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

Chapter Five

G emma waited while Mrs. Dove-Lyon spoke with Titan, one of the guards at the door. With time on her hands, her thoughts dashed about. First and foremost, she needed to get Grandfather’s pistol back from the overbearingly irritating—yet extremely handsome captain. But the arrogant man had merely arched an eyebrow in response to her request to return it to her.

Why were men so very difficult to deal with?

Her father decided to go against the stipulations her great-grandmother set in place regarding her inheritance by declaring Gemma would have no say as to whom she wed. Well, really not many of her friends or contemporaries had a say either—except for a veritable few who had sufficient wealth and understanding parents or guardians.

Why did Father increase her dowry? Why add the caveat that whoever offered for her hand had to sign a contract agreeing to be her father’s business partner for the next five years? She grew up knowing his love for coin superseded his love for his children. In her heart, she knew he would gain as much as possible no matter the matrimonial bargain he made for her.

She glanced across the room where a looking glass hung over the fireplace mantel. Pushing to her feet, she walked toward it. She imagined she did not know the person whose reflection she saw. Pretending she was a stranger, she emptied her mind of preconceived notions.

Staring at the reflection, she noted the woman’s heart-shaped face and clear, pale complexion. Not a whit of color on her cheeks—she must be upset or worried about something. Though her smallish nose was not off-putting, and her brown eyes were open and welcoming, the woman’s petite height and too-curvy form detracted from her overall appearance.

“Father was right. I will never be accounted as a beauty by any means. I have too many curves in too many places to ever be considered more than passably pretty. I shall have to remember not to wear any shade of yellow or pale green if I am to appear the least attractive to anyone.” She sighed remembering one of her friends saying the size of one’s dowry increased one’s beauty exponentially.

Gemma wondered if her friend had been trying to caution her that she would need a larger dowry in order to make a suitable match. “Father is first and foremost a businessman,” she mused aloud. “He would want to hedge his bets.”

Speaking of wagers, she wondered how the captain was faring. Was he attempting the brandy wager? Could he tolerate brandy? She shuddered just thinking of the last sip she tried of her father’s prized—smuggled, French brandy. Not her cup of tea. She much preferred a glass of sherry, but if the situation warranted stronger spirits—whiskey.

“Are you all right?”

Gemma whirled around, her hand to her throat. “I beg your pardon?”

“No need, Gemma,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon responded. “Won’t you sit down? I have some news concerning Captain Broadbank. His first attempt was successful…marginally.”

The older woman mumbled that last in a low voice. Gemma had to strain to make out the words. Her troubled thoughts plagued her. “How many wagers must he win?”

Why would a successful captain of one of His Majesty’s first-rate ships of the line want to give that up to marry? He didn’t look old enough to retire, and he certainly did not look as if he had been injured in any way to preclude him from performing his duties as a ship’s captain.

Oh —she remembered an earlier conversation where, according to her hostess, his older brother had recently died, leaving the captain as the heir to a viscountcy. Why would the captain need to seek Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s assistance finding a bride? Was there a reason for urgency? Mayhap there was more to inheriting a title than she’d imagined.

“Are you listening?” the older woman asked, irritation evident in her expression.

“Do forgive me. I was thinking about my father…and worrying about the captain.”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s eyes lit up. “Were you? How very interesting.”

Gemma frowned. “Interesting that I was thinking of my father or concerned as to what exactly the captain is facing? Although, to be frank, he still has my grandfather’s pistol. So he is armed.”

“The man is dangerous with or without a weapon,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon added. “You have no cause for worry on the captain’s part. From the stories I’ve heard of his time in the King’s Navy, he is more than capable of handling a ship carrying 100 guns in full sail under attack from the Spanish or the French.”

Oddly, her words soothed Gemma. “I have an acquaintance who has a relative serving on board one of His Majesty’s vessels. Some of the stories are quite harrowing.”

“Such as?” the older woman asked.

