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

Chapter Sixteen

M rs. Pritchard bustled into the bedchamber. “Are you up to having company, Miss Atherton? Madame Beaudoine and her ladies wanted to meet with you before they leave.”

“Yes, of course.” She rose from the bed, smoothed her skirts.

Mrs. Pritchard waved her hand and a footman entered, carrying a large tea tray with an ornate silver tea service. He was followed by another footman who balanced a tray adorned with biscuits and an assortment of tarts.

Gemma’s stomach rumbled. The housekeeper smiled as she stepped aside.

Madame Beaudoine and her two seamstresses, Yvette and Mignonette, entered the room.

“ Alors!” she cried as she reached for Gemma’s hands. “I am so happy Viscount Moreland came to the rescue! I feared for your life, Cherie .”

“We all did,” Mrs. Pritchard told her.

“We have much to discuss over tea. Then we will fit the gown you will wear when you wed your hero. No ?” Madame Beaudoine asked.

Gemma could not help but relax surrounded by the women who had been held captive along with her. Though they had not suffered with a gun jammed beneath their chins, fear they would be shot when the dastard Harkwell turned his pistol on them had been a palpable thing.

The women needed to share this time together as much as she did. They would help one another get through this harrowing event. One that could have ended far differently if not for Viscount Moreland. She intended to do just that, sensing he was not looking forward to his future as a peer of the realm. She would do her best to be at his side when he needed her, lending her aid wherever she could.

The tea fortified her, while the sweets tamped down the emptiness in her belly. Nerves were present but she would not let them rule the day.

“More tea?” Mrs. Pritchard offered.

Gemma readily accepted. “I hadn’t realized how parched I’d become. Thank you.”

When the older woman had filled everyone’s teacups, Madame Beaudoine stood saucer in hand and teacup raised high, with a nod in their direction. Yvette and Mignonette stood.

When Gemma rose, thinking they were about to toast someone. Mrs. Pritchard motioned for her to stay seated before rising to stand beside Lettie, joining the others.

Teacups raised, Madame Beaudoine cleared her throat to speak. “To Miss Gemma Atherton. A braver mademoiselle I have yet to meet.”

“You showed great courage today, Miss Atherton,” Mrs. Pritchard added. “His lordship was so pleased that you held your ground until that last moment. Did you know he saw what was happening through the window overlooking the alley?”

“I had no idea he was behind me,” Gemma admitted.

“There’s a doorway that opens into the alley. If you walk behind Templeton House, you’ll find the stables there. That’s where his lordship had been before he was in the alleyway.”

“ Dieu merci ,” Madame Beaudoine murmured. “Thank God, he saw and acted quickly.”

Mrs. Pritchard motioned for everyone to be seated again before speaking. “I do hope that today’s events will not prevent you from returning for Miss Atherton’s fittings.”

“I will be honored to return with the glorious creations I plan to create for Mademoiselle’s —soon to be, Viscountess Moreland, wardrobe. His lordship has a good eye for color. I will keep his suggestions in mind and return in two days with a selection of fabrics for you to choose from.” Her eyes danced at the thought. “You will have a magnifique wardrobe, never fear!”

Gemma felt her cheeks heat but ignored the blush she knew stained her cheeks. Mrs. Pritchard, Madame Beaudoine, and the others would have to become accustomed to her as much as she would have to become accustomed to them. It would be a bit of give and take—probably more on her side than the others, in order to be accommodating as she sensed the viscount would wish her to be.

Their tea finished, Madame Beaudoine rose and walked to the wardrobe standing against the wall. Opening the door, she pulled out the gown Gemma would wear when she married Viscount Moreland—a gown bathed in moonlight.

They spoke of happy things as they adjusted a smidge of fabric here and bit more fabric there. Finally, the modiste was satisfied. After Lettie helped her out of the dress, Madame Beaudoine clapped her hands and motioned her women forward. They would sew the minor adjustments that needed to be made.

“His lordship’s eyes will pop out when he sees you wearing moonlight. No ?” Madame Beaudoine asked with a satisfied smile.

The ladies all spoke at once to assure Madame Beaudoine that her creation was exquisite and that with Gemma’s dark tresses, warm brown eyes, and courageous heart, she would breathe new life and hope into the room where darkness had occurred only a short while ago.

The altered dress hung in the open wardrobe as the footmen whisked the tea trays away. Madame Beaudoine reached for Gemma’s hand, clasping it tightly. “You will bring honor to the viscount’s name and banish what occurred today with your courage and your kindness.” She released Gemma’s hand and smiled. “ Adieu, Mademoiselle . You shall be Viscountess Moreland when next we meet.”

