A Substitute Wife for the Prizefighter: A Victorian Romance

by Alice Coldbreath

  “Forever if I have to,” he assured her, kissing her fingers. “Though I hope it won’t take that long.”

  “When you say you thought your motive was a little involved in marrying me, what did you mean?”

  Benedict winced. “Trust you to home in on that.”

  “You meant to get some measure of revenge on me, didn’t you? Confess.”

  He smirked. “I did. You irritated me no end with your glares and disapproval at Sitwell Place. I meant to make you pay for that, but you made all my plans go awry. From the very first.”

  Lizzie huffed out a breath. “I didn’t really know you then,” she began awkwardly. “I thought you a terrible villain.”

  He laughed. “I know. And now?”

  “Now … ” Lizzie avoided his gaze. “Now it’s different,” she admitted. “Very different. I feel I should be very cross to hear anyone say anything against you.”

  “You’re well disposed toward me, then?” he asked teasingly, reaching across to thread his fingers through hers.

  “Yes,” she agreed quietly. “Though, mind you, I’m not at all sure when that happened either. Maybe it was because you didn’t kick up a big fuss when I spent all my money on a dog. Or maybe,” she considered aloud. “Because you didn’t set me prancing in my drawers or telling fortunes as your grandmother told me you would.”

  When he reached for her, she stayed his hand. “Wait!” He dropped it at once. “I’m lying,” she said, feeling the hot, red flush spreading across her face. She looked him in the eye. “I know exactly why I fell in love with you, Benedict Toomes.”

  His gaze snapped to hers, all playfulness gone. “You do? Why?”

  “It’s because you set me above everyone else,” she sobbed, feeling suddenly overcome with emotion. “No one ever did that for me before.”

  He jerked her forward into his lap. “Lizzie,” he groaned and took her lips in an achingly tender kiss. “I set you above everyone else because you are above everyone else to me. Now say it properly. And look me in the eye when you do it.”

  “I love you,” she said breathlessly. “It’s strange to even remember a time when I did not.”

  His eyes softened, and he lowered his head to kiss her again lingeringly before drawing back, his eyes agleam. “You called me dearest earlier in the tent,” he said. “Did you realize?”

  Lizzie’s startled gaze flew to meet his. It wasn’t like her to use endearments. “Did I?”

  He nodded. “I liked it. Do it again.”

  “Yes, dearest.” He smiled at her, his hazel eyes warm for once and aglow with feeling. Lizzie felt her chest flutter. The Harbinger of Doom, Benedict Toomes, was in love with her, and he wasn’t troubling to hide the fact.

  “Now I feel like I’ve achieved my heart’s content,” he said with satisfaction. “Tomorrow we head out of Putney,” he said. “And before we leave London, I’m going to buy you a new gold ring and the biggest bunch of violets you ever saw in your life.”

  “Dearest … ”

  He crushed his mouth to hers, bearing her down onto the mattress. Lizzie slipped her arms around his neck, holding him close. “Are you sure we should not be celebrating with your brothers?” she asked, as he began placing kisses down her neck.

  “I don’t want to be with anyone else right now. Only you. Always you.”

  Lizzie sighed as he untied the ribbon at her neck. “Neither do I,” she admitted. “Oh, Benedict.”

  Much later, as they lay naked and wrapped in each other’s arms, Benedict remembered the champagne and they toasted one another in the lamplight.

  “My beautiful mermaid,” Benedict murmured, running his fingers through her unbound hair. “I want to drown in you for the rest of my life.”

  Lizzie laughed. “I still can’t decide if that’s a romantic notion or not.”

  “I think I shall have you painted as one,” he mused. “Naked. Sat on a rock, combing out your long golden hair.”

  “Naked?” Lizzie yelped.

  “Wearing a string of pearls that goes all the way down to here,” he said, trailing his fingers down her stomach and between her legs.

  “Benedict!”

  He laughed. “Or should it be emerging from a chrysalis?” he teased, setting down his champagne glass and shifting over her.

  “It would have to be a miniature,” Lizzie said anxiously. “So, you could keep it in your pocket where no one else could see it.”

