a devoted mama and always have been.” He kissed her forehead. “We’ll keep Rosie safe, I promise you. I’ll have my best men posted on Curzon Street. It’s but a five minute carriage ride away, and we can protect her there as well as here. And Corbett,” he said after a moment, “insists on contributing to the watch. The truth is my men are stretched thin, and I could use the additional guards.”
“What do you think is going on between Rosie and Corbett?” Marianne mused.
Ambrose didn’t want to think about it. By nature, he preferred to face reality straight on, but the idea of his daughter engaged in illicit activity with a man—a brothel owner, no less—wasn’t something he cared to contemplate, much less talk about.
His better half didn’t seem to share his reluctance.
“They’re lovers, aren’t they?” she said quietly. “I’ve never seen Rosie look at any man in that way before. And Corbett—well, I’d say he’s more than halfway in love with her.”
Ambrose frowned. “Surely you’re not condoning the behavior?”
His wife lifted her head from his chest, a hint of amusement in her emerald eyes. “I’m no prude, darling. If you’ll recall, I was a widow myself and had a rather unconventional affair.”
“That was different. I was a policeman, not a pimp,” he pointed out. “Besides, it was only a matter of time before we got married. My intentions were always honorable.”
“And you don’t think Corbett feels the same way about Rosie?”
“Can a pimp be honorable?” That sounded priggish, even to his own ears. Heaving a sigh, he sat up against the pillows, drawing Marianne up with him.
“That was unfair,” he acknowledged. “If I’m logical about the matter, I have no quarrel with what I know of Corbett’s character. Other than his chosen trade, he has shown himself to be a man of principle. Years ago, he helped you to find Rosie. During the debacle with Revelstoke, he stood by his employee with uncommon integrity. Then there is all he’s been apparently doing to protect Rosie.”
With Ambrose, Corbett hadn’t been exactly forthcoming, but he’d admitted that he’d watched over Rosie from afar. He’d said casually that he’d “called in a few favors” to quiet the talk and “negotiated an understanding” with Josiah Jenkins, the owner of the now defunct Prattler.
For his own piece of mind, Ambrose had hunted down Jenkins that afternoon.
“When I spoke to the owner of The Prattler,” he said, “he told me that Corbett paid him a thousand pounds to shut his business down. One thousand pounds to quell that bloody poem. I don’t know whether to shake Corbett’s hand in gratitude or tell him to get his head checked. And what do you wish to wager that he’ll refuse my offer to reimburse him?”
“And you still don’t like him?” His wife’s brows arched.
“Whether or not I like him isn’t the issue. What kind of life will Rosie have, married to a man in his profession?”
“You’re assuming they’ll get married,” Marianne said dryly.
His shoulders tensed. “If he intends to merely dally with our daughter, then by God—”
“Before you call Corbett out, I’d like to point out that the dallying is likely going the other way around.”
Ambrose frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Darling, you know Rosie. You know how much having a position in Society means to her. Because she’s a bastard,”—Marianne’s voice quivered with the old guilt—“she’s had to contend with the ton’s cruelty, and now she thinks she has what she wants. A title that will translate into respectability. I doubt she’s willing to give that up—even if she has feelings for Corbett.”
“She can’t think to have an affair indefinitely,” he said hotly.
“Widows and married ladies do it all the time. Society turns a blind eye as long as everything is done with discretion. And Corbett is nothing if not discreet.”
“I won’t allow it. No daughter of mine, widow or not, is going to carry on in that disreputable fashion,” he declared. “If she has feelings for him, then she damned well better do the right thing.”
“So you do want Rosie to marry Corbett.”
He opened his mouth—and shut it.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered. “Am I truly considering a procurer for a son-in-law?”
“Better the devil you know. And you want to know the truth?”
He cocked a brow.
“I’d rather have Corbett in the family than Daltry any day,” his wife said with feeling.
Ambrose couldn’t argue with that. “So we’re just going to… accept Rosie’s carrying on with Corbett?”
“Precisely.” A calculating gleam entered his spouse’s gaze. “You know how Rosie is: if we try to stop her from seeing Corbett, she’ll only want to do so more. Thus, we must stand back and allow her to make her own decisions. In other words—treat her like the adult she claims to be.”
“Claims being the operative word.” As much as he loved his daughter, he couldn’t help but question her judgement. “How can we trust that she will act in her own best interests?”
“What choice do we have? She has her independence now.” Marianne’s tone turned contemplative. “And I begin to think that not trusting her may have been the root of this fiasco.”
“How do you mean?”
“By being overprotective, I may have made Rosie doubt herself,” she said slowly. “In retrospect, I think I’ve added to her insecurities by trying to shield her from the truth. By communicating to her—unintentionally—that I didn’t believe in her ability to handle reality. Now she doubts her own instincts, and it is my fault.”
“You cannot take responsibility for that,” he said. “And I do not think Rosie suffers from an excess of self-doubt.”
“Don’t you?” Marianne’s smile was edged with sadness. “She exudes confidence and charm, no doubt, but do you think a truly confident woman would care so much what the ton thinks? Would seek acceptance above all—even love?”
He hadn’t considered the matter from this angle before. The idea that his bright, brave, and beautiful daughter might believe herself lacking in any way raised a welt on his heart.
“How can we help her?” he said tautly.
“We nudge her—gently—in the right direction. I think it would be in the best interests of everyone if you got to know Corbett better. Make sure that he is, indeed, a man of character and a suitable husband for Rosie. You wouldn’t mind doing that, would you, darling?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, the muscles there fine-tuned to paternal stress. “I suppose not.”
“Thank you.” His wife’s lips brushed his jaw. “I knew you would understand.”
“I understand one thing for certain.”
“What is that, my love?”
“I’m keeping Sophie under lock and key,” he said darkly. “I’ve learned my lesson. No gentlemen are getting near our other daughter.”
Marianne laughed. Apparently, she thought he was joking.
“I adore it when you get protective.” Her hands wandered, and he felt himself responding, as ever, to her teasing touch. “You’re my hero, Mr. Kent.”
He rolled over her. “Don’t you forget it, Mrs. Kent.”
He kissed her smiling mouth with a need that had only grown deeper and fiercer with time. She responded with an ardor that always heated his blood. Together, they reaffirmed with their bodies and hearts the love that would see them through anything.