A Substitute Wife for the Prizefighter: A Victorian Romance

by Alice Coldbreath

  Lizzie cleared her throat and set down her hairbrush. “Well, no, I just would have thought that people you were raised with might have a prior claim on your loyalties … ” she said, stepping to the bed and lifting the blanket. “After all, we do not know each other terribly well and – ”

  His fingers closed about on a fistful of her nightgown, tugging her down on top of him. “We know each other inside out,” he growled as their bodies came into contact with each other. “I’m the only man who’s ever known you, Lizzie, or ever will.”

  “You mean biblically, of course.”

  “You think that meek-faced vicar knew you better than me?” he demanded against her ear.

  “Well – ” she broke off with sudden diplomacy.

  “What does he know about you that I don’t?” he asked tersely. “Tell me.”

  “No, no,” Lizzie replied weakly. “I did not mean that!“

  “Tell me!” he reiterated, closing his arms about her fast.

  “Well,” she blew out her cheeks. “Just inconsequential things really. Like my favorite verse, sermon, season … That sort of thing. But I did not mean Reverend Milson, in any case. I was thinking of my uncle who raised me.”

  Benedict snorted. “If he knew a damn thing about you, then he would know you did not lie about that bloody brooch.”

  Lizzie had no reply for that. “I suppose that is true enough,” she conceded quietly and rested her head against his shoulder. His fingers squeezed convulsively at her waist, and they lay silent a moment.

  “Why did you tell him those things?” he asked in a surly voice after a moment or two.

  “What things? Who?” she asked absently.

  He pinched her hip. “Milson. Why did you tell him personal things about yourself?”

  Lizzie considered this. “Well, he came to dine with us once a week,” she answered truthfully. “Polite table conversation usually revolves around such things.”

  “You usually embroider slippers for dinner guests?” he asked with an edge to his voice.

  Lizzie raised her head in surprise. “Who told you about that? Those were a Christmas present!” she retorted feeling unaccountably embarrassed. The curl of his lip showed he was not appeased. “It is a perfectly respectable practice for a parishioner to give a handmade gift – ”

  “What if your vicar was old and infirm?” he interrupted. “Instead of young and smug with an oily grin.”

  “Reverend Milson’s predecessor Canon Wilner was seventy when he retired, and I also embroidered him slippers for Christmas!” she informed him icily. Benedict grunted, his hand sliding from her hip to cup her backside. Lizzie caught her breath. “I could make you some next Christmas, if you so desire,” she joked feebly.

  “You’d better.”

  Lizzie drew her head back to regard him with surprise. “You want slippers?”

  “Of course,” he shrugged. “I can wear them for the four steps it takes from the wagon door to the bed.”

  Lizzie burst out laughing, and he yanked her forward to stop her mirth with his lips. When he released her, she was breathless. “You’ll be telling me you want polite conversation from me next.”

  His shoulder rose and fell. “You’d better tell me those things while you’re at it.”

  “What things?”

  “Your favorite flower,” he growled. “And whatever the hell else you told that slimy bastard.”

  “Benedict!” she struggled a moment in his arms, but as he held her hard against him her struggles were not having the effect she had anticipated. “There’s no need to use such language!” she objected primly. “My aunt and uncle were present the entire time and so was Betsy! I don’t remember you objecting to his presence at Sitwell Place when my cousin was your affianced!”

  The next thing she knew, she had been rolled underneath him. “I don’t give a damn if Betsy sat on his lap clad only in her drawers,” he said roughly as he dragged her nightgown up her legs.

  “Benedict!”

  “She was never mine. Not like you are.” His hand was between her legs now, petting and stroking her there.

  Lizzie caught her breath. “You w-wanted to marry her,” she pointed out.

  “Not really,” he breathed out. “The fact I ended up engaged to her at all was just a matter of bad timing.”

  Lizzie found herself listening hard. The confessional tone in his voice caught her off-guard. “What do you mean, bad timing?” she asked with a hitch in her voice.