  “I’d have a hard time letting an artist see it,” he growled. “Let alone anyone else.”

  Later again, Lizzie lay plastered against his chest, her face buried in his neck. Feeling bold, she kissed him there, and his hand reflexively squeezed her waist. “I feel so happy,” she murmured against his jaw. “I want everyone else in the world to be as happy as we are.”

  He laughed. “They won’t be. What we have is rare.” His hand drifted over her bottom to rest there. “Very rare.”

  “I hope Jack did not have to sleep under a canvas spread over some sticks,” she said as the thought occurred. “I do not think Maggie will have made Frank wait even one night before reconciling. I suspect my pep talk was a waste of breath.” Benedict grunted and she pinched his earlobe. His eyes flew open to look at her.

  “What?”

  “Nothing, just … familiarizing myself with what’s mine.”

  His face relaxed again; his eyes drifting shut. “You can be as familiar as you please, Mrs. Toomes,” he rumbled. “I’ll deny you nothing.”

  “I suppose really it is a good thing she’s back,” Lizzie sighed. “It’s not as though I have time to be cooking and cleaning after Frank and Jack.”

  Benedict frowned. “There was no question of that.”

  “Besides, they still love each other,” Lizzie said breezily. “I do hope Ma is doing alright at her sister’s.” He made no response to this. “And even Daphne. At the coast.” His breathing was deep and even by this point, and she wondered if he was drifting off to sleep.

  “I think Betsy has her eye on Frederick Mountford,” she confided. “Though it may come to nothing if his aunt has lost all her money.” She rested her chin against his chest, and Benedict murmured something noncommittal. “Are you falling asleep?” she asked.

  “Say something interesting if you want a response,” he retorted.

  She tweaked his chest hair and he smirked, though he did not open his eyes. “Maybe I’ll commission a plaster statue of you, if you are to have a portrait of me,” she mused. “Naked of course, in the Greek style.”

  Benedict’s eyes snapped open. They held a distinctive gleam. “Would that be with or without a fig leaf?”

  Epilogue

  Eight months later, Winchester Street, London

  It was Christmas Eve at Winchester Street. Evergreens and ribbons hung from every picture frame and bannister. Lizzie was sat her writing desk, scribbling furiously at the list of parlor games she was devising for the Napps who were coming to Christmas dinner the next day as their guests of honor. Sebastian lay on his side along the handsome hearthrug in his new red leather collar.

  Yes, she had thought of something for everyone, she thought, casting a quick glance down the list, from the youngest of the Napps, to the oldest of the apprentices. She had forgotten no one in the quantity of crackers, whistles, and paper hats she had accumulated over the past week. She and Molly had added so many silver charms to the Christmas pudding that she was now starting to worry they might constitute a choking hazard.

  She drew back her chair and rang the little bell for Molly, their maid of all work who appeared in the doorway. “Oh, Molly,” she said, getting to her feet. “Will you help me to hang these paper streamers in the dining room. I thought if we did them now, then it would be less things for us to remember in the morning.”

  Sebastian cast a look over his shoulder at them, yawned, and then closed his eyes again, choosing the comfort of the hearth over duty. He did not feel the need to follow his mistress’s every move these day
s.

  Molly nodded brightly. “Yes, Mrs. Toomes,” she agreed. “And then you and the master can enjoy them tonight when you takes your Christmas Eve supper in there together.”

  “Oh, what a nice idea,” Lizzie murmured, not mentioning the Christmas Eve Benedict had outlined he wanted in recompense for his house being overrun with Napps the following day. It had involved a cold supper, eaten picnic style in the intimacy of their bedroom. Besides, Molly would never know as she had a half day holiday and would be spending the evening at her mother’s.

  Unknown by anyone else, Lizzie had another reason she did not want to be balancing precariously on chairs just now. She thought of the present she had wrapped for Benedict only that morning. An intricate, hand-knitted baby’s blanket in the softest white wool which she had made in secrecy on the smallest knitting needles she could buy. She was simply bursting to tell him her news but had saved it for an extra special surprise for their first Christmas together.

