Page 28 of A Contracted Spouse for the Prizefighter

Theo caught her breath. A day suit as well? Had Clem guessed just how badly her alterations were going on Felix’s suit? Clem showed no sign that he had uttered anything remotely stupendous.

Mr. Finch sniffed and appeared to consider. “What sort of day suit?” he asked in his flat cockney accent.

Theo’s head spun. She had not even dreamed of ever having a day suit made. Her eyes widened and flew to Clem in agonized appeal.

“It’s for the stage,” he said, “so it needs to be eye-catching.”

Mr. Finch rocked on his heels a moment, then he crossed to a set of drawers and deliberated a moment before withdrawing a bolt of yellow and brown check and another of blue and yellow. Both were very loud. Theo felt a little alarmed. She had imagined Piccadilly Percy as elegantly rather than brashly dressed.

Mr. Finch rejoined them with the cloth and wordlessly stuck them under Theo’s nose.

“Er …” she hesitated.

“Either would be fine for the trousers,” Clem put in, leaning against one of the tables. “But she would need a plain coat and waistcoat to team up with it.”

Theo relaxed. Yes, that would tone down the florid check of the trousers, she thought with relief.

“Which?” Charlie asked.

“The—um—the brown and yellow, I think?” Theo mumbled, feeling rather daunted.

Mr. Finch spun on his heel and returned the violent blue and yellow to the drawer. “Color of waistcoat?” he asked.

“Yellow,” Clem chimed in, picking up a pamphlet he had found on the table and flicking through its pages.

The tailor opened another drawer and withdrew another bolt of cloth without consulting Theo this time. Maybe they only had one shade of yellow. “Cut of coat?” he asked sounding bored.

“Prince Albert,” Clem again replied, without looking up from his booklet.

Theo felt rather crushed by the exchange. Somehow it had not been what she had expected.

“What about the evening suit?” Mr. Finch asked setting those bolts of cloth to one side.

“I want that to be very understated and elegant,” Theo said, finally asserting herself. “Black frock coat, cut away to show the waistcoat and narrow legged trousers also in black.”

“Single-breasted then,” Albert said, withdrawing a pencil from behind his ear. He leaned over a table and made a few squiggles on a piece of paper. “Waistcoat?”

“I was thinking … a cream figured silk,” Theo said boldly. She saw Clem look up with a frown and she guessed his own tastes ran to something a lot flashier. “That is how I always pictured it,” she said quickly.

Clem shrugged. “Whatever you want,” he said and returned to his brochure.

“Alright,” Mr. Finch said, throwing down his pencil. “You want to go out back and get ready for your measuring?” Theo nodded and hurried toward the curtain. “Give me a shout when you’re ready.”

After securing the curtain she found herself in a somewhat dusty back room with a stove and various paraphernalia littered about. Dragging her eyes away from the clutter, Theo concentrated on the matter at hand and stripped down in a business-like manner to her loose chemise, linen knee-length drawers, and knitted stockings.

There was nothing fancy or embellished about her undergarments. Hetty liked a muslin frill on her chemises and wore the full regalia of corset and stiffened petticoats under her hooped skirts. Theo by contrast had always adhered to the principles of artistic dress. She congratulated herself now on how much quicker dressing and undressing was for her.

“Ready!” she sang out, and heard a hesitant step, then the curtain drew back, and Mr. Finch appeared, looking business-like and stony-faced. He had his pencil and paper in hand once more and was brandishing a tape measure.

A cleared throat on the other side of the curtain made Theo jump. It must be Clem, though why he had moved from his spot by the table to stand directly by the curtain she could not imagine. Mr. Finch shot her an inscrutable look and then started the business of measuring her back and shoulders.

Theo had already taken the step of binding her bosom, though in truth, she did not have much up there to shatter the illusion. Still, it made her feel professional to have taken the extra step and Mr. Finch probably appreciated it when it came to measuring her chest, which might otherwise have been rather indelicate.

He hesitated before taking her inside leg measurement. “You gonna put a sock down there, or something?” he asked.

“Pardon?”

He looked up at her. “Down your drawers.”