A Substitute Wife for the Prizefighter: A Victorian Romance

by Alice Coldbreath

  “Did you not wish to see if your brothers were still in the beer tent?” Lizzie suggested tentatively. Benedict shook his head. “Mr. Jones may have left some message for you with Frank,” she pointed out.

  He shot her a look. “Well, if he did, it can wait. You’ve been sat in a draughty station for two hours. I want to get you back in the warm.”

  Lizzie felt touched by his words, though it seemed a strangely anticlimactic end to their eventful day. “I wonder how Frank and Maggie are getting on,” she wondered aloud. When he made no reply, she squeezed his arm. “My aunt seemed a good deal grateful to us for attending today. Do you think the police will apprehend Reverend Milson on my statement?”

  “I neither know nor care,” he answered promptly. “If there’s a court appearance, we’ll have to cross that bridge when we reach it.” Lizzie bit her lip. “Did she say anything to you?” he asked abruptly.

  “My aunt? She expressed her gratitude, but her emotions made her somewhat unclear in the main part.”

  “I mean about being reconciled,” he interrupted her.

  “I – that is, not really,” Lizzie frowned. “Betsy said my uncle was too ashamed to come and see me today.”

  “Well, at least one of them feels as they should!”

  Lizzie glanced at him uneasily. “Should you wish us to cut the acquaintance?”

  Benedict threw her an exasperated look. “They’re the ones who threw you out, Lizzie! They had a bloody cheek turning up and expecting you to save their necks now. What do you think they made of the fact you’re sporting a black eye and I’m dragging you round the fairs with me?”

  Lizzie blinked. “I’m not sure I understand you.”

  He gave a harsh laugh. “I doubt they have any illusions about the life you’re living. If they had a scrap of decency about them, they’d have been begging to take you back under their roof. Yet they didn’t, did they?”

  Lizzie hesitated. “I don’t want to go back under their roof. I’m content where I am.” She looked at his expression, dark and angry. “Was it difficult?” she asked abruptly.

  “Yes, very. You’re too good for the likes of them.”

  “I meant … seeing Betsy,” she elaborated, glancing down at Sebastian.

  Benedict made no reply and Lizzie’s heart sank, though his footsteps picked up now the wagon was in sight. She thought someone called his name and tried to turn to see who it was, but Benedict did not let her. He practically hurled her up the steps to the wagon. “Benedict!” she protested, but he was already turning around and addressing Jack who had come running up.

  From what she could make out, he was giving his brother short shrift. Lizzie disappeared into the wagon and fumbled for the match box. She had no sooner lit the lamp than Benedict ran up the steps.

  “Was Jack – ” she began but did not get to finish her sentence.

  “Never you mind about Jack,” he said, setting down a bottle and two glasses on the trunk. “I’m going to sort out some hot water, and then it seems to me we need to straighten a few things out.”

  “Now?” Lizzie asked, attempting to turn about and look at his face, but his hands were closing over her shoulders, dragging off her cloak. Lizzie divested herself of her bonnet and placed it on the trunk nearest the door.

  “Get on the bed,” he said tersely.

  Lizzie opened her mouth and then closed it again. He hadn’t told her to undress, and indeed, he kept his own jacket on. Lizzie sank onto the mattress, watching him curiously as he knelt at her feet and unlaced her boots.

  Straightening up, he reached for the bottle and popped the cork in a business-like fashion. “Are we celebrating?” she asked curiously and received no answer.

  He poured her a glass into the shallow champagne glass and set it down beside her. “Drink this. Frank’s fetching us some supper. I won’t be long.” He reached across for her shawl and bundled it about her before making for the door.

  Lizzie gazed after him in some consternation. “Don’t forget to feed Sebastian!” she called after him, though she did not know why precisely, for he never did forget. Reaching for the glass of champagne, she took a sip and debated changing into her nightgown, but indeed it was very early, and what if Benedict invited his brothers to share their supper?