The weight of the title was daunting, but if the viscount could shoulder the obligations that came with his title, then she would do the same. “Thank you, Madame. I’ve never owned a gown so exquisite—and the others you brought with you are lovely.” Turning to Yvette and Mignonette, she thanked them as well.

Mrs. Pritchard paused in the doorway. “His lordship expressly mentioned that it would be a favor to him if you were to rest until it is time to dress for the ceremony.”

Gemma’s eyes widened at Viscount Moreland’s request, but quickly agreed. “Of course.”

Noting the shadow of worry easing into her lady maid’s gaze, Gemma reached for her hand, asking, “Would you mind sitting with me for a bit, Lettie?”

Mrs. Pritchard answered for the young woman. “Lettie would be happy to, won’t you?”

Without missing a beat, her lady’s maid assured her she would stay.

When the housekeeper left to show Madame Beaudoine and her ladies out, Lettie sighed, “Thank you for understanding that I was not ready to leave you.”

Knowing the young woman had something on her mind, Gemma motioned for her to join her at the side table they’d used for their tea. “If we are going to become accustomed to one another—and I confess it will probably be more of an adjustment for me than you, will you tell me what has you so worried?”

Lettie’s eyes widened at the question. It was a few moments before she replied. “The look in that man’s eyes was so angry, so wild.”

Gemma agreed. “I was not certain whether or not help would arrive in time.”

“Yet you didn’t break down,” Lettie reminded her.

“I remember crying,” Gemma said.

“Quietly. Though the tears were there, you were silent as if you knew one sound would push him into an action that might have ended your life,” Lettie whispered.

“Or turn and shoot one of you!” Gemma added. “It was what I feared the most, bringing death and destruction to the viscount’s door, when in truth, he’d been so kind. He didn’t deserve what occurred. He deserves a life that is not complicated.”

“I beg to differ with you, my love.”

Gemma’s head spun toward the deep voice she’d recognize anywhere. “Your lordship!”

He looked at the ceiling and gave an exaggerated sigh. “I do hope that once we are wed, you will use my given name as I intend to use yours, Gemma.”

Lord, but the man had heat building within her, sparked by the memory of the kisses they shared. Had he enjoyed their kisses as much as she had? Would he find pleasure in their marriage bed? Good Lord, shouldn’t she be more worried about whether or not she would be able to please him ?

He strode into the room, reaching for her hand. “Whatever you are thinking, my love, cease at once!”

His command brought her back to the present with a start. “I do not like when you bark orders at me as if we were aboard your ship!”

Lettie’s soft gasp had Gemma apologizing, “Do forgive me, your lordship. I don’t know what came over me.”

He chuckled. “Never keep your thoughts to yourself. I may not like hearing all that is on your mind—as I definitely did not like hearing what you just said, however, I can be a reasonable man.”

Gemma was not certain how many times he’d been called upon as captain of his vessel to acquiesce or be reasonable. Probably not many. She would make the effort not to blurt out her thoughts until she had the time to get to know her husband-to-be and judge his moods. It wouldn’t do to irritate him as she had just now.

She would err on the side of caution until they got to know one another better. Hope for their future filled her. “Thank you, for your patience and understanding.”

He cleared his throat. “Lettie, would you mind leaving us for a few moments, and close the door on your way out?”

Lettie’s mouth opened and closed but no words emerged.

Mrs. Pritchard loomed in the doorway behind the viscount. “Lettie will most definitely not be leaving the two of you alone until you are wed, your lordship. We’ve already been over this. Were you not listening?”

He looked as if he were about to level another command but, surprisingly, his earlier calm returned and, with it, his control. “Gossips, scandal, ruination, family name in tatters,” he responded. “Have I left anything out?”

Mrs. Pritchard frowned. “You must understand, your lordship, that Earl Templeton has instilled his desire that all in his employ—and now yours, act and speak in a way befitting the Moreland name. I cannot in good conscience allow anything to occur that would undo all of his efforts to keep your family name unsullied.”

At her words, he extended his hand. When she offered hers, he grasped it and apologized. “Forgive me for not remembering all of the lessons I’d overheard when Father was instructing Adam in all that would be expected of him as viscount.”

She smiled at him. “You will do the title credit, your lordship. Of that, I have no doubt.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Pritchard. I shall need input from you and Hanson. The both of you have been running Templeton House the way my father expects it to be run while I’ve been away at sea.”

