Eight Hunting Lyons (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

Chapter One

“A n unusual request, Miss Atherton.”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon tapped a finger to her bottom lip as she considered the young woman seated across from her. “Does your friend know that you are willing to pay his debt or that you are here?”

“No!” Gemma Atherton placed a trembling hand to her throat. “His blood runs hot when his temper’s up. I’m afraid he will do something rash if he finds out.” She stared at her lap for long moments before lifting her haunted gaze, pleading, “No one knows I am here and can never find out! I will do whatever you ask. Please, won’t you help me?”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon sat back and studied the young woman over the rim of her teacup. Even through the black veil necessary to conceal her identity, she noted Miss Gemma Atherton’s skin was smooth and clear, although pale with worry. Dark tresses were all the rage this Season. She had a heart-shaped face, smallish nose, and the softest brown eyes Bessie had seen in a very long time. The young woman had the figure of a goddess but seemed not to know it. The innocent Miss Atherton would do quite well in her estimation.

“Would you mind telling me again how you managed to get inside my establishment, when I have Theseus and Egeus stationed at the gentlemen’s entrance, and Hermia and Helena at the ladies’?”

Miss Atherton stared at her tightly clenched hands and lifted one shoulder in answer.

“Not an appropriate response if you are seeking my help.”

The young woman lifted her head. “Forgive me, Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”

Miss Atherton’s voice wavered, and Bessie sincerely hoped the chit was not going to dissolve into buckets of tears. She detested tears. Refused to give in to them when her husband passed away. They solved nothing and wreaked havoc on one’s appearance. Rather, she chose to honor her much older husband by restoring his wealth though not in a common way. To protect the colonel’s honor and memory, while at the same time rendering her innominate to those who would delight in nothing more than shredding her hard-worn reputation, she had been garbed in black, wearing a veil to keep her face shrouded, for the last decade.

Setting those thoughts aside, she was pleased when the young miss drew in a deep breath and collected herself. She intended to get to the bottom of Miss Atherton’s situation, to discern if it would be beneficial to the both of them. “Do you know the exact amount of your dowry?”

Gemma visibly cringed. “Er…yes…as a matter of fact I do.”

“Well?” Mrs. Dove-Lyon urged.

“At last night’s dinner party, Father lifted his wine glass high and smiled at me before announcing…” her voice trailed off.

The young miss was clearly shaken, but Bessie needed details. “Announcing,” she prompted.

Miss Atherton’s eyes welled with unshed tears. “Those who wished to throw their hat into the ring would be well rewarded. Apparently, my father increased my dowry. I’m now worth ￡15,000—to the man who signs a contract to go into business with him for a period of five years.”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon steeled herself not to show any reaction—or emotion. Miss Atherton seemed to be on the verge of completely losing her hard-won composure. It would not do to show any interest in the amount of the dowry, or the contract attached to it.

What was the real story? Had Gemma been compromised?

She tilted her head to one side, further studying the young miss. She was uncommonly pretty. Was she a consummate actress? She appeared innocent, but Mrs. Dove-Lyon was no chit fresh out of the schoolroom. She hadn’t achieved such notoriety—or wealth, by being led about by the nose…or blindsided.

She set down her teacup, rose from her chair opposite Miss Atherton, and sat beside her on the blue and white brocade settee. She reached for the young woman’s hand and gave it a light squeeze of encouragement. “Do I understand you correctly? You wish me to find a husband who will agree to pay off your friend’s debts before offering for your hand?”

She nodded.

“How will the gentleman I select for you know that his suit will be acceptable to your father?”

Miss Atherton hesitated before responding, “Father will lose every pound, every pence to his name if I am not married by my twentieth birthday.”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon frowned. “I find that hard to believe. Why would this be possible?”

Gemma’s knuckles turned white where she gripped them into a tight ball. “I…if I tell you, do you promise not to tell anyone?”

The older woman inclined her head.

Miss Atherton confided, “Father’s fortune was not earned as he likes to boast to all and sundry. My mother was an heiress, disowned by her family for running off to Gretna Green to marry for love instead of the marriage they had arranged for her.”