  Before she knew it, she had drunk half the glass of delicious bubbles. Setting it down, she reclined against the pillows, reflecting she had not eaten since a savory cheese scone at lunchtime. Five minutes later, Benedict reappeared with a paper bag.

  “Your supper,” he said handing it over. “I’ve fed the dog.”

  Lizzie opened her mouth to question him further, but he had already disappeared again. Tutting loudly, Lizzie ate a Cornish pasty and, guessing that she was not going to be socializing again this evening, changed into her long cotton nightgown. Drinking the other half of her glass, she unpinned her hair and brushed it out, pulling on a pair of woolly bedsocks to keep her feet warm.

  Before long, Benedict reappeared with a basin of hot water which he set on the side for her. “Come and wash.” She did so, and he refilled her glass, shrugging off his own jacket.

  “Are you not having any?” Lizzie asked as she lathered her hands with the new cake of fragrant soap she had bought.

  “I will after.”

  “After?” Again, she received no answer, and Lizzie turned back to finish washing her face and neck. “I’ve finished,” she told him in subdued tones, as she dabbed at her chin with a towel.

  “Get comfortable on the bed,” he said in clipped tones, and tore off his own neckcloth and waistcoat before taking her place at the basin. Lizzie slid up the bed until she was sat up by the pillows.

  “Don’t forget your champagne,” he told her as he splashed the water about. Lizzie ignored the fizzing glass, for she wanted no more of it until she had heard what he had to say.

  Finally, he was drying himself off and walking around the bed in his breeches and long-sleeved vest. He dropped down onto the mattress directly in front of her and stared at her a moment. “Our conversation was interrupted earlier,” he started. “We still need to set things straight between us.”

  He paused a moment. “First of all, though, I want to thank you for not going off without fetching me this afternoon.” Lizzie nodded warily. She had a feeling he was getting the good out of the way before the bad. She felt almost unspeakably jittery about what might come next. “Get under the covers if you’re cold,” he said with a frown, mistaking her nerves for shivering.

  Lizzie reached for her shawl instead and draped it around her shoulders. “Continue,” she said with a calm she did not feel.

  “It wasn’t hard for me to see Betsy this afternoon,” he said bluntly. “There’s nothing between us now and there was precious little there to begin with. Under normal circumstances, I would never have entered into an engagement with her. Almost from the get-go, I knew it felt wrong, but I thought settling with anyone would, until I met you. It would never have worked out between Betsy and me. You do know that, Lizzie?”

  Lizzie flushed. “I hadn’t really considered it.”

  He regarded her with some skepticism. “You expect me to believe you didn’t counsel her against marrying me at every turn?”

  Lizzie’s color grew even deeper. “Well, of course I did, but that was my own prejudice against you at work.”

  A faint smile curved his lips. “And you knew full well Betsy and me would never have lasted. We had nothing in common and barely knew each other.”

  Lizzie pulled a face. “The same could be said about the two of us when we made our vows,” she pointed out.

  Benedict shook his head. “No, I knew you alright. I knew your substance.”

  Lizzie felt suddenly breathless. “What do you mean?” she quavered.

  “I knew what you were made of,” he said. “Here,” and placed a hand carefully over her breastbone. Lizzie stared at him, feeling the warmth from his palm spread out. He was quiet a moment, keeping his hand
where it lay. “Ask me about the house, Lizzie.”

  “The one on Winchester Street?” He nodded and she took a deep breath. “Why didn’t you tell me that it existed?”

  He frowned but did not look angry. “I bought it in preparation of going respectable,” he said slowly. “Marriage came under that heading, as did retiring from boxing, but I promise you, I never once thought of Betsy either at the point of purchase or in the month I spent living in that house. In truth, I felt indifferent about it. It didn’t feel real. It certainly didn’t feel like my home. But if you were there maybe … ” He broke off a moment and took a deep breath. “I think I need to tell you something now, something I haven’t told anyone before.”

  Lizzie’s head swam, and for the craziest moment, she thought he was going to tell her he loved her. When he spoke, she realized her mistake of course; his tone was all wrong for that sort of thing.

