Page 90 of A Contracted Spouse for the Prizefighter

Benedict cleared his throat. “You will have to excuse us, Mrs. Dabney. Clem kept the news of your marriage close to his chest.” He reached down to extend his hand to her. “I’m Benedict Toomes, Ben to my friends. This here is my wife, Lizzie.”

Dora shook his hand, though Clem would have been surprised if she would remember any names afterward. She still seemed to be riding a high, and if his observations were anything to go by, she would barely remember any of this interaction.

“I am happy to meet you both,” she claimed unevenly, her gaze darting between Benedict and Lizzie as though she could not focus clearly on either of them.

Lizzie Toomes, to Clem’s surprise, was warm in her greeting and clasped hands a moment with Dora. “I think she needs water, not champagne,” she said, turning to Clem directly.

He jumped to his feet. “I think you’re right. Can I leave her with you a moment?”

“Of course.”

When he returned minutes later, carrying a pitcher of water and a clean glass, Dora was flanked on either side by Mina and Lizzie who were talking to her in low, calming tones. Dora’s eyes were still unnaturally bright, but she seemed less agitated and was nodding in agreement to whatever Mina was saying.

Clem knelt beside her and poured the water. “Everything alright, Dora?” he asked in a low voice.

She nodded and took the proffered glass, drinking deeply. “Sorry to cause a scene.”

“Nothing of the sort, Mrs. Dabney,” Mina responded briskly. “It’s so hot in here, it’s no wonder you’re a little overcome.”

“Fetched you a chair,” Nye put in, shoving a seat in Clem’s direction. Considering how packed the hall was, Clem did not want to ask how Nye had got hold of one. He knew for a fact it would not have been by fair means, but foul.

Clem plunked himself down on the wooden chair and passed an arm about Dora’s waist. She leaned lightly against him and smiled gratefully up at him. “Your friends are very nice,” she murmured, and Clem could see she had picked up because her eyes were now roaming over them with interest.

“Mmmm,” he rumbled by way of response, casting a jaundiced eye over the company at large. Hardly any of them, it seemed, were paying much heed to the action on stage. Not when there was a much more diverting spectacle to be had, closer at hand.

Frank was whispering in Maggie’s ear, while Jack was frankly staring like an idiot. Jeb smirked as if at some private joke, while Nat was casting a benevolent look in their direction and puffing on his cigar. Only Nye and Benedict seemed to take the development in their stride. Oh, and the womenfolk of course.

He wondered if he could persuade Dora to let him take her home, but one glance at her exhilarated expression told him that was not an option. She was still riding a high. Well, he thought, she did deserve to celebrate her success, even if it was just some strange kind of fluke.

TWENTY-THREE

Theo woke late, and to her surprise, Clem was still in the bed beside her. Her bleary eyes alighted on the mantel clock which told her it was almost midday. Theo almost gasped. Why were they both still abed? Then memories of the previous night filtered through her confused brain. Of course. They had not got in until three in the morning after staying out all night carousing with his prizefighting friends.

The one with the kind wife, who Clem later told her was the current champion, had left early, but as they were expecting a baby that had not been surprising. Then the couple from Cornwall had left halfway through Florrie Foss’s act. Theo did not think that the wife had been enjoying Clem’s star act for she had cleared her throat several times and her husband, who had been laughing, passed a brawny arm about her waist and started whispering in her ear to distract her from the on-stage antics.

In any case, Theo did not think he had seemed particularly disappointed to leave early for he had been more interested in his wife’s blushes than Florrie’s lewd jests. He had stood up first and then pulled his wife to her feet and they had taken their leave, making Clem promise he would bring Theo down to their inn for a visit in the summer for they were returning home the following morn.

The rest of them had stayed out on the town. They had been to three, no, she thought it was actually four different drinking establishments and met up with several other fascinating types, most of them fighters, who Effie had enthusiastically introduced her to, praising her act to the skies. And there had been dancing, so much dancing.

Theo could not remember hardly any of their names, but a good deal of them had promised to come and see her at The Eagle. Clem had danced with her the most, but she had also danced with a boxer with a French name, who when he talked had sounded no more French than her. He had complained that she was too tall for a showgirl, and she had pointed out that she was not a showgirl but a male impersonator.

He had scoffed at that and Theo, using the man’s own slightly contemptuous manner, had scoffed right back. He had been so surprised; he had laughed and told her to show him more of her impressions. She had not had the chance for Clem had cut in at that point and borne her off. “Stay away from Pfeiffer,” he had said warningly, and Theo had wanted to ask why, but she had been so distracted by the sublime music and being in Clem’s arms that she had forgotten all about it.

There had been a few others besides, the most interesting of which was young Bartholomew Ewell. Theo had been particularly interested in him, as he was not of the same large powerful build as her husband and a good deal of the others.

Barty, as the others called him, was svelte, and his height was not so very far off her own, though he was undoubtedly broader in the shoulder. Still, this was something she could easily get around with a little judicious padding.

Seeing the casual assurance, even arrogance with which Bartholomew Ewell had carried himself had utterly enchanted Dora. Trying to imitate Clem in anything other than small gestures would be impossible as his body type was far too disparate from her own, but Barty … he held distinct possibilities.

Even thinking of it now, she fervently wished she could get in a few good hours studying him. She felt sure, with a little practice, she could pull off that cocky, self-assured manner of his. She felt a little giddy at the idea of having such a character at her disposal. It could be so useful to her repertoire.

As she reached for a glass of water off the bedside cabinet, Clem stirred in the bed beside her, and she held still, swigging down her water. There had been lots of champagne and possibly he might have a sore head. Suddenly, she remembered his cryptic comment in the early hours before he had fallen asleep.

“Dora.” His voice had almost startled her, for she had thought he had drifted off to sleep.

“Yes?”

“Make sure Lil’s not kneeling at your feet next time you get your curtain call.”