Interest piqued, Mrs. Dove-Lyon prompted her to continue, “And?”

“Mother was an only child who took after her grandmother in mien and manner. When great-grandmother heard about the marriage and Mother being disowned, she gifted my mother with a generous dowry to ensure she would never want for anything.” Gemma cleared her throat to continue, “You see, she suspected although Father professed his love for Mother, he was a Cit at heart and had a love for money.”

“What could her grandmother do about it if they were already wed over the anvil in Scotland?”

Miss Atherton smiled for the first time. Mrs. Dove-Lyon was more than pleased with the way it reached the young woman’s eyes, deepening their color to that of warmed chocolate. Her smile softened the worry lines on her face, transforming her into a beauty that shone from within as well as without. Her current clientele would be clamoring to wager anything for a chance to offer for Miss Atherton’s hand.

“Great-grandmother added a stipulation that for each child Mother bore, an account would be opened upon their birth in the amount of ￡5,000. Every year thereafter, on their date of their birth, Father would deposit ￡1,000.”

“I see.”

Miss Atherton sighed. “That’s not all.”

“Given the fact that you appear to be at the very least sixteen—”

“Nineteen.”

She didn’t want to contradict the young woman but had her doubts as to the veracity of that last declaration. “Are you?”

Gemma lowered her eyes as if to hide the flush sweeping up from the neck of her gown. “Er…yes—just yesterday actually.”

“Forgive my having to ask, however it is of the utmost importance that I know your exact age before going into any marriage negotiations. Do continue.”

“Great-grandmother’s solicitors were quite explicit when advising my parents that Father would be allowed to draw up to fifty percent of the interest on the accounts but would not be able to touch the funds deposited.”

“Ever?”

Miss Atherton nodded.

“What if, God forbid, one of the children should predecease their father?”

“Great-grandmother accounted for that, too. All funds were to be divided between the remaining children.”

“And your father would get nothing?”

“Er…yes, with the exception of the portion of interest he is allowed to withdraw from his children’s accounts.”

“He willingly signed off on that agreement?”

“To my knowledge, yes.”

“That is quite a lot to take in at one time, Miss Atherton.” She locked gazes with the young woman. “Is there anything else?”

“I’m to be allowed a say in whom I marry in exchange for my father receiving a lump sum of ￡1,500.”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon sat back, going over everything she’d just been told. First off, she’d never had a young woman approach her asking for help finding a husband who would pay off a friend’s mountain of debt. Secondly, she believed Miss Atherton up until the tiny detail of her father receiving a sum for letting Gemma have a say in whom she married. There was the tiniest part of her that wondered if it was all a bit of hum — a Banbury tale .

“What of this friend ?” Mrs. Dove-Lyon inquired. “Given the opportunity, wouldn’t you rather marry him?”

Miss Atherton’s eyes widened at the question. “I cannot marry him.”

“Cannot, or will not?”

“Cannot…he’s my younger brother.”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon sighed heavily. “If he is a year or so younger than you, then he’d be worth well over ￡20,000. Why can he not simply withdraw the amount he needs to settle his debts?”

Gemma leaned toward the proprietress and explained, “He must be eight and ten—which he will be in a fortnight. At that time, he will have access to fifty percent of the interest on those funds at that time.”

“Not the entire amount?”

She shook her head. “Not until his twenty-fifth birthday.”

“How much does your brother owe, and to whom?”

“￡15,000.” Miss Atherton hesitated before adding, “He will not divulge who holds the note, but I think it may have occurred during a house party a few weeks ago. He needs to pay this debt immediately. Father has threatened to ship him off to America. I cannot and will not let that happen.”

“Will you have to wait until your twenty-fifth birthday to receive your inheritance?”

The young woman shook her head. “When a marriage contract is agreed upon, my dowry will be handed over and the balance of the funds—my inheritance, will be transferred to my husband on the day we wed.”

“And if you choose not to marry?”