  “There’s a reason why I don’t feel so close to my family as my brothers do,” he said, his gaze not quite meeting hers.

  Lizzie drew her knees up, dislodging his hand and wrapping her arms about her legs. “And why is that?” she asked, fortifying herself and feeling strangely grateful to Ma Toomes for preparing her for this moment.

  He paused, seeming to measure his words. “I loved my mother a good deal,” he said on an outward breath. “When she left my father, I was eight years old and I went with her. Just me, you understand? She left both Frank and Jack with Pa.”

  Lizzie sucked in a breath. “Why did she take only you?”

  “Because I begged her to. I returned to the wagon unexpectedly one morning and found her packing to leave. She tried to lie and tell me that she was just going to visit with friends, but I knew she didn’t have any. I told her if she didn’t take me, I’d run and tell Pa she was leaving him.”

  He fell quiet a moment before continuing. “At first, it was fine. We were on the road together. We slept in barns, and I looked out for her. She danced for money in the villages at the taverns. Then we stopped a while in one village. She took up with a musician who lived above the blacksmiths. She was merry and laughed a good deal. He wasn’t so bad, all told. Then one morning, I woke up and she was gone. They’d moved on without me.”

  Lizzie drew in a noisy breath. “Why?”

  He shrugged. “Didn’t want me slowing them down, an extra mouth to feed over winter months, who knows? Whatever the reason, I had no one and was considered a burden on the parish. Can’t say as I blamed them, I wasn’t from round those parts.”

  “What happened to you?” Lizzie asked, sitting up straight, though she already had an idea thanks to Ma.

  Benedict’s face was expressionless. “I told them I had a family, knew their name and their direction, for even at that age I knew the fairs by the month of the year. It was September and they would be at Stourbridge. Even though my Pa couldn’t read, I knew a letter addressed to him there would reach him, and he could find someone there to read it to him.”

  “And they wrote to him?”

  “They did.” Lizzie waited. After a moment, he continued. “We had the reply by the end of the following week. He said he could not spare the fare for my journey and would not travel to our neck of the woods fully for a twelvemonth. In the meantime, he recommended they should place me in the workhouse until it was convenient for him to fetch or send for me.”

  Lizzie caught her breath. “No!" Benedict nodded, his expression wooden. “Is that what happened? They put you in the workhouse?”

  “They did.”

  Lizzie launched herself across the divide between them, throwing her arms about his neck. “How dare they? How dare they?” she repeated on an angry sob. “No wonder you hate him. I hate him!” Benedict gave a choked laugh, wrapping his arms about her. Neither spoke for a long moment. “He did not fetch you for a long time, did he?”

  “It was over two years,” he said quietly.

  “They had better hope that I never meet that wicked man!” she seethed.

  He chuckled again, but then grew quickly sober. “I think it was in the workhouse that I decided I wanted different things to my family,” he admitted. “To kick my father out, then eventually leave the booth and the fairgrounds behind me altogether. Get a house, a wife.” He paused. “Children of my own who would go to school.”

  Lizzie’s breath caught. “I’m glad you achieved your revenge and kicked him out,” she said warmly. “Though how your brothers dare speak to you of family loyalty … ” She trailed off. “Next time Jack accuses you of that, I shall have plenty to say to him, that’s all!”

  Benedict smirked, rubbing his hand up and down her back. “Hmm, well. I think we’re working our way toward some kind of understanding, me and my brothers, I mean,” he murmured.

  “I do not think the rift between you is as wide as you imagine,” Lizzie said from his shoulder. “It seems to me the three of you are really quite close.”

  “We’ll be fine,” he agreed with a note of finality. “Let’s not get sidetracked.”

  “And we’ll be fine also,” Lizzie said stoutly, as she drew back, patting his chest. “Whether you wish to remain on the road or to settle in your house on Winchester Street.”

  He looked at her very intently. “You mean that?”

  “Yes,” she said firmly. “I do.”

  “I can easily sell the house if it’s not to your taste.”

  She shook her head. “I’m sure it’s a very fine house.”

