“I appreciate everyone’s help,” she said earnestly, “but there’s something I need to tell you.”
“What is it?” Grooves of tension deepened around Papa’s mouth.
You can’t delay this forever. ’Tis now or never.
Her hands gripping in her lap, she declared, “I’m moving into my own residence.”
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 defunctPrattler.
For his own piece of mind, Ambrose had hunted down Jenkins that afternoon.
“When I spoke to the owner ofThe Prattler,” he said, “he told me that Corbett paid him a thousand pounds to shut his business down.One thousand poundsto 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.