“It would be our pleasure to lend our aid in any way you require.”

“Thank you.” He nodded and turned back to Gemma’s lady’s maid. “Lettie?”

Mrs. Pritchard huffed. “Except in that regard. Lettie will remain and you will not linger, your lordship. For the sake of your father, your family, and your bride-to-be, please?”

He grumbled beneath his breath, but Gemma could not make out what he’d said. With a final bow, he quit the room.

Mrs. Pritchard stood guard until he’d descended the staircase. With a heavy sigh, she turned back, shaking her head. “You will find, Miss Atherton, that the Broadbank men carry the heavy weight of their Moreland title.”

Gemma readily agreed.

“And their stubborn nature,” the housekeeper added with a small smile. “Even Edmund carries the trait, though it’s not as strong as it is in his lordship. You will take care not to vex his lordship, at least not right away?”

“You may rest assured, I will do all in my power to keep the lines of communication open, not do anything untoward that will vex the viscount.”

“Thank you, Miss Atherton.” She stood for a moment longer, her hand on the door, before adding, “You will make a wonderful viscountess.”

With that, she slipped through the doorway, closing the door behind her. When it shut, Lettie rose to her feet. “Now then, Miss, would you care to undress to rest? You may be more comfortable resting in your nightrail.”

Gemma shook her head. “I don’t believe I will be able to sleep. But thank you for your suggestion. Do you have a book to read or something to pass the time while I stay in bed as I promised?”

Lettie’s eyes widened at the thought. “You wouldn’t mind if I were to read while keeping you company?”

“Not at all. Do you wish to fetch a book from your room?”

Lettie’s smile was disarming as nodded then dashed to the door.

Gemma was smiling, watching her maid open it and skip down the hallway. She looked forward to getting to know her maid better. They were close in age, and it would be wonderful to finally have a friend. Father had discouraged any close association with other young women her age and social level. He always wanted her to marry into a title. He’d get his wish, just not the title he’d hoped she would marry into—or the control he’d wished to exert over her inheritance once she’d married.

Lettie returned with a book held tight to her breast. “Is there anything you require before I help you into bed?”

Gemma giggled. “I’m not getting into the bed. I shall sit on top of the covers, until Mrs. Pritchard returns. Then you shall help me dress, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Lettie agreed. “It is part of my duties.”

Gemma thought to ask the extent of her duties, but her gaze dropped to the book in her maid’s hands. Before Lettie could suggest otherwise, she scooted onto the bed, and leaned against the pillow she’d propped up.

“Wouldn’t you rather lay down?”

“I’m not in the least tired,” Gemma insisted, while her maid settled into one of the chairs against the wall and opened her book.

Gemma woke with a start, blinking to bring her eyes into focus.

Her eyes slowly focused, first on Lettie, and then the viscount— the viscount? “What are you doing here?”

His laugh rumbled through the room. “Lettie and I were having a discussion about her duties and whether or not I should wake you up in time to change before the vicar arrives.” His charming grin and conspiratorial wink melted her heart. “She seems to think that you’ll want to change and wear the gown Madame Beaudoine brought earlier before…”

His voice trailed off. Was he thinking about the unhinged intruder and having to save her from being held at gunpoint?

Gemma struggled to right herself because she’d slumped over while she’d slept. “I’d love it if you’d allow me time to freshen up and change.”

He stepped closer to the bed and held out his hand. She grabbed hold of it and gave it an encouraging squeeze. “Is there enough time? I wouldn’t want to keep the vicar waiting.”

He lifted her hand to his lips, met her gaze and held it as Gemma leaned closer to him.

He pressed his lips unerringly to one knuckle at a time. His gray eyes deepened to the color of summer thunderclouds.

Gemma sighed and leaned even closer. Would he pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless again?

He caught her before she hit her head on the bedside table.

Lettie’s shocked gasp filled the room as Mrs. Pritchard stood glowering in the open doorway, hands on her hips.

“Your lordship!”

Viscount Moreland glared at her as he straightened with Gemma cradled against his chest. “Would you rather I let Gemma fall out of bed and hit her head on the table?”

His housekeeper sniffed and lifted her chin. “Aren’t you supposed to be changing before you go downstairs to wait for the vicar to arrive?”

The viscount’s gaze met Gemma’s and he chuckled. “Mrs. Pritchard has been running our lives for so long, she forgets that she’s not in charge.”

