Page 12 of A Governess Should Never… Tempt a Prizefighter (The Governess Chronicles 1)

How the devil had she known that?

“Well, yes. That was it.” Had she been at his tea leaves? “But I’m so sorry, pet. I know you love thumping nine bells out of the straw figures there, and having you nearby brought me comfort, brought us luck when we first started up the Academy, but you’re growing up and…”

“I’m a girl in petticoats, I understand, Papa. Lord Hareborough was staring at my bottom yesterday.”

“I’ll mill his duddering top-loft,” he growled. “Then revive the scurvy jackanapes to mill him again.”

Chloe rolled her eyes. “He’s just being a typical man.” She patted his hand. “No offence meant. But I no longer feel comfortable anyway.”

“Ah, daughter, I’m sorry.” And he dragged her into a tight hug. “You can continue boxing in our practice room, of course, but I’m aware you love to train in the Academy with all its chatter.”

“And I can still be the next Stokes if I want to, can’t I?”

Seth sighed and drew back to tug a lock of Chloe’s hair. Elizabeth Stokes had been a championess boxer some nine decades or so past. Yet had her fame been for her skill or the bloody novelty? Seth suspected the latter.

Most went into prizefighting to claw their way from the stews, a winning purse of ten pounds lending a fierceness to the fist and a vitality to any weariness. Never would he deny his daughter her ambitions, merely wished that at such a young age, she leave every option open. Hence the need for a governess.

“Of course you can. But I also want you to be your own person, Chloe. Not Stokes or a genteel lady or a prizefighter’s daughter. Just yourself. Do what you wish.”

“I do enjoy it,” she assured. “The twisting and balance, how to tackle someone bigger than me and working out where my opponent is weakest. You must have enjoyed that? And the feeling when you won?”

He’d done it for the money. To escape a brutal existence with no end. But… “Partly, but it’s not all glory and triumph. It’s also pain and blood, and the raw reality of getting your nose broken by Jack Scroggins.”

“Well I’ve never been hit properly, I know.” Her mouth twisted. “So if I don’t become a championess, how else could I continue doing what I love?”

“I’ll set my pudding brains to thinking, pet.”

Chloe eyed him with chewed lip. “Which waistcoat are you wearing to dinner?”

“Er…the brown?”

A shake of blond head.

“You choose then.”

She pottered off to the wardrobe, her long blue dress now above her ankles. His petal was growing like a dandelion. Nevertheless, he clasped his hands behind his head and settled back amongst the pillows, content with life.

“You should remarry, Papa.”

“What?” Confound it, where had that come from? And he stomped to the set of drawers.

“I won’t be able to choose your waistcoats forever. And then where will you be? Stuck in boring browns and ghastly greys.” She stood hands to hips, then swished back to the wardrobe with a huff. “You’re only just one and thirty. Old but not an utter has-been.”

Scowling, Seth grabbed a cravat. “I could employ a valet to choose my waistcoats.” He yanked the cloth around his throat, almost garrotting himself. “Wouldn’t get half as much cheek either.”

“But a valet won’t keep you warm on winter nights.” She peeked over one shoulder and winked.

It appeared Betty had been quite thorough then.

“Well, since we have a new dinner companion tonight,” Seth pronounced, “we’d better flash our best togs. How about the green silk waistcoat?”

“Miss Griffin won’t be attending tonight. She was so tired, I sent her to bed.”

Oh.That was exceedingly early.

“Isn’t ordering a charge to bed without their supper Miss Griffin’s duty? The grey then.” And Seth unravelled the ornate cascade cravat he’d been creating and settled on his usual barrel knot.

Chloe tapped a lip and then handed him a waistcoat that resembled a painted barber’s pole. Its wide collar flapped about and the fob pocket was garnished with clashing green embroidery – a Christmas present from a relative, if memory served. She yanked it straight. “I asked Betty to prepare a little something and take it up to her, of course. She said they could have a natter about your rules for the household.”

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