Page 93 of A Contracted Spouse for the Prizefighter

“No … it’s not like that,” she assured him. “He’s a composite of many, many young men I have observed over the years. You see, I make a point of studying a stranger every single day. I picked one habit from one and another from another, combined a whole bunch of them together, and came up with Percy.”

“But you—” Once again he bit off his words. “I get that he’s an exaggeration Dora, and made up, but the way you walked and talked. Your bearing … everything. It was so …” He broke off as though unable to think of the right word. “Completely unlike you,” he said finally, sounding dissatisfied with his own choice of words.

She nodded. “Right, for I was not being me on that stage. I was being Percy.”

Clem was silent a moment. “And it is only men that you observe?” he said at last.

“Yes, usually, for my intention was always to take this to the stage. Male impersonation I mean. From a young age.”

“I don’t see you as a mimic somehow,” he said shortly. “I’ve never seen you do an impression of any of your family or acquaintance in the entire time I’ve known you.”

Instead of pointing out he had only known her for less than three months, Theo tried to explain. “No, I don’t do impressions of people who are already formed. That does not interest me.” She hesitated. “It’s more like, I collect different characteristics and then store them away for future use. So that at a later point, I can create characters incorporating the different features I have stored away.”

He appeared to turn this over a moment. “You do not see yourself embodying Piccadilly Percy then, for the rest of your career?”

“Oh no! Percy will be just one character of many. I hope to have a whole arsenal of them to pick and choose from in the future. In fact—” She hesitated.

“What?” he said quickly.

Dora fiddled with the folded napkin on the table. “It is only that one day, I always hoped I might pick up some actual roles in real plays,” she confided in a rush.

“Male roles, you mean?” Clem asked.

“Yes.” She nodded. “Not breeches roles traditionally played by women, but actual male roles. I could carry them off, you know,” she said with all the quiet confidence she felt deep down in her soul. Clem said nothing. “I often read plays and think how I would play the parts,” she admitted. “As a braggart, or perhaps a secret drinker, or even a man with a tragic past which drives him.” Clem was still eyeing her as though she had suddenly grown an extra head. “Does that sound strange?”

He leaned back in his chair. “If all this is true, then I don’t understand why that shepherd character you played was so nondescript.”

Theo felt herself color hotly at the criticism, even while she owned it was nothing but the truth. “That was not my fault! I would have dearly loved to have played Daphnis my way, instead of as a mere cardboard cut-out. Felix and my uncle always made it quite plain that I was not allowed to fully realize my characters on stage. They did not think it … appropriate somehow.”

Clem was silent a moment, the expression on his face unreadable. “Tell me how you would have played him,” he said suddenly.

Theo felt her pulse quicken as she leaned forward in her chair. He really wanted to know? She did not even have to think twice about it. “That’s easy, I would have played him as an earnest young puppy nursing a terrific crush on his shepherdess. He would not have been remotely lecherous like Percy but would have elevated Cloe onto a pedestal. He would have avoided her eye whenever he spoke to her, and I would have had his voice crack occasionally over his dialogue. They do that sometimes you know,” she said eagerly. “Male youths, I mean.”

Clem gave a brief smile at this. “I am aware,” he said dryly. “It just seems a little disconcerting that you are. Some of your observations…” His words trailed off.

“Yes?” she prompted eagerly.

“They’re a little too accurate, if you know what I mean.”

She did not know what he meant. Not really, but she took a stab at it in any case. “You—you think it is improper too, don’t you?” she blurted, feeling ridiculously crestfallen.

When he did not answer at once, Theo felt her spirits plummet to her feet.

“It’s not that,” he said at last. “God knows, I’m no prude, and music hall is all about being improper. I’ve seen far worse,” he carried on, almost as though he was trying to convince himself.

Worse, thought Theo, her heart in her throat.

Catching sight of her expression, he waved his hand. “You know you went down like a storm, Dora. I meant no criticism of your turn.”

“But you—you did not enjoy it? Personally, I mean,” she heard herself ask in a small voice.

He straightened up in his seat. “No such thing. I thought it was masterful,” he said heartily and reached for the strange drink the proprietor had bought them of tomato juice and something else she could not identify. Clem had told her it was supposedly good for the morning after a night of indulgence. He drained his glass. “Ignore me, I’m in a strange mood and slightly hungover. I did not mean to bring your spirits down.”

He shot her a charming smile, which did not touch his eyes at all. “It’s very clever,” he said. “Damnably clever. Just ... it’s a little uncanny, how you do it. Caught me off guard. That’s all.”

Uncanny? Theo watched him uncertainly, biting her lip. He remained strangely distant and polite throughout their meal, scaring her a little. Almost as though he was treating her like someone he did not really know. Then at last, he seemed to notice her unease and made the effort to rouse himself, keeping up a flow of easy conversation that somehow did not entirely dispel Theo’s disquiet.

By the time they returned home, things seemed a lot nearer normal, and Theo told herself she was likely imagining things. Besides, she had a matinee performance to put on, so she did not have time to dwell anymore on Clem’s strange manner.