  “Did you finish that milk jelly for Eliza?” Lizzie asked, thinking suddenly of the youngest Napp. “That is her particular favorite.”

  “Oh yes, Mrs. Toomes,” Eliza assured her. “And the blancmange.”

  “Excellent.”

  “I got all the ingredients you wanted for that bowl of smoking bishop you wanted for the old lady too.”

  “Mrs. Napp will be pleased,” Lizzie smiled. “You remember everything, Molly.”

  Lizzie checked her reflection in the gilt framed hallway mirror as they passed through, admiring her pretty gown of soft pink. She thought it lent her skin a rosy color that flattered her complexion. She patted the arrangement of her hair dressed in matching ribbon and lace. Benedict still preferred it down, but she was starting to feel more comfortable wearing ornamentation these days. At her ears, she wore the amethyst and gold teardrops her husband had bought her for her birthday.

  She was very much looking forward to their day of celebrations on the morrow, but she was also looking forward to her own private celebrations that evening with just her Benedict. She gestured to a central point on the ceiling where she wanted the streamers affixed, and Molly obligingly stood on a chair. Lizzie was just passing up the first of the streamers when she heard a tap on the window and whirled around to see Benedict beckoning to her from outside.

  Her heart gave a leap at the sight of him, as always. He was wearing a new tailored suit today which showed off his athletic build to perfection. Other than a light graze above his right cheekbone, a leftover from his last fight three weeks ago, he looked the very image of respectable affluence today. Though, perhaps his shoulders were rather broad for a true gentleman of leisure.

  “Sorry, Molly,” she apologized, setting the streamers on the table. “We’ll have to finish this later. I won’t be long.” She hurried back out into the hall and carried through to the kitchen and then out of the back door.

  Her husband was lurking there, with a suspicious gleam in his eye. “You were rather long at the barbers,” she commented. “Though they made a good job.” She liked it when they left it long enough to show the curl. “I’m glad you did not go back to that man in Wendover Street. He hacked it off far too short last time.”

  “I have something to show you, wife,” he said leaning down and pressing a kiss to her lips. As she drew back, she noticed he was holding a sprig of mistletoe over her head.

  “Is it the mistletoe?” she laughed. “We’ve a great bunch of it suspended in the parlor. I was hoping Jack might come after supper tomorrow and dance with Mrs. Napps’ apprentices. The poor girls could use some excitement in their lives.”

  “He can dance with Miss Lucinda Napp,” Benedict answered with feeling. “Then I shan’t have to.”

  Lizzie laughed. “Her mother told me that Cindy’s now courting a baker’s apprentice. A very steady young man called Herbert, so you will soon be replaced in her affections.”

  “Thank God for small mercies,” he answered briskly. “Anyway, enough about the Napps, we’ve got all day with them tomorrow. The first of your Christmas presents awaits.”

  Lizzie looked at him with surprise. “Are we doing that now? I thought we were exchanging them this evening.”

  He shook his head. “You’re to receive the first of yours now,” he said, tucking her arm through his and leading her through the kitchen garden and into the courtyard where Florence was stabled.

  “You buy me too many presents,” Lizzie tutted, thinking of the painting he had bought her only last week that now hung in their bedroom above the bed. It showed a storm-tossed sea with several sea nymphs sporting in the waves. Lizzie had thought it was rather too risqué for the parlor, although she was not convinced, as Benedict was, that the mermaids resembled her so very much.

  He shook his head. “Not possible.” They followed the path down to the end of the garden, and Lizzie halted in astonishment, catching sight of what stood there. “What do you think?” he asked.

  “That’s not ours!” she exclaimed looking at the gaily painted wagon. “Is it?” She spun around to look at his face.

  “It is now.”

  She turned back again. “It has a chimney!”

  “It has its own stove.”

  Lizzie ran down the garden path to peer in at the windows. “I love it!” she cried. “Can we go inside?”

  “Of course,” he said, laughing at her enthusiasm. “We can do whatever we want. It’s ours.”