“Then I will receive the funds on my twenty-fifth birthday.” She wrung her hands in earnest. “My father is planning to fleece whomever I marry by having the man sign a marriage contract that would stipulate my future husband going into a business agreement with my father. I overheard him say he only intended to turn over a portion of my funds.”

“How does he propose to get away with that?”

“He thinks I do not know how much money is in my account.”

“Do you?”

“Yes, of course. Without interest, ￡23,000.”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s eyes widened, but she made no other comment.

“I overheard Father speaking to his solicitor promising him a percentage of my inheritance. I was supposed to be involved in the meeting, but he told Mr. Tennent that I was unable to meet with them. I knew then that I had to find out what the rate of interest would have been when he opened our accounts and what it would be today.”

“What did you discover?”

“It was four percent.” She paused then added, “I am rather good with sums and calculated, from the initial deposit, I should have earned ￡200 on my first birthday. Over the years that figure would increase exponentially. If you include the ￡1,000 per annum Father added, I’d say I’ve earned nearly ￡12,000 in interest. Half of which I am certain has already been withdrawn by my father.”

“You are worth quite a bit more than I’d imagined, Miss Atherton.” The Black Widow of Whitehall slowly smiled. “I am quite certain you will have a number of suitors to chose from. Do you have a preference?”

Miss Atherton stammered, “Preference?”

“Age, height, hair color, physique.”

Her teacup rattled against the saucer as she set it down in front of her. “I had not considered any of those things. Are they important?”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon sighed. “That would depend upon the man himself, would it not? He could be staggeringly handsome, tall with broad shoulders, but have a nasty temper and condescending manner that would negate his physical attributes.”

“I see. Thank you for not laughing at me. I’ve always thought I would marry by my eighteenth birthday but received no offers for my hand.” She sighed and confided, “I’ve been reminded by my father that any number of men would declare undying love for me due to the size of my dowry—not my looks or accomplishments.”

More than ready to end her impromptu meeting with Miss Atherton, she asked, “Do you sew? Paint? Sing?”

Miss Atherton hesitated before responding, “My accomplishments are more of a scholarly nature. Father insists the lack of requests for my hand are due in part to that…and to my short stature—” she paused before meeting Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s direct gaze to add, “my overblown curves, and rather ordinary features.”

Compassion filled her for the young woman’s plight—and cruelly ignorant father. “I know for a fact that there are men who would be more than interested if the woman they chose to marry was well read and able to carry on a conversation that did not begin and end with the latest fashions. Personally, I find the topic of lady’s fashions quite tedious and prefer to keep track of my investments. I have a talent for making money and am quite adept at it. By the way, it comes in quite handy.”

Gemma nodded in silent agreement which pleased Bessie to no end believing she’d found a kindred spirit in the young woman. Not just another vacuous debutante or Cit’s daughter in search of a man to marry who would spend the rest of his life telling her what to think and how to act.

“I’ve never met anyone like me,” Miss Atherton told her. “I’d given up hope that there was another female in all of London who shared the same interests. Father does not concern himself with my interests and does not know that I read the paper after he does. There are many reforms that I would champion…if I were a man and able to sit in the House of Lords.”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s smile broadened. “It is a pity the time has not yet come when women are afforded the same considerations as men. To have the same rights and not be ignored when we offer our opinion. To be thought of as more than a brood mare.”

Gemma’s face flamed and Mrs. Dove-Lyon chuckled. “Do forgive me for discussing a subject that may embarrass you. I’d forgotten how young you are, Miss Atherton.”

“My mother died when my brother and I were young.” She paused before continuing, “I’ve not spoken to anyone about such topics before. As a matter of fact, I’ve had to eavesdrop on one of our maid’s conversations to learn about what goes on between a married couple.”

“Is she married? What did you learn?”

“No, she’s not. I didn’t learn very much. I had a bit of trouble following the discussion—which was punctuated with a lot of sighing and chuckling.”

“Ah, I take it your maid has a beau.”

“Father does not like our servants fraternizing with one another, but I suspect she is infatuated with one of the footmen. I’ve seen them speaking rather intently a time or two when they think they are not being observed.”

