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She wasn’t entirely certain that she would, but she wasn’t going to let it stop her.

He guided her along, and a hawker called out to them, offering them hot cups of coffee.

The next stall offered colorful scarves and fabrics.

That was followed by a cart hung with the most terrifying dolls she had ever seen.

Their hair was coarse and made of corn husks and dried grasses, their eyes were simple x’s made of black yarn, and their dresses made of burlap.

“One for your sweetheart,” the woman called out to Simon. He declined and they kept walking.

Across from them, a pub presided over the square. It seemed to be the life of this particular part of the city with a steady stream of people going and coming through its doors. As much as she wanted to see the inside, she wasn’t up for it yet.

Simon guided her to the side, in front of a drapery shop that was closed for the night. A huddled form took refuge on the floor in front of the door, but Simon didn’t seem to pay the person any mind. “What do you want to do first?”

It was almost too much. She didn’t know. The pub later, but she didn’t want to jump headfirst into the belly of the beast. She wanted to ease her way in. A sign across the street caught her eye. The stylized white lettering on a black background named it Penny Amusements . “Let’s go there.”

He agreed and they stepped into the street to cross. It was no easy feat since the wagons seemed to have no interest in stopping for them and the manure was so thick that it took some concentration to find a foothold not covered with it.

“Have you ever been inside? What is it?” she asked.

“It changes to keep customers interested. You never know what you’ll find.”

A tall man at the door garbed in black from head to toe watched them approach, his eyes lighting up at the prospect of a sale.

“Come in, come in, and bring your lady friend, sir,” he said in a very heavy Cockney accent.

“Come in and see the strongest woman in the world. Challenge her and win and secure yourself the prize of the night.”

Simon declined but paid him a penny for each of them. The man in black opened the heavy wooden door and they entered a dimly lit hallway. Music and carousing could be heard further inside, but here they were alone. She took his hand and he tightened his fingers around hers.

Wax figures lined the hallway, three on each side.

The first was a very dignified and royal-looking woman with auburn hair.

The name placard read Catherine of Aragon.

The next was an attractive woman wearing Tudor dress, but instead of her head being where it was meant to be on top of her neck, she held it at her side.

Her smile was twisted grotesquely and her neck had been severed clean across. It was painted red to look like blood.

Finally, she understood. “Anne Boleyn. These are the wives of Henry VIII.”

Simon gave a brief laugh, an exhale of breath that seemed louder than it was in their cocoon. “Never let it be said that we don’t enjoy the sport of watching our betters meet their ends.”

“Even centuries later,” she added.

His other wives were also on display. Another with her head at her feet, and one that lay on her side, her womb on the outside of her body. One with a strong jaw and long nose, and a final one presented in a more dignified manner in royal dress.

Up ahead a woman peeled back the black curtain that had kept them artificially away from the main attraction.

“Welcome in, sir, madam.” She indicated they should go on inside.

There were rows of chairs facing a small platform meant to be a stage, and a woman stood on it.

Her hair at the side of her head had been sheared to above her ears while the back had been braided and coiled on the crown of her head.

She wore a button-down shirt that had the sleeves torn out to reveal the impressive muscles of her biceps.

On her legs, she wore fleshings. It took a moment for Eliza to be certain that she wore anything on her bottom half at all, because the tights almost perfectly matched her light skin color.

A canvas stretched across the ceiling above her head declared her name to be Miss Pearl, Strongest Woman In The World .

There were crude drawings of a woman with her proportions performing all sorts of feats of strength, from raising a man over her head to lifting a cannonball attached to a rope with her teeth.

“Here.” Simon led them to seats in the far side of the room that backed up to the wall, she assumed because it gave him a clear view of the door and the stage.

The woman on the stage was in the process of picking up two weights that had been attached with rope to a metal bar.

She strained and grunted but finally lifted it over her head in an impressive display of strength before lowering it again.

The crowd applauded and an announcer with a speaking trumpet declared that she had successfully picked up ten stone.

As he spoke, another man who was part of the show brought out a pair of boxing gloves, which she donned with the ease of practice.

The announcer invited any man in the audience who would like to challenge Miss Pearl to a match to approach the stage.

“Which one of you has the nerve to fight me?” she called out.

An organist accompanied her words to dramatic effect.

“I’ll take on any one of you men as long as you weigh under ten stone.

You?” She pointed at a man in the second row.

His friends had gotten her attention because they’d been pushing him to challenge her.

“Do you have the bollocks to fight me?” He demurred.

“I didn’t think you did. You have the look of a girlie type.

More cunt than bollocks.” The crowd laughed uproariously.

The man stood up, affronted. Eliza couldn’t hear exactly what he said because his back was to her, but she heard him call the woman a very vulgar name.

Miss Pearl insulted him again and he charged the stage.

A bruiser as wide as he was tall had been posted at the perimeter of the stage and he stopped the man.

“You have to pay to fight me, idiot.” The woman laughed at him.

The man practically sputtered with indignation and rifled in his pockets to pull out some coins.

He tossed them onto the stage and was allowed to proceed.

As he climbed up, he took off his coat. Miss Pearl made a show of stretching her neck and shoulders as the man punched out, and she was easily able to dodge him.

This went on for a couple of minutes with her calling him all manner of names until she finally got tired of toying with him and punched him square in the jaw.

He went tumbling from the stage and landed on a few audience members. The crowd loved it.

Eliza leaned over to Simon. “I’m beginning to see where you get your showmanship.”

He guffawed.

“Admit it. You could have ended that fight with Mr. Carstone in the first minute.”

“Watch the show,” he said, and ducked his head as the people in front of him had turned to get a good look. But it was too late.

“It’s the Duke,” one of them whispered.

“The Duke himself,” someone else said but louder.

It didn’t take long for the information to spread through the audience.

Simon muttered a curse under his breath and indicated they should leave.

They rose but it was too late. He commanded the attention of the room.

Some looked on in confusion, but it was clear that several people knew him as the Duke.

“The Duke will fight you.” The bald man in front of them stood up and called out to Miss Pearl.

Miss Pearl frowned, her brow furrowed. “Is there another challenger?”

“No, apologies, Miss Pearl, but I’m a bit more than ten stone,” Simon said. He took Eliza’s arm and moved to leave.

“Join the show!” the bald man said. “Who here wants to fight the Duke?”

Calls of enthusiasm followed them as they walked toward the door, Simon’s arm snaked around her waist.