  He looked relieved. “Nat Jones did leave a message with Frank. He means to back me, to the top this time.”

  Lizzie gasped. “You mean, you will get your championship fight?”

  He nodded. “It’ll take twelve months or so before I get my shot, but I’ll get it. He gave me his word.”

  “That’s wonderful! Hence, the champagne.” He nodded, still watching her, his expression serious. Lizzie hesitated. “Benedict, why then do you look like that?” she asked, deciding to take the bull by the horns.

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know exactly, but not like a man who has just achieved his life’s ambition, that’s for sure.”

  He smiled a little grimly. “Maybe because now it’s within my grasp, I’ve realized it’s not my heart’s ambition at all,” he said slowly.

  She caught his subtle change of life to heart and caught her breath. “It isn’t?” He shook his head. “Then, what is?”

  He reached out and caught her hands in his. “Lizzie,” he began. “When I determined to make you mine,” he carried on calmly, “I reasoned it out quite coolly. I may have thought my motive was a little involved,” he winced. “But it turns out things were a lot more straightforward than I knew.” He paused a moment, as though mustering his thoughts. “Your honesty, your sheer obstinate, bloody-minded determination to do what you felt to be right, never mind what anyone else thought about it, flying fully in the face of adversity, and not backing down an inch. All of it resonated deeply with me. Here.”

  He picked up her own hand to press it to his chest. Lizzie’s mouth fell open as she felt the emotion vibrate in his voice as he spoke. “I felt it here, and I knew you were the one for me. And every day, every hour, and every minute I have spent with you since has confirmed that instinct one-hundredfold. You’re the one for me.” She nodded dumbly. He took a deep breath.

  “I can tell you now, Lizzie, your hair is not your only beauty. Not to me.” He dropped her hand and reached across to cup her chin. “This firm little chin, these dainty lips,” he said tracing them with his thumb. “These intelligent eyes, this determined nose … I find beauty in all of it. I could look at your face all day long and find no fault with it. And you know I like your body. When I’m champion, I’ll have your portrait painted by someone who can do you justice.” Lizzie stared at him. His expression, so fiercely sincere, robbed her of words completely.

  He thought she was beautiful? An idea occurred to her so astonishing that it made her tremble. “Benedict,” she quave
red. “Are you sure it’s not just that you’re, well … ” She licked her lips. Just say it. “In love with me?”

  He held her gaze, the ghost of a smile playing about his mouth. “Of course, I am, Lizzie,” he said, astounding her. “I think I fell in love with you the very moment you called that reverend out, causing merry havoc at that damn dinner party.”

  Lizzie’s mouth dropped open. “What?” she squeaked.

  “If it wasn’t fully at that moment, then it might have been when you barged passed me the next morning with your chin high in the air. Or maybe,” he mused, “it was when you swung your bag at that thug’s head in Poultney Street.” When she continued open-mouthed, he sighed. “It might have been a combination of all three moments. I don’t know. I just know I spent the nights that week lying awake until the early hours, plotting and scheming how I could break my engagement to the wrong girl and get you where I wanted you.”

  Lizzie swallowed convulsively. “You mean, you wanted it to be me in the church that morning?” she enquired incredulously.

  He nodded. “I knew I wouldn’t rest night or day until I’d made you mine.”

  So, she was not a last-minute substitute at all! “I thought – that is – I had no idea you felt that way!”

  “I know,” he said simply. “I scarcely realized the truth myself. And I didn’t want to scare you. It was quite a turnaround.”

  “You didn’t worry it might just have been a passing fancy?” she marveled.

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “How could you be so certain?”

  “I just was, and that conviction has held firm ever since.” Her gaze fell beneath his own. He waited until she met his eye again before speaking. “As soon as I started getting those feelings, I began noticing more and more things about you that I liked. Not just the way you look, but your gutsiness, determination, everything about you. Everything. I love you, Lizzie. I won’t know true happiness until you feel the same way I do.”

  Lizzie’s head reeled. She put out her hand blindly. “Wait,” she said, and he caught her hand in a comforting grip.