Chapter Eight

H andel's Traveling Circus was different than any other circus Anna had visited before. For one thing, it used a giant, tarp-like tent for its enclosure. Up until that point, most circuses had used existing structures and old warehouses to put on their shows. In the newspaper article Anna had eventually wrestled away from Iris, she read that Handel had just returned from a visit to America, bringing the tent innovation with him. It was an ingenious idea, allowing the entertainment group to set up shop in new locales throughout the country. No longer limited, the traveling circuses could go wherever there was a large swath of land and demand—and England had both of those in abundance.

"I have to admit," Jacob began as he helped Anna down from the carriage, "this wasn't at all was I expecting."

She clicked her tongue in response and took the lead trudging across the field toward the main tent along with the gathering crowd. The excitement was palpable, and she found that her footsteps were lighter and quicker the closer they came to the flimsy-looking structure. Thank the heavens that rain clouds were nowhere in sight. Anna didn't know if she'd dare enter the tent when a storm raged outside. Would the winds pick up the tarp and take them all with it?

"I suppose you assumed I was taking you to Astley's?" she replied with a knowing lilt to her voice.

"Naturally."

Anna humphed . Astley's Amphitheatre was a popular venue in London where most of the upper classes went to see and be seen. The grand structure was surrounded by boxes and galleries where people could sit comfortably and watch equestrian performances, the latest plays, and even mock-naval battles.

Needless to say, as they were pushed and prodded in line, waiting to give a man with a mouth full of golden teeth their coin to enter, this was a far cry from Astley's.

"Please don't tell me you do this often," Jacob remarked regretfully when they finally reached the man at the entrance. Half of his face was tattooed in designs that one might find in the Book of Kells. Jacob had to yank Anna out of her gawking. The colors were uncommonly beautiful on the man's skin.

"I do not," she replied absent-mindedly, handing the man her coins. He gifted her with a wide, golden smile along with her ticket. "I read about a performer tonight that I didn't want to miss. Why?" she asked, twisting her mouth. "Are you nervous? Have you flown so high as a viscount that you can't enjoy simple country pleasures anymore?"

A deep sound rumbled from Jacob's throat. "Hardly," he scoffed. "Though I've never been to one with a woman. I'm just trying to think of what I'll tell your father when he finds out."

"He won't find out," Anna assured him. "Stop worrying. It will ruin the night. Now, come—I want to make sure we get a good seat. It's starting soon."

It would take more than that to erase Jacob's frown. Honestly, the man was like a nervous mother hen, clucking all around her. Whenever anyone ventured too close, he used his body as a shield to make sure nothing got in her path. It would have been chivalrous if it wasn't so unnecessary.

He curbed his botheration long enough to squeeze them into a place in the grandstand a few rows up from the bottom. The gallery followed along the perimeter of the tent, surrounding the dirt-floored oval in the center. Gas lamps were placed at various intervals, giving the atmosphere an ethereal quality, as if magic was accumulating for the performers to grab and use at their disposal.

The seats let out groans as they sat, though Jacob's was louder. "If this entire place falls to pieces around us, I will contend that it is all your fault."

"Naturally," Anna agreed before turning a critical eye on her companion. "I'm surprised at you, my lord. I would have thought a writer such as yourself would enjoy being among real people. What could be more real than this?" As if on cue, the two men sitting to their side tossed a handful of nuts into their mouths and took turns seeing who could spit the shells the farthest past the heads of the people in front of them.

Anna usually adored competition, but even that particular game was too much for her.

Jacob ripped off his hat and scratched at his temples as his eyes narrowed on the rude offenders. "I do enjoy being around real people , as you call them. But…" He stifled his words and returned his hat to his head. "It's nothing. Never mind. Let's just watch the show."

"No, tell me." Without thinking, Anna placed her hand on his thigh, imploring him to continue. It startled her, how small it looked in his lap, and she had an odd urge to spread her fingers wide to feel all that lay undiscovered underneath.

