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It was no good appealing to her brother for his mind was made up. For all his bohemian ways, Felix expected the utmost respectability from his sisters. He seemed to be getting worse as he got older instead of better. He had been pleased Henrietta was leaving the stage—pleased!—despite their rich heritage and the theatre in which he had always been so proud.

It’s no life for a decent woman, that was what he had said, the only time she had spoken to him of her burning aspiration to be a real male impersonator, not just a token one. When they were children, Felix had loved her mimicry as much as their uncle, and had taken great delight in watching her whistle a tune and do her impersonation of the butcher boy’s swagger.

Even her uncle had prevented her bringing any of that swagger to the stage though. The Turtle Doves was strictly non-controversial. Just two young girls singing their quaint ballads at the intervals and appearing in cameos in other productions. Henrietta had a sweet soprano voice and Theodora was a decent alto.

Of course, the real attraction lay with Henrietta’s beauty. Likely their uncle had put Theo in breeches originally, merely so she did not suffer by way of comparison. He could not have dreamed at the time that it would become her life’s ambition.

How vividly she remembered all of her uncle’s theatrical visitors over the years, but Abigail Thewston was the one she remembered best of all. That diminutive old lady with her merry laugh and the twinkle in her eye as their uncle had pronounced her, “The greatest male impersonator of the last two decades. You would scarce credit it, my dears, but I assure you ‘tis true.” Then out had come the faded pamphlets, the printed bills announcing her as Sweet William and Billy Ballad and illustration upon illustration of Miss Thewston in the elaborate stage garb of breeches roles.

Theo had been immediately entranced. Abigail Thewston had been a giantess of stage and not by dint of any great beauty or by some distinguished patron’s espousing her cause. “Observation,” the retired actress had told her when Theo shyly asked her secret. “You’ve got to watch how menfolk handle themselves.”

“And not just when they know they’re being watched,” she had added, “but more importantly when they think they’re unobserved. Watch their mannerisms, watch how they hold themselves. How they walk, how they talk and how this is different, when they’re among intimate or casual friends or business acquaintances, or their sweetheart. For they don’t act the same in those situations, not by a long shot.”

Miss Thewston had taken a sip of her wine and then tipped her head to look at Theo. “You’re a fine tall girl and no mistake. I wish I’d had your inches,” she’d sighed. “I could have taken real principal parts then and not just the breeches roles.”

“That’s what I want,” Theo had confided.

Miss Thewston had laughed merrily at that. “You got to do more than just observe then. In that case, you got to perfect emulating them. Every day, pick one out, a man I mean. In the coffee house, in the street, even if it’s only under your window. Then, when you’re alone, in front of a looking glass, practice each look, each gesture, each nuance.”

Theo had been wide-eyed. “I will,” she had promised.

“I believe you.” Miss Thewston had nodded before beckoning her closer. When Theo came in close, she’d whispered, “What you got to remember is, a lot of their front is just an act itself.” She’d winked at Theo, then returned to reminiscing with their uncle about the old days.

Theo had taken every single word Abigail Thewston had said to heart and had never forgotten it. From that day forward she had become an avid observer and practiced her mimicry every night without fail. Paper boys, butcher boys, and boot boys had been her initial quarry. Once she had gotten their ways down pat, she moved onto larger subjects.

Clerks and costermongers, shopkeepers and streetsweepers, Theo stalked them all. On shopping expeditions, or walks in the park, she would spot a particularly distinctive walk and then fasten them with her deepest attention, sometimes following them for over a mile before she was satisfied she had the full gamut of their mannerisms.

When she got older, she added soldiers, sailors, bankers, and solicitors to her repertoire. Even the most discreet and unassuming could be found to have some interesting quirk or habit. Maybe how they flourished their handkerchief, or covertly tucked their betting slips into their pockets.

Even distraught as she currently felt, her pulse racing and her face flaming hot, Theo observed out of the corner of her eye, a bandy-legged gait which caught her fancy. She slowed down automatically so that she fell in step behind the fellow. It felt like second nature to her now. She hadn’t even made the conscious choice to follow him.

