Page 111 of A Contracted Spouse for the Prizefighter

Turning to the housekeeper, she thought she had better seize that bull by the horns at once. “Do let me know, Mrs. Cherwell, should you require any help in the matter of catering to the invalid. Sourcing recipes, or anything of that sort.”

That lady bridled at once. “I should say not, Miss Theodora! Why, I got a book in the kitchen what deals with five different ways to make a strong beef tea! I shall consult it now,” she said, sailing out of the room in a high dudgeon at any implication she was not equal to such a task.

“I will go up and see that Hetty’s room is aired out ready for her,” Theo announced to the room at large, before turning on her heel and leaving also.

She spent the next hour making her sister’s room ready, opening the windows for fresh air, and closing them again when the cold March winds plunged the temperature too low.

She lit the fire in Hetty’s grate and laid clean bedsheets upon her bed. Then she gathered up two of her own bouquets from the sitting room to freshen up her sister’s room. Luckily, she had plenty to spare these days. Poor Eddie and Sam were forced to carry great armfuls back from The Eagle every time they escorted her home from the weekend matinee performances.

The large arrangements of roses and lilies made the neglected room look much more cheerful and Theo placed them on the dressing and bedside table, before returning to her own. There she found Clem removing his jacket. “Was that someone arriving?” she asked, hurrying to the window, but the cab had drawn up to a house on the other side of the street. “Oh, it’s not for us.”

A quick glance at her husband showed her he was now removing his cufflinks. Feeling strangely in need of something to occupy her hands, Theo fussed about, moving one of her small posy jars to her desk and another to the chest of drawers.

In truth, she received enough flowers these days to fill all the vases throughout the house. Her own preference was for the humbler nosegays, as she liked to imagine they were from the likes of Vincent’s neighbor, Mrs. Warrender. These she kept in her bedroom.

Theo found herself dwelling for a moment on the Mrs. Warrenders of this world. She had been vastly touched by Vincent’s account and his apparently high opinion of Theo’s capabilities, a thing she had never so much as suspected he held before.

“Dora?” She turned about to find Clem watching her with a guarded expression on his face.

“Yes?” For a minute she thought he would ask her for an account of what Vincent had really said, and she could unburden herself of her hopes and fears, but this was not forthcoming.

After a moment, he just said, “A cab’s just pulled up outside.”

“Oh.” Theo hurried from the room and leaned over the banister to watch as Mrs. Cherwell opened the door for Vincent and Henrietta’s arrival.

TWENTY-EIGHT

Over the next couple of days, Henrietta kept herself mostly to her own room, taking her meals there and frequently pleading a bad head when anyone poked a head around her door to check on her. She was quiet and withdrawn, and at first, Theo could see no signs of the possible breakdown that Vincent had been so much afraid of. In front of Felix and Harold, she was polite and composed, but then, she had always been the most reserved member of their family.

Then, Theo noticed that when it was just the two of them, her sister’s shoulders would slump, and she would look weary and drawn and admit to being terribly tired. Mrs. Cherwell rallied around bringing up trays of nourishing food and drink, and to everyone’s surprise, Hetty sent for Vincent to come and sit with her most afternoons when he was free and even one evening.

“Fellow spends more time in our house than I do,” Felix complained hoarsely when they heard Vincent’s heavy tread on the stair, but he made sure to keep his voice low as he said it. Even Theo was a little scandalized that Hetty received the great hulking doorman in her own room on a daily basis. Hetty, who had always been so proper and correct!

She would never have behaved thus two short months ago. Indeed, if anyone, Theo had thought Hetty would appreciate having a non-threatening male like Harold around, but no, Vincent was the one she wanted and no one else would do.

Whenever she tried to broach the subject with Clem, he made it clear that he considered it none of his business. “I barely know your sister,” he would repeat, and she was forced to make do with that.

At the end of the first week, Hetty appeared in her doorway as Theo, returning from a matinee at The Eagle, had reached the top of the stairs.

“Theo!” her sister called out to her, and Theo paused with her hand on the banister. Hetty was fully dressed for the first time that week, instead of swathed in frilly wrappers and dressing gowns. Today she wore a dove gray gown with white lace at her throat and cuffs. She looked like a very pretty governess.

“You have some color in your cheeks today, Hetty,” she said approvingly. “How are you feeling?”

Hetty gazed back at her steadily. “I am improving daily,” she said in a low voice. “Will you—will you come and sit with me a while?”

Theo was surprised. Her attempts to bustle around her sister had been politely but firmly kept to the bare minimum thus far. “Of course. Just let me go wash and brush up first. I won’t be long.”

Hetty nodded and disappeared into her dressing room as Theo hurried to tidy herself. “Come in,” she responded to Theo’s gentle knock.

“I have more flowers for you here,” Theo said, setting down a bouquet on her sister’s side table.

“Thank you, they’re very pretty,” Hetty said. “Do these ones contain love notes wound among the stems?” At Theo’s stunned expression, a faint smile touched her sister’s lips. “I am aware they originate from your admirers, sister. Will you come and sit beside the fire with me?”

Both sisters moved toward the hearth and arranged themselves into the seats there. “I have a tray of tea which Mrs. Cherwell kindly brought up,” Hetty said, gesturing to the small table and sounding almost nervous. “It’s been brewing a while, so should be ready.”

Theo frowned as she took her seat. Why would her composed sister look so tense at the prospect of taking a cup of tea with her? Finally, she detected Henrietta’s brittleness that Vincent had detected all along beneath the charming veneer.

It put her in mind of that odious gossip column that had compared Henrietta to a Dresden shepherdess. She looked like one even now with her pink and white complexion and her abundant chestnut hair. Under her beauty, she was fragile. Terribly fragile. Accepting the cup and saucer with thanks, Theo took a tentative sip. “Nice and strong,” she said approvingly.