Jacob's brow furrowed as he stared at her hand, but he didn't remove it. He released a low, simmering breath. "I was just going to say that my life has changed in ways I couldn't ever have imagined. I hate to say anything, because it sounds like I'm complaining or ungrateful for my good fortune, but I can't help but feel that I'm constantly being pulled in two directions, expected to be two different people—the person I thought I was and the one I now should be…"

"Keep going," she prodded when his words thinned into nothing. The man was obviously not used to speaking about himself.

Jacob continued to stare at her hand. "After I was given the title, I thought nothing would change. Well"—he cocked his head, granting her a rueful smile—"some things would change, but not me. I thought I could keep working at the newspaper, go about my business like before…"

"But?"

"But I was wrong. Horribly so. I quit the newspaper. I was told it wasn't the done thing ." He rolled his shoulders, stretching his neck back and forth. "There are so many things to be done all the time. I have estates that need to be tended to, renters that need my attention, servants to tiptoe around, parties to host. I know I need to trust my managers, but I have a difficult time leaving my work to others. I have this incessant need to want to keep abreast of everything, but it's maddening. Did you know I had a garden party at Newton Place a few months ago? My mother thought it would be a good idea."

Anna answered with an awkward smile, "Yes. You invited me. I came."

He chuckled sheepishly. "Sorry. I should have known. Did you see me?"

Anna shook her head.

Jacob rolled his eyes. "That's because I hid most of the time. I didn't have the faintest idea what to do or say when I met people. The ton already thinks I'm a fraud; the last thing I wanted to do was prove them right."

Anna removed her hand from his leg and straightened his tie. It had been off kilter ever since they sat down and had driven her mad. Jacob's Adam's apple bobbed during the slight motion. Was he so affected by her touch?

She lowered her hands, feeling a warmth rush over her body. "You're not a fraud, Jacob. You're just different. It doesn't make you wrong." She squared her shoulders toward the center of the ring, where performers in flashy colors and various stages of undress were beginning to congregate, placing props where they needed them for their acts. "This is a new world we're living in, where amazing discoveries are happening every day. If you want to be a viscount newspaperman, then be one. You're luckier than you think, because there's no one to stop you."

Jacob made a noncommittal noise as he followed her gaze to the ring. She didn't want to point out that his frown was gone, in fear that it might return. "Is something standing in your way, Anna?" he asked.

Perhaps it was the way Jacob asked it, but the question bothered her more than she could say. When had the night taken such a turn? They were supposed to be amusing themselves while Anna showed him a spectacle. But now she had a vague hollowness in her heart, one that could only be solved by a decent cry. And she wouldn't be doing that anytime soon.

Tears would only be seen as another sign of weakness.

"Now who's tight-lipped?" he teased.

Anna's eyelashes flickered as she willed herself to keep her emotions in check. "I'm not tight-lipped," she said breezily. She turned to him with a confident smile, though it felt false, like she was lying. She told herself she wasn't; she was merely withholding all the truth for her father's sake. For her sake as well. "I didn't need anyone to stand in my way. I did it all by myself. I…" Anna shut her mouth.

Jacob's eyebrows pinched. "What does that—"

"Oh! It's starting! Finally," she said, hopping to her feet along with the crowd, clapping loudly

Inside, she castigated herself. Had she almost told him? No… but it had been close. What had she been thinking? Her secret was hers and hers alone, and it needed to stay that way. Divulging it would only hurt her father, and she would never do that. It didn't matter if Jacob continued to look at her in that way, forehead down, gray eyes searing with curiosity and compassion.

She didn't deserve it.

*

"Stop pulling me. I'm simply not leaving until I know for sure," Jacob railed, dodging the other spectators out of the tent. "I don't care what you say. I don't believe it."

Vexed, Anna sighed and hurried to keep with him. She'd known Jacob would be a hard sell, but she'd had no idea he would carry on in this way.

