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Benedict eyed her moodily. It seemed to him that she ought to have given her appearance a second thought, when she knew she was meeting up with him. Hadn’t he fully buttoned his shirt and even combed his hair before leaving the ring?

Jack had seemed highly amused to see Benedict tidying himself for his own wife. ‘You’re surely past the courtship stage,’ he had joked. ‘You’ll be taking her a bunch of flowers next.’ Benedict had glowered at him, but in truth, Jack wasn’t to know that Lizzie had never been wooed.

“I’m a sort of old-fashioned duenna, you see,” Lizzie explained setting down her cheese sandwich. “My role is protectress of the girls, ensuring the spectators do not encroach on their private space.”

I know, thought Benedict sourly as he clattered his cup back into his saucer and added a second sugar lump to his tea. I was the one who thought of it. Bloody fool that I am. Aloud he simply said, “So, you’re thinking you’ll stick with it for now?”

“Oh yes!” She regarded him with some surprise before giving him a reassuring smile. “I’m perfectly content with my lot.”

Perfectly content. He should be reassured by that, but strangely, he was not. He didn’t want her to be contented. He wasn’t content, he realized with a frown, watching her take a bite of scone. He felt edgy and restless, like he’d neglected some duty or overlooked some detail. What was it niggling away at the back of his mind?

Lizzie dabbed her mouth with a napkin and took a sip of tea, wholly oblivious to his inner turmoil. “How about you?” she asked politely. “You said your morning went well. How did you find your brothers?”

“They’re fine,” he said shortly and seeing her frown, forced himself to elaborate. “Though Frank looked a little rough first thing. Maybe he’s missing Maggie setting his clothes out for him of a morning.”

Lizzie fiddled with her napkin, clearly unsure of her footing when it came to commenting on his brother’s broken marriage. “And your bouts this morning?” she ventured. “They went well?”

“Fine.”

“You won them all?”

He felt a spasm of irritation. “Of course.”

Lizzie shot him a look. “Only you seem a little …”

“What?”

She shook her head a little. “How was Daphne?” she asked instead brightly, and Benedict scowled.

She made polite conversation as he walked her back to Connie’s tent, and it was as much as he could do to mutter ill-natured replies. It wasn’t until he was headed back to the Toomes Boxing Saloon that he realized why he was in a sulk. He wanted her attention on him, not anyone else, unreasonable brute that he was. The problem was, Lizzie didn’t get it. She’d never walked out with a man before, so she had no clue how to make up to one.

It wasn’t enough, he realized dimly, to avoid Frank’s mistakes with Maggie. He needed to actually make his interest known to Lizzie. Clearly, she viewed their marriage as some kind of agreement they had struck up between them to make the best of a bad bargain. And why wouldn’t she? he reflected irritably. That was how he had presented it to her, but he felt somehow quite differently now.

Laughter and music spilled out of the large ballroom tent, the aptly named Fiddlers Green. Should he try to take her dancing of an evening? he wondered idly. At night it was a shilling entrance, but there was an orchestra of sorts, a cold supper to be had, and country dancing. In such a tight squeeze, he could slip his arm about her and no one be any the wiser.

Did Lizzie dance? He had no notion. Betsy certainly had, but she had been happy enough to sit out when he had declared himself an unenthusiastic partner. He would grit his teeth and fling Lizzie about the floor if it was something she enjoyed though, he reflected. The next tent along was the The Philmore Players. Ben eyed the banner boasting of its touring successes. Would she prefer a play? he wondered. At that point, Jack came sauntering out of the theatre tent and the two brothers eyed each other warily.

“What you doing here?” Jack asked, taken aback. “Not hanging out after an actress, are you?”

“Course not!” Benedict found himself snapping. “I was just looking to see what they’re performing.”

Jack regarded him with surprise. “What for?” Patronage of the arts was not precisely a Toomes trait.

“Just thinking of bringing Lizzie to see a show,” Benedict admitted. Even to his own ear, he sounded a little sheepish.

Jack’s eyebrows nearly shot off the top of his head. “I swear if I didn’t know better, I’d think you hadn’t yet tied the knot.”

“I didn’t get much chance to court her beforehand,” Benedict admitted grudgingly.

His brother scratched his ear. “So that’s why you’re doing it now, so late in the day?”

Benedict grunted. He didn’t exactly want to encourage his brother’s line of questioning.

“I’ve just been to see Cora,” Jack said with a grin. “That actress I mentioned at supper the other night.”

Benedict ignored this. Jack had always had an eye for the pretty girls. They all had, even Frank before he’d settled down. None of them were ever in the picture for long. “What play are they putting on presently?” he asked, glancing back at the tent. He hoped to God it wasn’t Shakespeare.

“Damned if I know,” Jack shrugged. “I’ve never actually sat through a show.”