By the time her quarry had reached a public park and let himself through the wrought iron gate, Theo felt she had fully memorized his curious walk and her ruffled feathers had smoothed back down. Instead of following him into the neat gardens, Theo heaved a great sigh and retraced her steps to where she had been dropped off that morning.

She had failed. There was no getting around it. Her plan had fallen at the first fence. The taste of bitter defeat lingered on her tongue. All she could do now was retreat, lick her wounds, and regroup. She needed to think of a new plan.

It was not just a case of following her own dream these days. She had other people depending on her. Lil and Mrs. Cherwell were not as fortunate as herself; they had no guaranteed roof over their heads. Their landlords would throw them out on the street as soon as they failed to make rent.

Deciding against using any more of her dwindling funds on a hackney cab, Theo pulled her tasseled hat firmly down over her brow, hitched her handbag up to her elbow, and started her long walk home. It was a cold, crisp day in mid-February and Theo focused at first on the sound of her boot heels hitting the pavement and watching her breath puff out before her in the frigid air.

As she found her stride, her mind started to wander, playing over her recent ordeal and dwelling with horrible accuracy over minor details she had not fully appreciated at the time, so busily had she been concentrating on the task at hand. That smile that had played about Clem Dabney’s lips, for one. Others might think it charming, but not she!

Her mouth thinned grimly as she recalled his tolerant expression of forced patience as she had pleaded her cause. It made her cheeks burn to think of it. Distractedly, she pressed her gloved hands to her face. Oh, she hoped she had not made a fool of herself, but she had the terrible feeling she had done just that. Certainly, Mr. Dabney had thought her a hopeless cause.

She swallowed painfully. The way he had laughed when she had finally thrown a little defiance his way, made her ball her gloved hands into fists. Oh, he was monstrously arrogant! How dare he? She had given him the benefit of the doubt after their first meeting, thinking she might have been too harsh in her appraisal, but no. If anything, she had been far too generous!

She should have trusted her instincts, she seethed. Both times she had met him she had eventually abandoned her good manners to throw some kind of barbed comment in his face. Which was strange, now she came to think of it. Theo was not accustomed to outbursts of temper. If anything, she was known for the evenness and equanimity of her moods. Somehow, that man had an unfortunate tendency to bring out the worst in her.

She rued the day she had crossed paths with him! Theo dashed impatient fingers across her moist eyes. Now was not the time to fall into maudlin self-pity, she told herself sternly. At worst, Clem Dabney thought she was a figure for ridicule. At best, she had given him a good laugh that morning, and he would promptly dismiss her from his thoughts.

Her stomach clenched. Would he tell his friends and acquaintances of how she had propositioned him? Her step slowed a moment, and she breathed noisily in and out to steady her nerves and fight down the sick feeling clawing up from her stomach. He was no gentleman, so he likely would not scruple to repeat the tale to his cronies.

So what if he did? she rallied bravely, forcing herself to quicken her pace. It made no odds to her, and she would likely never hear of it in any case. Even if he was not a braggart, it would be strange indeed if he never breathed a word of it to another soul. After all, he must have been taken aback. He could hardly have realized he would receive an offer of marriage that gray February morning.

In all truth, she probably had appeared ridiculous to him, she reflected fairly. How could she not? Theo was under no illusions about how outsiders might view her. Uncle Barnabus had always encouraged them to follow the beat of their own drum, without heeding what conventional types might make of them. She had followed his advice the closest out of the three siblings.

Henrietta, the oldest, had always cared the most about public opinion. As for Felix, the middle child, he only seemed to care when it suited him, Theo thought bitterly. Out of the three of them, she, the youngest of them, was the one most likely to be seen as an odd fish. Was it so strange that Mr. Dabney should view her as such? He would not be the first or the last to do so, she reflected fairly.

Why then, had it rankled so? For the second time, she realized dazedly, she had been put out by Dabney’s dismissal of her. It was strange. Usually, she only cared what people thought when she liked or admired them. Neither of which applied to Clem Dabney. She had spoken nothing but the truth, she would dearly love to see him get pummeled in the ring!