  “There’s a key for the door?” She watched him unlock it, and he swung her up inside. When she saw the interior, she gasped. “It’s so grand!” She gazed about in wonder at the canopy over the bed and the cunningly carved wooden fixtures and fittings, so cleverly wrought. “Oh, I love it!” she said clapping her hands. “Is it really ours?”

  He wrapped his arms about her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder. “We could always sneak out here and sleep in it after Molly’s left for the night,” he suggested. “Just you and me.”

  Lizzie sighed happily. “Yes, that sounds perfect,” she murmured, looking back over her shoulder at him. “A midnight tryst.”

  He leant in for a kiss which she happily bestowed. Lizzie had vastly enjoyed the last month spent at Winchester Street, which was a very handsome and well-proportioned house. It had been pleasant to be able to host family and friends in the fine sized parlor and around one’s own dining table. Indeed, she was looking forward with pleasurable anticipation to another three months living in comfort before the next season started.

  Still, she was already anticipating when they would next be able to take to the road again. Benedict had simply shrugged and said they would rent the house out for six months of every year. “And if children come, we’ll rethink things. I don’t want you struggling when that time comes.”

  Remembering his words now, Lizzie bit her lip. She hoped he wasn’t going to be difficult about her pregnancy. She adored taking fully immersive baths instead of strip washes and having their fires ready laid in handsome fireplaces. Somehow, though, she felt she enjoyed these things all the more because she did not always have the benefit of them.

  And there was something very intimate and simplistic about living with one other person in so very confined a space. She missed that sometimes now they had their own dressing rooms. On occasion she had to go in search of Benedict even when they were under the same roof. You never had that problem when all you had was a wagon and a campfire.

  “What are you thinking of?” he murmured.

  “Our old wagon,” Lizzie improvised. “What will we do with it now?”

  “Give it to Jack?” Benedict suggested. “He needs his own space with Frank and Maggie carrying on like a pair of regular lovebirds.”

  Lizzie nodded her head in agreement. “Good idea. They should have arrived in Southend by now.” Her sister and brother-in-law were spending Christmas at Maggie’s friends’ boarding house. Frank had been teetotal for nine months and was anxious to make a good impression on the friends who had taken her in during th
eir time apart.

  “Sure to have,” Benedict agreed.

  “Do you still think they will be back in time for our New Year’s dinner party?” Lizzie asked, faintly anxious for the familiar faces she knew. Some of Benedict’s prizefighting fraternity were attending their New Year celebrations this year, and Lizzie did not yet have all their names straight in her head. She had met a brace of them over the last few months, and some of them were rather alarming.

  Nat Jones would be there and his ‘lady friend’ Dot. Then, too, there would be Benedict’s friend Clem Dabney that Lizzie had met several times and thought a handsome rogue. Goodness only knew who he would bring with him, for every time she had met him, he had a different lady on his arm. Just lately he had invested in a theatre which everyone said should keep him supplied with a different dancing girl for every night of the week. Lizzie had taken exception to that, but Benedict had winked at her and told her Nat was only joking.

  The Andersons they had not seen much of, nor had they made any festive plans. They had paid a rather stiff formal visit the previous week to Winchester Street and partaken of a light luncheon of thinly sliced sandwiches. Everyone had been rather awkward with one another, except for Benedict who had not seemed to be at any pains to be particularly agreeable.

  Her uncle was plainly still mortified by the events that had transpired, but Lizzie and her aunt had done their best to carry things off between them. Betsy had been full of her engagement to Frederick Mountford, but there had been some constraint about that, for her father had turned reserved and disapproving whenever that young man was mentioned.

  When Uncle Josiah had stumped out of the room to take a turn about the garden with his pipe, Betsy had confided in them. Frederick’s aunt, Mrs. Lessing, had still not given her approval to their match, so it had not been formally announced, a fact her father did not appreciate.

  Aunt Hester had explained, with two spots of bright color in her cheeks, that the young couple were having to ‘bide their time’, and as Lizzie knew, her uncle ‘abhorred any kind of subterfuge’ and thought Frederick should announce his intentions and stand independently on his own two feet.