“The rations for one. She claimed her cousin had to exist on worm-filled hardtack and a ration of rum when their provisions ship was set fire by the French, and they had to wait for another to reach them.”

She motioned Gemma to the settee once more and settled beside her. “I have heard similar tales but know that men worth their salt, like Captain Broadbank, excel when they are faced with making difficult decisions. Whether giving the order to return fire, putting the lives of his officers and the sailors who serve under them at risk, or to beat a hasty retreat—is not always an easy thing to do.”

Gemma nodded. “Depending upon whether they are near land or out on the open water, and the direction of the wind.”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon smiled. “Precisely. Now then, would you care for another glass of whiskey while we wait?”

“May I trouble you for a glass of water?”

Gemma studied the widow as she poured the two glasses—one of whiskey and one of water. Her movements were graceful, her slim figure enviable. Gemma’s were the complete opposite.

Mayhap passably pretty wasn’t enough to overlook her plump figure. Meeting the other woman’s gaze, she sipped, wishing it had been a bracing cup of tea. The warmth would have been welcome and given her the wherewithal to ask a question she was not quite sure she wanted the answer to.

Digging deep for courage she asked, “Do you find husbands for others such as myself?”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon sipped from her glass of whiskey without lifting her veil. Gemma was not certain she would be able to do the same without spilling. “What do you mean by such as yourself , Miss Atherton?”

Gemma felt her hands beginning to tremble, as they did whenever she was worried in the extreme. She set her glass down on the table before her and clasped her hands tightly in her lap. She cleared her throat. “Those whose fathers are determined to marry their daughters off to the highest bidder because…” the words got stuck on her tongue. She could not ask. Mortification heated her cheeks. If only she hadn’t been worried about the captain, she never would have asked that question.

“There are many fathers who seek my services because they are unsure of their daughters’ ability to attract a proper prospect for a husband. There are innumerable reasons.”

“Such as?” Gemma hoped she wouldn’t have to ask the dreaded question. She did not want to seem as if she were seeking compliments.

Mrs. Dove-Lyon set her glass on the table next to Gemma’s. “For one, there are young women who prefer the out-of-doors, those that enjoy speaking their minds, others who do not care one whit for the current fashions or spending time at their toilette for hours on end.”

“I see. Are there those who prefer reading to all other indoor activities? Novels, biographical accounts, history, the morning Post ?”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s smile reached her eyes. “Yes. Then there are others who are quite willful and do all in their power to ignore their upbringing and do whatever they wish no matter the cost to their reputations and that of their families—hoydens and hellions.”

Gemma hung her head in shame. Hadn’t she acted in such a way by coming here? But it was her very last resort, determined that her brother would remain in England. She could not bear it if Father sent him to America as he’d threatened when he’d learned of her brother’s huge debt.

Before Gemma could confess that she was a hoyden, Mrs. Dove-Lyon continued. “There are young ladies who are blessed with beauty beyond compare, others with a figure that stops men’s hearts, and still others that have a quiet beauty and intelligence that would remain in the background when standing alongside the Season’s reigning Incomparables .”

Gemma could not continue to hold the older woman’s gaze. Embarrassed to the core, she wished she could slide beneath the richly patterned rug gracing Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s well-appointed private room.

“I find you to be a young woman of courage, fortitude, intelligence, and quite lovely.”

Tears filled Gemma’s eyes, but she blinked them away. “Father is clever enough never to mention my physical attributes to those he considers potential suitors. He’s often belabored the fact that I do not resemble my mother’s mesmerizing beauty. Classically beautiful, her face was oval, her nose straight and not too short, but it was her height combined with her willowy figure that had captured more than one man’s heart during her first Season.”

“I gather she had light hair?”

“The color of sunlight, with eyes the brightest blue of a mid-summer sky.”

“Have you looked in a mirror, Gemma? Do you not see what others see?”

