Page 36 of A Contracted Spouse for the Prizefighter

“It sounds fine,” Clem said swiftly. “And very appropriate for a blushing bride.” There he went again; he could not seem to stop himself. Of course, he was naturally flirtatious, but he needed to rein it in.

“Clem,” Dora started in a strangled tone as soon as the waiter retreated. “Could we please—um—” She glanced about them nervously. “Well, perhaps this is not the place.”

“Place for what?” Clem asked.

“Renegotiating our terms,” she said with a forthrightness that floored him for a moment.

“Renegotiate?” He stared at her. What the hell?

“You see, I thought that when you accepted my offer, it was on the terms I outlined. But now it seems you view things in a different light.”

Clem leaned forward in his chair and cleared his throat. “Remind me again just what those terms were that you outlined,” he said after a slight pause. He had some vague memories of her promising—what was it?—not to interfere with his carrying on?

Her expression cleared. “Oh, so you had forgotten. Well.” She glanced quickly around. “I explained that I was aware of your—um …” He watched her turn very red and then clam up, a look of surprise passing over her features.

Strangely, Clem felt a pang of sympathy for her predicament. He fancied he knew exactly what was tying her tongue. When Dora had bearded him in his den that day and boldly called him a philander, they had not been, well, friends. They had been strangers and she had not felt the smallest compunction in stating hard facts.

Things were rather different between them now. She shot him an agonized look and Clem almost took pity on her. Almost. This talk of renegotiations had galled him somewhat. “Yes?” he enquired smoothly.

“The thing is you see,” she blurted. “I don’t want to get pregnant.” Clem stared at her a moment, feeling quite dumbstruck. Well, that would serve him right for calling her bluff! He sent a quick look around the lounge, but, fortunately, no one seemed to be going off in a swoon or running to complain to a manager. “I am only just getting started on my true career,” she continued apologetically, “and—”

“I understand,” Clem put in swiftly. He would say anything to stem the tide of her confidences at this point!

“You do?” She breathed out a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank goodness. I know that there are”—she swallowed—“certain practices or devices that can be employed. I could ask Lil about them, for you know, she is a woman of the world and has no children. But perhaps it would be better if we kept things between the two of us.” She bit her lip and looked at Clem for assurance.

“I agree that would be better,” he answered quite truthfully.

“Oh good!” She flashed him a relieved smile. “So … will you secure the necessary items? Or perhaps point me in the right direction for an establishment that supplies such things? For some reason, the whole business seems enshrouded in the most unnecessary secrecy, especially from women, which is ridiculous. You would think, would you not, that we could simply walk into a store and purchase such things over a counter, should the need arise?” She sounded aggrieved. “But nothing so sensible!”

“Dora,” Clem murmured warningly, “the waiter’s approaching.”

She lapsed into an obliging silence and their drinks were set down before them. “Good health,” Dora said brightly, picking up her own glass.

Clem hastened to lift his own drink. It should be called The Blushing Groom, he reflected wryly. The tops of his ears felt decidedly hot. Of course, she had a point. It was ridiculous that women had to jump through so many hoops to access preventatives.

As for Clem, he had never actually needed to obtain one before. Any previous company he had kept took care of that themselves. But Dora was not his mistress and up to every trick in the book; she was his wife. The realization that this was a different thing altogether was starting to dawn on him with startling clarity.

“You know,” she started up again as soon as she had swallowed her first sip. He watched her in fascinated horror. What the hell was she going to come out with next? “When it comes to women’s health, everything is invested with a—a most nonsensical level of shame. Somehow, we are not permitted to speak openly and frankly of matters pertaining to our own bodies because it is considered indelicate. You would not believe the lengths I have to go to simply to obtain patterns for my clothes.”

Clem paused with his drink halfway to his mouth. “Is it so difficult?” he asked. He was sure he had seen dress patterns stocked on shelves. Then again, Dora’s taste in clothing was decidedly unusual.

“Yes, for I subscribe to the notion of artistic dress,” she said enthusiastically. “Years ago, I heard a friend of my uncle’s speak on the subject one night at dinner. You would not have believed how uncomfortable my uncle and Felix grew by the conversation. And they are supposed to be artistic free-thinkers themselves! When I told them I was newly converted to the cause, they said I should draw a discreet veil over such matters for the sake of womanly decency and not attempt to discuss such matters with them again.”

When Clem continued to look at her blankly, she leaned forward. “I do not espouse the wearing of corsets,” she explained. “Nor the adoption of uncomfortable and restrictive garments to achieve an unnatural silhouette.”

Once again, Clem found himself dumbfounded. “You—er—don’t?” he asked after a fortifying sip of fruity vodka. It was cloyingly sweet.

“No, for corsets you know constrict the organs to a dangerous degree and that is not even touching on the effect they have on one’s ability to breathe. Would you believe that some people even recommend the wearing of a pregnancy corset?” she demanded, without lowering her voice. “As for multiple petticoats, if you only knew the statistics for accidents and even death caused by them, you would be horrified, I assure you. I have heard such tales! Women bursting into flame if they stand too close to the mantlepiece or being cobbled up in wheels or machinery and unable to free themselves and quite crushed.”

Hearing a gasp close by, Clem glanced around the salon and found two ladies staring in their direction with horrified expressions. One had a handkerchief pressed to her mouth. She would probably be quite attractive if she wasn’t a hysterical eavesdropper, he thought irritably. He frowned at her, and she colored and looked away.

Hoping to distract Dora from the subject of grisly feminine deaths, he asked, “How do you get them? The patterns, for your—er—garments, I mean.” He eyed today’s gown again. Its odd appearance made more sense now she had explained her peculiar beliefs.

“Oh, I am subscribed to several magazines that run advertisements for their purchase via mail. It would be so much easier if I could simply walk into a shop and peruse them at will, but no. Apparently, they are too shocking to display in shop windows.” She rolled her eyes and Clem found himself smiling in spite of himself. “I am so glad you’re open-minded,” she sighed happily.

She had spoken that sentiment once before, he was not sure when. Perhaps at one of their early encounters, but whenever it was, Clem found himself wondering for the first time if she was quite correct in her assessment. It was true he had always considered himself broad-minded, but now he felt a little … He was unsure of the correct word for it.

He was not shocked, he told himself firmly. It would be absurd for the likes of him to be shocked by sheltered Dora. Taken aback maybe? His short-haired wife scorned conventional dress and desired a career over a family. It was a lot to take in all at once. A hell of a lot. He needed to smoke and get a real drink, he thought discarding the cocktail with a grimace.