  His fingers stilled, and instead, he cupped her mound possessively with his palm. “Just what I said.”

  “I don’t understand,” Lizzie persisted.

  He exhaled noisily. “Are we having this conversation now?”

  “Apparently,” Lizzie responded tartly.

  He rolled off her so he lay on his side facing her. After a moment, he placed his hand on her hip as though he could not bear for them to have no contact. “I met Betsy at a dance last spring in Chelsea. She was there with some cousins, I think? One had a loud braying laugh like a donkey.”

  Lizzie nodded. “Our cousins the Stocktons. Harriet’s laugh is quite unfortunate.”

  “You weren’t there,” he said accusingly.

  Lizzie sniffed. “I do not care for the Stocktons,” she said primly.

  A smile curved Benedict’s lips. “So disapproving, Lizzie. Why?”

  Lizzie hesitated. “I just don’t.” She plucked at the blanket. “Besides,” she said avoiding his eyes, “they did not invite me. I was not considered merry company.” Before Benedict could say anything, she added quickly. “Betsy did not say she met you at a dance.”

  “Likely her parents would not have approved of a public masquerade ball.”

  Lizzie sucked in a shocked breath. “No indeed! And if that is not just like Cousin Harriet to organize such an entertainment! She knows full well Uncle Josiah would not have agreed to such a thing.”

  “Where were you that night?” he asked, surprising her.

  Lizzie shrugged. “In general, I stayed home when Betsy went to stay with them. She went for a whole month last March. I collect that must have been when your paths crossed.”

  He grunted. “We met up the next day as a group, and the acquaintance went on from there.”

  Lizzie frowned and rolled onto her back. Benedict immediately crowded into her side.

  “What?” he asked, pulling her back into his arms.

  “It feels strange. Hearing how you courted Betsy,” she said abruptly.

  He breathed out shakily. “It wasn’t anything really,” he said, drawing her close. “If I had not been caught up in that brawl a couple of weeks later, we would never have got engaged.”

  “How do you make that out?” Lizzie asked.

  “Your cousin started writing to me in jail. I was miserable and feeling lonely.” He shrugged. “She wrote pretty enough letters. It was just … an entanglement.”

  “Yet you would have married her, if not for the events of that unfortunate dinner party,” she pointed out, feeling a coldness steeling over her.

  “No,” he said shaking his head. “No, I was already looking for a way out by that point.”

  Lizzie shivered and he dragged her hard against him. “You say that now,” she persisted. “But at the time you – you made her promises.” When she peeped up at him, he was regarding her gravely.

  “Ask me what Betsy’s favorite flower was, Lizzie.”

  “What is Betsy’s favorite flower?” she whispered.

  He shrugged. “I have no idea. Now tell me yours.”

  “It’s violets.”

  “Favorite season?”

  “Autumn.”

  “What was the rest?” he asked.

  “I don’t remember now,” she murmured. “I daresay it does not signify. You tell me yours now.”

  “My favorite flower?” he asked humorously.

  “Yes, why not?”

  “The daffodil?” he answered after a pause. He sounded more lik
e he was asking than telling.

  “Favorite season?”

  “Spring.”

  “When is your birthday?”

  “September fourth. Yours?”

  “July twelfth.”

  “Hmm.” He regarded her a moment in silence. “The Stocktons are idiots, Lizzie. Your company is the best of all.”

  Her jaw dropped and she stared at him before a sudden suspicion struck. “We’re in bed,” she reminded him. “Does that mean I can believe you or not?”

  “Well, as I’ve already got you where I want you, you can believe me.”

  “Is that how it works?”

  “In general.” He regarded her through frowning brows. “How about you just believe me anyhow, Lizzie? I’ve no intention of deceiving you now or in the future.”

  Lizzie thought about this. “If I had been at that masquerade party,” she said slowly. Do you think you would have noticed me, Benedict Toomes?”

  He gave her a searching look, as though realizing she was testing him. “It depends,” he replied seriously. “On whether you’d have sat there all prim and disapproving, threatening to tell your uncle on your return.”