“I was studying my reflection just now, hoping to see what others would when first meeting me.” She paused before continuing. “I must say I now understand why my father increased the amount of coin in my dowry. I do not have much to recommend myself when compared with others of my acquaintance.”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon rose to her feet and held out her hand to Gemma. “Come with me.”

After she’d taken the time to listen to Gemma’s circumstances, and agreed to help her find a suitable husband, and then the upheaval Gemma unintentionally caused, how could she refuse? She slowly stood and grasped the woman’s hand.

They stood before the looking glass together. “Do you know what I see?”

Gemma frowned. “A short woman, with dark hair and eyes and overblown curves.”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon spun her around so quickly Gemma’s head felt light. “You are not your mother! You are Miss Gemma Atherton, a woman of no small means, whose sizeable inheritance will make this Season’s Incomparables’ dowries seem like the pittance they truly are.”

“But my mother was—”

“Lucky to have you as her daughter. You are mix of your father and your mother. The combination of dark hair and warm brown eyes has caught the attention of more than one gentleman in my establishment. Your hesitant smile, and quiet beauty, hint of what is in your heart—a loving, giving young woman.”

When Mrs. Dove-Lyon paused, Gemma whispered, “But I’m overweight.”

“You have a figure others wish they had. Curves guaranteed to drive a man mad. A man can sense your innocence, and would no doubt imagine being the one to awaken you to the delights that await in the marriage bed.”

Her face flamed. “Mother died before she could inform me of what exactly happens…er…after…”

“There is much more than joining your body to your husband’s and becoming one in heart and spirit. There is pleasure untold if your spouse takes the time and care to awaken what lies in your woman’s heart.”

Gemma sighed. “You make it sound so beautiful.”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon surprised Gemma by hugging her close and confiding, “With the right man, it is beautiful. Your body and soul will soar to the stars, explode with passions untold, before you float back down from Heaven.” She paused as if to ensure Gemma was paying attention. “The right man will light the flames of passion all over again until you are both exhausted from celebrating the delights to be had between a man and a woman.”

Gemma listened to her words and realized she’d left one out. “Don’t you mean to say married man and woman?”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s delighted laughter filled the room. “You are quite young, my dear. I hope I am not distressing you by discussing something you mother would have told you were she still here…then again, most mothers never discuss what happens in any detail behind closed doors in the marriage bed.”

“You’ve given me far more information to consider than what I overheard our cook saying recently to one of our maids.”

“If you wish,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon offered, “we can have an enlightening discussion as to what to expect. That way, you will be more prepared to welcome your husband on your wedding night.”

Gemma felt her face flame, ignored it, and grasped the offer. “I would be so grateful if you would. Father blanched when I approached him about asking Cook, or one of our maids about the marriage act.”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon chuckled. “I am quite sure he did. Most men of his age marry to procreate, pass on their wealth, title, or worldly goods…they do not marry for love. Therefore, the marriage act is ofttimes swiftly done with little thought other than the need for an heir…and a spare.”

“Gentlemen provide a separate apartment or town house with a wardrobe—jewels included—to support their mistress, or mistresses, to whom they go to for pleasure. Some are skilled, others are forced into such a position and learn their skill along the way. It is up to the woman to decide how her life will go. Do you understand what I’m telling you, Gemma?”

Fearing her face would never lose the blush she felt searing her cheeks, she nodded. “I believe I do. I have not felt a connection with any of the older men my father has brought home to dine with us. His constant reference to my dowry if one of them offered for my hand was exceedingly embarrassing.”

“That was poorly done. Your father would have benefitted, as would you have, by your mother’s presence in the negotiations and discussion—whether he wanted her input or not. As your mother, she would most likely have wanted to do so.”

Gemma agreed. “Mother would have.”

“I believe we should hold off on our further discussions until the matter of Captain Colin Broadbank offering for you has been settled.” Her direct gaze held Gemma’s captive as she added, “Don’t you?”