He stole out of the entrance and marched toward the covered wagons and smaller tents scattered alongside the main enclosure, in search of where the performers congregated. Anna lunged forward to grab hold of his arm, allowing him to tow her along. His legs were too long for his own good. The man was a menace.

"Haven't you ever heard the saying ‘seeing is believing'? Why must you always think everyone has some nefarious plan?"

"Don't make this about your father," he growled over his shoulder.

Anna growled right back. "How can I not? You always think someone's trying to trick you."

Suddenly, Jacob halted, and Anna rammed right into his back with a yelp. Did he not have an ounce of fat on him? Rubbing her cheek, she navigated around him and realized why he'd stopped. Outside a navy-blue tent, a placard was staked into the ground. In bright red letters, it announced that inside was the World-Famous Strongwoman, Helga Bitterman. Enter at your own risk.

"Ha! Strongwoman," Jacob muttered before reaching for the tent flap. A man sitting on a bale of hay struck his leg out right as Jacob was about to charge inside. With a piece of hay hanging out of his mouth, he proceeded to whittle at a piece of wood with a knife the size of Anna's forearm. "A man can't just barge into a lady's dressing room. Helga's overcome from the exertions from the night," he said, not bothering to look up from his wood. How could he even see what he was doing in the dark like that? Anna worried that he would chop a finger off in front of her.

"My apologies," Jacob said at once, stepping away from the leg. He reached into his pocket and took out a handful of coins. "My wife and I merely wanted to meet the lady in person. She… ah… put on quite a show."

My wife. The words shocked her more than the guard's knife—scared her just as much, too. The whittling paused. The guard lowered the knife and took Jacob's money, weighing it in his hand. "Go on in. Helga loves visitors," he said jovially, even standing to lift the flap for the couple to enter.

Jacob placed his hand on Anna's lower back and guided her into the tent. It was a bright and cheerful space, cluttered with colorful pillows and trunks that looked like they'd traveled a great distance. At least five barbells were stacked in the corner, along with other cumbersome objects that Anna could only assume were additional weights of some kind. A small child, presumably Helga's daughter, sat next to them, ignoring the guests. Anna guessed her to be close to ten years old. Her light brown hair was pulled back into a charming braid while she played with the only two things in the room that Anna was familiar with—a miniature cricket bat and a red leather ball.

"Do you like cricket?" Anna blurted, causing the little girl to drop her toys in her lap. Instantly, her gaze went to the opposite side of the tent, where Helga Bitterman appeared from another entrance.

"Cricket? Is that what you call that game?" the strongwoman said. Helga strode into the tent and winked at her daughter before posing in front of a full-length mirror. As she was still clad in her paltry performance outfit, Helga's well-formed body was on full display to the couple. Over six feet, Helga was the tallest woman Anna had ever seen—as well as the most muscular. Strike that. Helga was the tallest and most muscular person she'd ever seen.

"Yes," Anna replied. "That's a cricket ball and bat. Does your daughter play?"

"Only with me," Helga said, contorting her body in funny shapes in front of the mirror, highlighting different areas. With one swift sweep of her arm, her thighs erupted into lines and bulging muscles that reminded Anna of giant fissures in the ground left over after an earthquake. "My husband told me to buy her dolls, so I bought her dolls. But she didn't like the dolls. Then she found the bat and ball left over one night after a show. She hasn't let go of them since."

Helga switched positions, causing large muscles on the sides of her back to widen and expand as if she were sprouting wings. Did everyone have muscles in those places? Anna wondered. Could anyone be this strong with the right amount of dedication and perseverance?

"My husband wonders if it is a wise idea to let Inez play with them, but I don't think it will harm her. I wasn't much interested in dolls when I was her age either."

"Neither was I," Anna said, smiling encouragingly at the girl. "And I know it won't harm her."

"I asked some of the men around here to teach Inez how to play, but…" Helga shrugged. "Circus life is a busy life."

Jacob cleared his throat. "Yes, Miss Helga, we understand you are busy, and we're terribly sorry to bother you, but we have a question we'd like to ask."