  He answered so frankly she winced. “Or,” he carried on steadily. “If wearing a mask and having a glass of punch would have freed you up to enjoy yourself, like you did at The Fiddlers Green.” Lizzie met his gaze. “I’d have noticed you then, alright.”

  His words set her heart racing, even though she was not so sure if that was true. The fact he had thought her the prettiest present at The Fiddlers Green was because his opinion was already biased in her favor. Still, she could not bring herself to utter any of this when he was looking at her with such an expression.

  “You think so?” she asked instead and found herself placing a hand against his chest.

  “I know so,” he breathed out. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you that night.” Lizzie felt the strangest sensation of warmth spreading throughout her limbs from the inside out.

  “I don’t feel cold anymore. You remember I told you that once when we were sat by the fire? That I felt cold inside, not outside?”

  “Were we talking about family?”

  “Yes. You told me you weren’t close to yours, and I said I thought I was, but not anymore.”

  “I remember.”

  “I think it’s because you’re my family now.”

  His arms about her tightened. “Yes,” he agreed in a raspy voice. “And you’re mine.”

  “Benedict ... ” she did not get the chance to speak anymore, for he pressed his mouth to hers, and actions became more important than words between them.

  22

  The next morning passed quietly enough. Lizzie kept expecting Frank or Jack to appear and announce that Ma Toomes had disappeared, however nothing occurred to disturb the harmony between herself and Benedict.

  He nipped out early to get more meat bones for Sebastian. On his return, he fried some bacon over the fire and made them sandwiches from a fresh loaf he had purchased nearby. They drank tea, and over this simple meal he told her that he felt he had closed the chapter that was his prizefighting career with some dignity at least.

  It was plain that Benedict did not anticipate being contacted again any time soon and considered this last appearance to have been a fluke occurrence and nothing more. Lizzie took a more optimistic view, but this she kept to herself, for she could tell it was something he could not allow himself to contemplate.

  His feelings ran deep about his old ambitions, and she guessed he could not bear the disappointment if he allowed himself to grow hopeful. “Did you see any of your old boxing friends and acquaintances?” she asked.

  Benedict swallowed his mouthful. “A couple. Dabney and Pfeiffer,” he elaborated, then no more.

  “I’m glad you managed to display yourself to advantage,” she said, setting down her plate. “Your boxing could not fail to have impressed all who saw you.”

  He smiled at this and reached across to grab her hand before kissing it and releasing it again. She fetched the fabric for the curtains and got to work, for the fair did not start until midday which gave her enough time to cut and sew at least one pair, considering how small the windows were.

  By the time they walked hand-in-hand across the field toward the fairground at midday, she had cut out both pairs of curtains and started lining them. The fair at Putney was a weeklong affair, so she fancied she would finish her sewing before they moved onto their next engagement.

  “How long will it take us to reach Oxford?” she asked.

  “Oxford?”

  “Yes, for Connie said the next fair was Banbury.”

  “Is that where they’re headed?” Benedict asked without much interest.

  Lizzie halted abruptly, forcing him to do the same. “Is that not where we are headed?”

  Benedict shook his head. “We always go from here into Hampshire. There’s a fair at Andover we attend every year.”

  “Hampshire?” Lizzie was dismayed. “But Connie definitely told me they were headed for Banbury the day after tomorrow.”

  Benedict looked amused. “Do you think all the acts follow the same route, Lizzie? It’s obvious we would part ways at some point. We’re staying put here at Putney for the whole week. We’ll see them at the fair after that, or at some further point down the road.”

  “But what about my job?”

  “We’ll find you something else to do,” he shrugged. “Or nothing at all. I made a good sum of money yesterday, so we’re far from hard up. Our living costs are very low.” Lizzie could not hide her disappointment, and he slipped his arm about her waist. “This life on the road is all about change. Each fair is different. Besides,” he added thoughtfully. ”If you’re expecting a response from Maggie, it’s Andover she’ll expect us to be from mid-April.” He dropped a kiss on her cheek. “Don’t look so glum. You’ll worry Sebastian.”

