Page 4 of A Contracted Spouse for the Prizefighter

Theo frowned. “What are you saying?” she asked quietly. “They did die, and we were raised in this life.”

“I’m saying that it’s not too late for things to revert to how they should have been,” her sister concluded steadily. “Uncle is gone now too,” she said with a sort of quiet finality that Theo found disturbing.

“This theatre is his legacy and lives on,” Theo pointed out. “We are his legacy. He raised us. You can’t just re-write our history because it does not suit your current notions of respectability.”

Henrietta rolled her eyes. “I am not the one acting deluded, sister,” she said dryly as she lifted her bonnet from its stand and set it atop her glossy curls. “Felix and I are quite in agreement on this matter at least.”

Oh, they were, were they? “What does that mean?”

“Do not force me to say it,” her sister responded. “I do not wish to be cruel.”

Theo felt a cold feeling settle in the pit of her stomach. “No, say it,” she insisted, though her lips felt a little numb. “Clearly you and Felix have left me out of some important family decisions of late. Why should I be the only one left in the dark?”

Hetty regarded her gravely a moment as she tied her bonnet ribbons. “I know you love it,” she said abruptly, “the theatre I mean, and how much you have thrown your body and soul into over the years. Out of the three of us you probably love it best of all. But you are not … not an actress Theo,” she said pityingly. “Not really. Uncle put us on the stage when we were mere children and we have long outgrown the role of Babes in the Wood. Neither of us are cut out for all this in the long term.”

Her sister crossed the room quickly and took her coat down off its peg. She drew in a deep breath before turning to face Theo once more. When she turned her features were sternly set. “If it were not for me, The Turtle Doves would never have lasted past our adolescence, Theo. Think about it and be honest with yourself for once. The admirers, the accolades, the flowers, they were all for me, not you. I do not mean to be unkind.” Henrietta averted her eyes as though it cost her something to say the words out loud.

“You are my only sister and very dear to me. But you need to be realistic about the future that faces you now. You are six and twenty, not some overgrown schoolgirl. The time for foolish dreams is over.” She paused with her hand on the doorknob. “Felix wants what is best for you, and so do I,” she added in a softer voice. “We are your family, and we love you. In time, you will realize the steps we are taking are for your own good.”

“What steps?” Theo asked hoarsely, but her sister was already through the door. A swish of wide skirts and the sound of the door closing behind her told her that her sister had already gone and left her behind.

TWO

If you had asked her afterwards, Theo could not have said how long she had sat there in the draughty dressing room. At some point, she had sunk down onto a hard wooden chair, and slowly she became aware of the fact that she was shivering. Her flimsy stage costume offered little by way of protection against the cold.

With stiff fingers, she removed first the billowing shirt, hanging it carefully on the rail beside her sister’s hooped skirts, then added the blue silk sash and the silk breeches beside it. Luckily, she needed no help with the donning of her own garments, for Theo favored the aesthetic style and wore her gowns unencumbered with rigid corsetry and stiff petticoats.

Instead, her russet red gown was shaped with pleats and smocking, so much more comfortable than the structured gowns of fashionable women. Her dark hair was already tidied into a tightly pinned bun, so she simply skewered a few more pins into it and twisted a string of red beads around her neck. That completed her uncomplicated toilette, and she was just reaching for her hat and coat when she heard the brisk knock on the door.

“Theo?” It was Felix. “I’ve been waiting an age for you! Are you dressed?”

“I’m just coming.” She turned down the lamp and swung the door open, joining him in the gloom of the corridor.

“I thought to go home together as we have a few things to discuss,” her brother said, clearing his throat.

“Oh, I did not realize. I took my time as I thought you might still be entertaining your guests,” Theo lied, shutting the door behind her.

“Guests!” Felix’s lip curled. “Dabney’s nothing but a damned opportunist! Fellow runs a music hall establishment in Shoreditch and has the unmitigated gall to cast covetous eyes over The Parthenon!”

Theo watched her brother’s indignant expression. “He means to expand his company?” she asked with interest. “And buy into a theatre?” She knew exactly the type of low whistle her friend Albert would have emitted at this news. Dabney must be doing well.

“Uncultured swine!” Felix exploded. “Did you hear what he said about John Fletcher?” Her brother was clearly outraged.

Theo didn’t think Dabney had said one word about the playwright, though he had not seemed terribly keen on the play. “He was very complimentary about Hetty,” she murmured instead.

“Pah!” Felix scoffed. “He probably wants her to kick up her skirts at his filthy music hall.”

Theo’s eyes widened. “Do you think so?” she asked aloud. Privately she reflected it was her legs Dabney had taken a good look at, not Hetty’s. “I thought the cancan was a feature of the Parisian dance hall rather than the British music hall.”

Felix cleared his throat, as though realizing their conversation had strayed into inappropriate waters. “I—er—I have no idea if the fellow actually has French dancers in his employ. I would not put it past him though,” he added darkly.

Theo nodded. “And he wanted to buy into our theatre?” she asked, half-aghast, half-thrilled. Just think of the customers he could bring their way, she thought. Not the stuffy barristers and solicitors that Felix courted, but people from all walks of life.

“The cheek of it!” Felix brooded until they emerged into a gray afternoon in February. It was not busy on the corner of Oxendon that Sunday afternoon, but there was always a bustle of some sort in a London Street. To Theo’s surprise, Felix’s arm shot out to hail a passing hansom cab. Theo’s eyebrows shot up at this extravagance. Usually, she was expected to navigate the twenty-minute walk to the tall, gloomy townhouse their uncle had bought on becoming their guardian.

He held out a hand to help her up the step and Theo sank into the seat with a sigh.

“I wanted to talk to you,” Felix announced without preamble as soon as he dropped into the seat next to her. He rapped the roof with his cane and shouted, “Juniper Row!”