Helga paused in another pose and slowly turned around. Her face was square and angular, and she wore her light brown hair in a fussy, feminine bun with two long curls bookending her face. She grabbed a thin, gauzy pink robe from her chair and flung it over her body, though it was short and barely covered more than her costume.

"Not at all," she said grandly in an accent Anna was having a difficult time placing. It sounded vaguely Germanic, with an unlikely hint of London's West End. "You are in awe of Helga, are you not? You came to witness more of my physical greatness."

Anna smiled at the woman's confidence and the way it made Jacob stutter. "Ah… yes… Well, about that," he said. He glanced at Anna, but she ignored his entreaty. He was on his own. Jacob rubbed his palm over the back of his neck. "Your physical greatness is apparent," he began, his eyes bobbing all over the tent. Was he blushing? "But… if you wouldn't mind, that is… I wanted to inquire if I could admire your… cannonballs. Hold them… actually."

Helga paused, hands on her hips, stretching her spine to her full height. "You want to hold my balls?"

Goosebumps flared on Anna's skin.

"If you don't mind," Jacob repeated, his face beet red. He also straightened his spine, but it didn't have the same effect, in Anna's humble opinion.

"Why do you want to hold my balls?" Helga asked.

Jacob ruptured into a fit of coughs. The poor man, Anna thought. He was positively beside himself. She pounded him on the back.

The strongwoman sauntered toward the couple, visibly throwing her weight around, owning every inch of her surroundings. "You don't believe that I juggled three of them? You think I'm one of those second-rate performers who relies on trickery?"

"Indeed not," Jacob answered, retreating a step. "It was just such a spectacular performance, and… and…"

Anna slid in front of him. "And my husband wanted to prove his strength to me," she finished. When Helga looked directed at her, Anna could understand Jacob's trepidation. She felt like David to Helga's Goliath, and sadly, she didn't know the first thing about slinging rocks. "You see, my husband has always been ridiculed for being a skinny, small man—a beanpole, my brothers used to call him. Good for nothing. A weak wastrel. Cowardly, really."

Helga scrutinized Jacob, looking him up and down. "Yes… yes, I see this in him."

Relieved, Anna flashed a smile. "Exactly. But what was I supposed to do? Love has a way of blinding us all."

"My husband is also a small man," Helga said. "More feminine, like this one."

"Now, wait a minute—" Jacob started.

Helga kept going. "But I, too, fell in love. The heart is a strange creature."

"Indeed," Anna said. "Indeed. But now my husband wants to prove himself as a man to me, and I love him too much to try to stop him. It's sweet in its own pathetic way, isn't it?"

"Yes, pathetic… but sweet," Helga said. "But more pathetic."

Anna grinned at Jacob and cupped his chin in her hand with a playful tug. "I told him that if he managed to lift one of those cannonballs in each hand then I would make his favorite fish pie tomorrow for supper." She lowered her eyes, playing coy. "I know I shouldn't encourage him, but a man's ego is a weak thing. It needs to be tended like a fragile garden."

Helga nodded, spinning away from the couple. Next to the mirror she opened a trunk and brought out two cannonballs as effortlessly as Iris had handled her sticky buns.

Helga held them in front of Jacob, one eyebrow arched in a frank challenge. The cannonballs were each the size of a fat baby's head, and Anna couldn't guess how much they weighed. Helga lifted them above her head, clearly showing off. "I know all about men's egos," she said, tossing the balls from one hand to the other, all while keeping Jacob's stare. "I've had to battle them my entire life. But soon I will go to America and have more money than I know what to do with."

"And then you'll retire?" Anna said. "How lovely. Congratulations."

Helga snorted. "Never. My work will never be done. There will always be women who challenge me, people who need to come into my dressing room. There will always be men who want to hold my balls. And I will allow them because I owe it to all the strongwomen who came before me."

She gave Anna a smirk. "Now, let's see how this one does."