  Lizzie managed a smile, for the dog was regarding her intently. She dropped her hand to stroke his head, and they passed into the busy fair.

  Connie and Niamh were inclined to be philosophical about their parting of ways, but the twins were inconsolable, casting their arms about both her and Sebastian’s necks and wailing.

  “But what will we do?” they demanded. “Without our protectors?”

  “First Alfred, then Ada, and now Lizzie,” Connie said sourly. “I’m used to being left in the lurch!” She slammed the lid of a trunk, muttering to herself.

  “Can’t you persuade the Toomes’ to change their route?” Niamh suggested, half in jest. “You got Benedict wrapped around your finger, sure enough.”

  “I think they’ve been going to Andover for years and years from what he said,” Lizzie said mournfully. “I’m really going to miss you all.”

  “It’s the nature of this life,” Niamh sighed. “With never the same view from your window one week to the next.”

  “I don’t mind that part,” Lizzie said. “It’s people I miss, not places.”

  The twins gathered around Connie. “Why can we not go to this Andover?” they clamored. “Then we need not be parted at all!”

  “You want me to change my plans all on Lizzie’s account?” Connie demanded, looking incensed. “She’s hardly my Salome now, is she?”

  The twins pouted. “Salome, Salome!” Ema sniped. “It’s is always about Salome!”

  “After all, there is no Salome right now!” Zaya muttered.

  “No, but I’m interviewing one in Oxford, aren’t I?” Connie said smartly. “So put that in your pipe and smoke it!”

  Ema rolled her eyes. “Lizzie, why can you not consume a mountain in chocolates and then you could be our Salome? Your hair is far more beautiful than Miss Wurtzel’s ever was.”

  Connie burst out laughing, and Lizzie braced herself, expecting some detrimental comment about her looks. “You think that husband of hers would permit her to sit around in the altogether, to be ogled by all and sundry? Do me a favor. He’d see us shut down f
irst.”

  “She’s right,” Niamh agreed. “He looks sick as a dog having to part with her most mornings. Casts longing looks over his shoulder as he walks away and everything.”

  “Oh, stop it,” Lizzie said uncomfortably. “He does not.”

  “You wouldn’t know, for you never look,” Niamh teased.

  “Besides,” Zaya huffed sadly. “I do not think Lizzie would ever grow big enough hips and thighs, even if she ate a whole mountain of candy. For she does not have the right frame for it.”

  They all turned to survey Lizzie critically. “I don’t know why you’re looking at me like that!” Lizzie said spiritedly. “For I have no intention of even trying!”

  The rest of the afternoon passed without much event. Charlie came for any commissions and for a fee took her letter for Maggie. He promised faithfully he would post it that very day. The only other occurrence was Lizzie having to escort a hysterical young woman out of the Wonderous Females tent all of a flutter.

  The troublesome female in question had insisted on proclaiming in a loud, know-it-all voice that the goddess Anvi’s extra arms ‘were clearly not real but fake appendages suspended on strings’. Upon which, Ema had reached around from behind her twin and seized the girl’s wrist in a hard grasp, as Zaya began to laugh in a quite terrifying manner.

  The visitor had screamed so loudly that quite a crowd had gathered at the tent entrance, trying to push their way in to find the source of the commotion. Sebastian rushed toward them barking loudly, which seemed to restore some order.

  “Let her go!” Lizzie had insisted as the poor girl started to gibber.

  Zaya crossed her arms. “She should not have insulted the goddess!” she said sticking her little chin in the air.

  “She apologizes most sincerely, oh wonderous goddess!” a young man in spectacles stammered.

  “You I like,” the goddess announced, making the young man blush. “For you speak handsomely.” She extended one of her other hands toward him, and after a moment’s confusion, he kissed it reverently. “I will release this foolish mortal for your sake.”

  The young man bowed gratefully, and Ema released her victim. Lizzie half-dragged the fainting young woman out into the fresh air outside the tent as the young man propping up her other side scolded her soundly.