Page 29 of A Contracted Spouse for the Prizefighter

Enlightenment dawned. “Oh! Oh, yes, that is a good idea,” she enthused. “And really, it never occurred to me.”

Mr. Finch adjusted his tape measure and muttered something under his breath which Theo did not catch. She had the distinct impression he did not think much of her in truth.

It was certainly interesting to see just how many measurements he took. She was not half so conscientious when it came to making her own garments. Then again, she tended to go for flowing gowns which were not at all form-fitting.

The whole process took a good deal longer than she had anticipated and Theo was glad for the heat the small stove threw out, for she was turning to goose pimples by the time it was over.

“That’s the lot,” said Mr. Finch, straightening up.

“Thank y—” Theo started to say, but he had already ducked back out of the curtain. Hastily donning her linen petticoat and billowing gown of moss green, she had no sooner fastened her belt about her waist than Clem coughed on the other side of the curtain.

“All decent?” he asked.

Theo drew back the curtain to show she was fully dressed except for her outerwear. “All done,” she agreed, picking up her hat, coat, and muffler from atop a nearby packing case.

“You forgot your gloves,” Clem pointed out.

“Oh! Silly of me.” Theo snatched them up. “I’m always losing them.”

He was looking at her keenly. “How was it?” he asked in an undertone. He looked, she thought, faintly concerned. Did he think she was flustered because Mr. Finch had seen her in her undergarments? She hoped he did not think her such a shrinking violet, but after all, she was always reduced to such a quivering wreck around him that it was no wonder he thought she might expire on the spot from maidenly modesty!

“Absolutely,” she assured him, plastering a smile onto her face. “Mr. Finch was very business-like.”

He studied her face a moment longer and then nodded, as if satisfied. Then he motioned for her to hand over her paletot which he helped her into it in a most solicitous fashion. Theo was quite touched. “Thank you,” she said, pulling on her bonnet and fastening it beneath her chin.

They walked back into the shop and Clem took Mr. Finch aside and withdrew his wallet from his jacket as Theo wrapped her muffler about her throat and pulled on her gloves.

“We are to return at the same time next week for your first fitting,” Clem informed her, shepherding her out of the door.

“Goodbye!” she called over her shoulder to Mr. Finch. She did not hear him respond, but then again, the shop door did shut rather abruptly after them.

She bit her lip as they walked away from the tailor’s. “Do you suppose Mr. Finch was a bit put out at having to measure up a female?” she asked.

“He’s always like that,” Clem observed. “Don’t let it bother you.”

“Does he make your suits?”

Clem cocked an eye at her. “You think I fobbed you off with a cheap tailor?”

Theo’s face flamed. “No! Not at all, please don’t think—”

He laughed. “I’m just teasing you, Dora, don’t get agitated. And yes, he makes the majority of my suits.”

As the suits she had seen Clem in looked well-fitted, if rather less conservative than those her brother wore, she felt heartened by this news. “I suppose I ought to hail a cab,” she said, feeling a little flat for all she was so grateful. Despite the unkempt state of the outfitters, she fancied her fiancé would still have had to pay a pretty penny.

Clem glanced at his pocket watch. “It’s still fairly early,” he commented. “Is your brother expecting you home so soon?”

“No,” she admitted. “He is going to a bar and grill this afternoon with some friends. And Harold is meeting his aunt for high tea.”

“So then, you do not need to scurry back so soon,” he pointed out.

Theo felt her chest flutter. Argh, she was doing it again! “N-no,” she stammered and felt herself blush up like some little fool.

“While the cats away …” Clem murmured suggestively. “We could have some fun. Why not let me show you a good time?”

“A good time?” Theo repeated, feeling a little light-headed. Clem smiled at her, and his smile was a little alarming somehow. Was that what people meant by a wicked smile? She had always wondered about that. She did not think she had ever been the recipient of one before. “Yes please,” she said, and he laughed again, sounding delighted by her answer.

“Good girl, Dora,” he said warmly and somehow it made her feel all tingly inside. He cocked his head. “Or should I say, bad girl?”