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Hectic color flushed her cheeks, and she parted her lips to draw in a ragged breath. “Oh, Mr. Dabney!” she exclaimed. “I hardly know what to say!”

“You want this cab or not guv?” the cab driver growled from up on his perch. “I can’t wait around all day.”

Clem squeezed her fingers and led her toward the carriage, his hand at her waist to guide her up the steps. She kept trying to twist about to look at him, as though trying to assess if he really meant it.

“I’ll make the appointment for next Sunday after church,” he promised extravagantly. He’d have to pay double or triple rates to get Finch to open his shop for a customer on a Sunday. Then again, Finch would hardly want a woman waltzing into a gentleman’s outfitters on a weekday, so it would work out better for him too in the long run.

He shut the door behind her and gave the address to the driver as Dora hung out of the window, still gazing at him with a painful look of intensity on her face. “Thank you,” she said in a choked voice as they pulled away. “I had a wonderful time!”

Clem raised his hand to wave her off. Strange how he did not regret his extravagant gesture one bit. Stranger still, how often his thoughts kept straying to Dora Fields for the rest of the day.

NINE

Sunday dawned chilly but dry and Theo set out for church as soon as the grandfather clock on the hall struck ten. She hurried quickly down the garden path, pulling her paletot closer about her. She was glad of its thick wool and the big bell sleeves against the cold, even if Felix did think it was ugly.

Once again, she had left off the matching tasseled hat today in favor of her wool bonnet, so she would not get stared at in church. She managed to hail a cab in the next street, and after directing him to St Thomas’, she sank back into the seat, catching her breath. The frigid air was almost painful to breathe into one’s lungs and she had run for the cab, so she was short of breath.

By the time they reached Clapham, her breathing had steadied, but her heart was racing with nervous anticipation. What was wrong with her? She had never suffered from stage fright. Had this past month really reduced her to such a nervous wreck?

Catching sight of a familiar stretch of road, she rapped on the side of the cab. “Just here, driver!” she called out and they slowed to a still, and Theo clambered down. She was just congratulating herself that she had a good five-minute walk in which to calm her fizzling nerves when she recognized the tall, well-built male making his way unhurriedly toward her.

To her dismay, his slow smile of welcome deprived her once more of breath. Good grief, was she always to appear such a breathless featherbrain in front of him? Feeling exasperated with herself, she forced an answering smile to her lips and turned to him, wishing him a “Good morning,” which almost sounded shy. Ugh! She was not remotely shy! Theodora, she told herself sternly, pull yourself together!

Clem reached up and paid the cabbie before she had the chance. “Oh, but I have the money you gave to me—” she started to protest, but he ignored this, presenting his arm. “Let’s get church out of the way and then we can get you to your first fitting.”

Theo could scarcely draw breath for a minute. “Y-you managed to book an appointment?” she gasped, clutching at his arm. She had hardly dared let herself believe he was serious about his flippant promise the week before.

He lifted an eyebrow. “Of course.”

“On a Sunday?” she squeaked. “It only occurred to me as we pulled away that your tailor would scarcely keep such working hours.”

Clem waved this aside. “I could hardly take you to a gentleman’s outfitters on a weekday.” He shrugged. “It would always have been by special appointment.”

“Oh, yes, I had not considered …” She bit her lip and let her words die away as she fought down the excitement churning in her stomach.

“I’m guessing you know to the smallest detail what you require,” he commented with lurking amusement.

Theodora’s color flared. “I—well, would it be alright if I had a full evening suit?” she asked tremulously. She knew this was a huge ask as such an outfit would include an elegant frock coat and trousers as well as a silk waistcoat.

Clem shrugged. “Whatever you want,” he answered.

Theo breathed noisily in and out and could scarcely pay attention during church. She would not even have noticed their banns being read if Clem had not nudged her gently in the side. She was floating on a cloud throughout the whole thing. He also had to steer her toward Canon Bridgewater for her to shake the clergyman’s hand at the close of the ceremony.

“I’ve never known anyone so excited at the prospect of a new suit,” he laughed softly as he escorted her toward J. Finch & Sons. It was a ten-minute walk, but Theo knew her conversation was lamentable. She was so excited; she could scarcely string a sentence together. In the end, Clem took pity on her, and they walked the last stretch in silence.

Once they entered the tailor’s establishment, Theo fell to earth with a bump for the place looked nothing like the gentleman’s outfitters her brother frequented. There were no fancy glass-fronted cabinets to display the wares or upholstered chairs for the patrons to loll in. It looked instead shabby, bare, and functional.

Several large work-scarred tables were lined up to run along the center of the store with low-hanging gas lamps suspended above them. The rest of the interior was cluttered up with packing cases and tatty-looking drawers and smaller tables. Theo found herself having to work hard to swallow down her disappointment.

Clem let out a piercing whistle and Theo heard someone moving around in the back room, then a curtain was swiped aside and a lean-looking man of about thirty-five years stepped out. He sported sandy-colored sideburns and wore a somewhat world-weary expression on his face. He eyed Theo impassively for a moment. “This ‘er?” he asked, tipping his head in her direction.

“Dora, this is Charlie Finch who works wonders with a needle and thread. Charlie, this is my wife, Mrs. Dora Dabney.”

Theo was so shocked by Clem’s prematurely pronouncing her his wife, that she was speechless for a moment. Mr. Finch’s eyebrows rose, but he nodded in her direction, and before she could return the greeting, crossed to the front door, pulling the shutter down and locking the door.

“Know what you want?” he asked turning abruptly and tucking his thumbs in his waistcoat.

“She does,” Clem interjected smoothly. “She wants a full set of evening dress and also a day suit.”