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They did not tarry overlong in the fairground. Benedict bought three meat puddings for their supper, which included one for the dog. Sebastian gulped his down in two swallows and then eyed Lizzie’s with a covetous gaze. Benedict was not surprised to see her give the animal at least half of her own. The beast trotted after her even more assiduously after that.

He was wholly reconciled to the animal’s presence when he saw his dark shadow accompany Lizzie into the opposite field when she went to relieve herself before bed. She would come to no harm when accompanied by such a beast.

When Benedict returned from fetching water, he found Lizzie trying to coax the animal into the wagon to no avail.

“What am I going to do?” she asked in exasperation. “He simply won’t come inside.”

Benedict considered Sebastian impassively. “He may settle under the wagon for the night. He’s likely wary of small spaces.” She did not look appeased by this, until he added. “You can give him one of our blankets to sleep on.” This sent her back into the wagon to fetch one, and she set about arranging it into a sort of nest for the dog as Benedict set the water on to boil.

“Here, boy!” she said, patting the blanket. “Nice and warm. Come and see.” Sebastian ignored her, setting his great head onto his front paws next to the fire Benedict had lit.

“He’ll settle in once the fire’s banked,” he consoled her.

Sure enough, that was the case. By the time Benedict had kicked over the fire and visited the opposite field before turning in, Sebastian was ensconced underneath the wagon.

“Do you think he’ll be warm enough?” Lizzie asked anxiously as he joined her inside.

“I think so.” He glanced up at her from his ablutions. “Overton likely kept him in a cage, which would not have been insulated against the cold.”

“Hateful man!” Lizzie seethed as she fastened a particularly unbecoming cap on top of her head. “I cannot fathom why anyone would give him their patronage. I don’t believe he would treat the rest of his menagerie any better.”

Privately, Benedict agreed with her, however he did not wish to discuss anything so unpleasant at this point in time. While he did not intend bothering her with amorous attentions the very night after her deflowering, neither did he wish to get into some habit of discussing all and sundry when they took to his bed. He rubbed his wet hair vigorously with a towel.

“Why are there two lines drawn in the square?” Lizzie asked suddenly as she settled herself back against the pillow. “I noticed it yesterday and forgot to ask you.”

“What? In the ring you mean?” Benedict asked, sitting on the edge of the bed, and peeling off his braces.

“Ring? No, I mean the area in which you fight,” Lizzie clarified.

“The ring,” he corrected her, as he shrugged out of his shirt.

“How can it be a ring?” Lizzie puzzled. “The ropes mark out a clear square.”

He was silent a moment as he unbuttoned his breeches and stripped down to his long underwear. “I guess because in the early days, they used to gather round the fighters in a ring,” he said speculated, casting his clothes aside. “But folks were always getting in the way, so they started using ropes to keep them at a distance.” He pulled back the covers and climbed in beside her.

“And the lines?” Lizzie persisted. “In the center of the square, I mean, the ring.”

“You have to put your toe to the line at the start of each round,” Ben said. “That’s what qualifies you to continue the fight. If you can’t come up to the scratch, then you forfeit the fight.”

“Is that where the saying comes from?” Lizzie asked in startled tones. “Come up to scratch?”

“Aye,” he rumbled, finding her curiosity amusing, despite himself.

“It’s from boxing terminology? Well, I never knew that.”

“Why would you?” he asked with a shrug and Lizzie did not answer, just folded her hands across her stomach. He had not meant to snub her, he thought belatedly as she fell silent. “Lizzie?”

She turned her head. “Yes?”

He had the absurd notion to ask her what she had thought of his boxing. As if it even mattered! Instead, he eyed the two unbecoming braids on either side of her head. “Why do you plait it like that?” he asked shortly.

“What?” she looked startled. “My hair? I’ve always worn it like this to bed,” she said simply. “It’s the way my aunt taught me.”

“You’ve a man in your bed now, Lizzie,” he pointed out.

She reddened. “Well,” she said lamely. “My aunt never gave me that talk. If I’m supposed to be doing things differently, you’ll have to teach me.”

He eyed her steadily a moment and was impressed when she didn’t look away. “I don’t like the cap or the braids,” he said finally.