She paused for a moment. “He’s quite good looking and when not at his post, I’ve seen him smile. He has a nice face and is always willing to lend a hand whenever I return from errands for my father with too much to carry.”

“Hopefully this maid will do her best to keep their relationship to themselves.” She paused at the knock on her door. “Yes, what is it?”

The door opened and out of the corners of her eyes, she noted Gemma’s reaction to the man responsible for managing those who stood guard at the doors—inside and out, to The Lyon’s Den. A retired military hero with a maimed hand, Titan’s posture was militarily correct, his broad shoulders hinting at the strength the man held in check. She was more than pleased that Miss Atherton showed no sign of revulsion to the man’s injury and that her smile was genuine, and not flirtatious.

Bessie nodded to the head of her wolf pack —the name she’d given to the escorts she hired to act as a deterrent to any who caused trouble within her establishment. “Ah, Titan, I take it someone else is begging an interview with me?”

“Aye. Shackleford is demanding to see you.”

She narrowed her gaze. “Is he?”

Titan’s frown was fierce. “I’ve shown him into the private sitting room—”

“Without asking me?”

“Theseus had Egeus hustle the man around back to Snug who brought him to me. Apparently, the man stood in the middle of Cleveland Row—in front of our door, loudly spouting that we ran crooked games of chance and used marked cards. Our pack felt it best to get him off the sidewalk and inside as quickly as possible.”

“What would I do without you and your men, Titan? Thank you.”

“I thought it best to have Nick, one of our dealers, stand guard. He’s handled himself well, so far.”

“Very well,” she agreed. “Inform Lord Shackleford I shall be with him shortly.”

Titan’s lips twitched as if he were fighting not to smile. “Anything else?”

“Not at the moment.”

After he closed the door behind him, Miss Atherton asked, “Is Titan his real name?”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon swallowed her laughter. “What do you think?”

Miss Atherton smiled. “He is certainly built like I often imagined one of the titans in Greek mythology would be.” She frowned as if deep in thought. “His name reminds me of the queen of the faeries— Titania from a play I enjoy reading now and again.”

“I see we have similar taste in literature as well,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon remarked.

Gemma nodded. “Did Mr. Titan serve in the King’s Military?”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon tilted her head to one side before responding, “Yes. What makes you ask? Curiosity?”

Miss Atherton shrugged. “His posture reminds me of one of my friend’s older brothers who purchased his colors a while back.”

“Ahh…and joined a regiment? You have interesting acquaintances and are a refreshing change from the last few heiresses I’ve made matches for.”

“In a good way?” Gemma sounded worried.

Mrs. Dove-Lyon agreed. “Quite. Do you have a carriage waiting for you?”

Miss Atherton shook her head. “I didn’t know if you would see me, or how long our meeting would last.”

“I’ll have Titan send for my coachman and have one of my maids accompany you home.” She paused as if considering the ramifications. “Will that cause a problem for you to be seen in a stranger’s coach?”

“None of the servants will speak out of turn. Father is at his office most days until at least seven o’clock in the evening.”

“Excellent. I shall send Cynthia to you.”

“Will it take long to find someone to marry me?”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon reached for Gemma’s hand, briefly grasping it. “I shall have a half a dozen candidates by this evening. Not to worry. I’ll send a carriage for you tomorrow night promptly at nine o’clock. Will that be an issue?”

“Not at all. Father always goes directly to his club on Wednesdays and stays quite late. Nine o’clock will be fine.”

When Mrs. Dove-Lyon smiled and released her hand, Miss Atherton murmured, “I’m not sure what to wear…I’ve never been…” her voice trailed off as she stared at her toes.

“Wear your prettiest frock, and do not worry about a thing. We shall find a suitable husband for you.”

“Mrs. Dove-Lyon?”

“Yes?”

“Someone who doesn’t mind that I cannot embroider or paint, or that my features and figure are not what most men find pleasing?”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon held her gaze for long moments, her heart going out to the young woman. “Without question,” she assured her. “You’ll discover that your father’s opinion of a woman’s face and form is not embraced by most gentlemen—in fact, it is quite the opposite. The problem, my dear, will be whom to choose.”