“As far as propriety, protecting your future wife’s reputation, and that of your family’s name—I am in charge!”

“I beg to differ,” he corrected.

“The earl himself tasked me with the duty.”

“When would he have had time?” the viscount demanded. “I’d only sent the missive to him last night.”

The older woman sighed. “Earl Templeton made his wishes known when your poor brother was in the worst grips of that deadly fever. Should you happen to find someone you wished to offer marriage to, I was to do all in my power—and Hanson would do all in his—to protect the young woman’s reputation and that of the family.”

“I see.”

Gemma could tell the news did not sit well with the viscount. She gently cupped his face in her hand. “Thank you for catching me, your lordship.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Would you kindly put me down?”

“If I must,” he groaned.

“You must!” Mrs. Pritchard called out from where she stood guard on the threshold of the bedchamber.

He gently set Gemma on her feet. “Is a quarter of an hour sufficient time for you to get ready?”

“Is there a reason to rush?” Mrs. Pritchard asked.

Viscount Moreland sighed. “If I tell you the whole of it, will you give us a few moments?”

She nodded.

“Captain Coventry has a few questions that he needs the answers to before Miss Atherton and I marry. The matter is of the utmost importance and would have an impact on our lives.”

“Thank you for trusting me, your lordship. I shall make certain that Miss Atherton is ready,” she replied. “But you will not question her alone in this room.”

“Where in the bloody hell do you suggest?” He closed his eyes and sighed deeply. Sorrow filled his gaze as he met that of his housekeeper. “Forgive me, Mrs. Pritchard. I did not mean to use such language when speaking to you.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I’m used to addressing the men aboard my ship…” his voice trailed off as if he’d just remembered he no longer had a ship.

“Quarter of an hour,” Mrs. Pritchard reminded him to jolt him back to the present.

He bowed to Gemma and shut the door behind him.

“Will he be all right?” Gemma could not keep the worry from her voice.

“His lordship will manage. He has the innate ability to conquer whatever he sets his mind to. He’ll succeed because he feels he owes it to his father and his brother’s memory.”

“You’ll let me know if there’s something I can do?”

Mrs. Pritchard readily agreed. “Of course.”

Lettie helped Gemma undress. And while Gemma quickly washed, her maid set out the dress she would wear to marry Viscount Moreland.

The two women happily fussed over Gemma. Lettie smoothed the lines of the silver dress and stepped back. “You look lovely, my lady.”

Mrs. Pritchard agreed, checked the timepiece pinned to her bodice and smiled. “It’s time.”

Colin’s butler looked no worse for the wear as he walked toward the viscount. “How are you feeling, Hanson?”

“Fully recovered, thank you.”

“Excellent.”

“Vicar Dalrymple has just arrived. Shall I have him wait in the library?”

“The sitting room, I believe.”

Hanson waited a beat before responding. Viscount Moreland sensed the older retainer’s hesitation and the reason for it. “’Twould be best to banish what happened there earlier with a happy occasion. Don’t you agree, Hanson?”

As he’d hoped, the man smiled. “Of course, your lordship.”

“Excellent. Please offer him a glass of port, brandy, or whiskey. I need to make use of my valet’s services.”

Viscount Moreland strode down the long hallway to his bedchamber. His valet was ready and waiting to help him. It wasn’t until he’d removed his waistcoat that he noted the blood staining it. He was not bothered in the slightest by the sight of it since he’d had that and more soaking into his captain’s uniform over the years.

Instead, he felt immense satisfaction remembering the way his fist had connected with the lecher’s jaw, the force of the blow radiating up his arm.

If he hadn’t knocked the man out cold with one blow, he would have been tempted to knock him in the back of the head with the pistol he’d taken from the bastard. He couldn’t be sorry that the man had split his lip when he’d bounced off the curved wooden leg of the settee before landing on the floor.

His valet handed him a soft linen towel to dry his face and hands. “Would you care to shave, your lordship?”

He ran a hand over his face. No whiskers . “This morning’s shave will do for now. The vicar is waiting.”

His valet smiled, holding up a bottle-green and white striped waistcoat and one of a deep wine.

The viscount stared at them and, for a moment, panicked. How had his life come down to such decisions as to which waistcoat to wear? He shoved the panic aside and stated, “The blue waistcoat, I think.”

His valet returned the others to the viscount’s wardrobe and pulled out two blue waistcoats.

Viscount Moreland gave an audible sigh and nodded to the darker of the two.

“Excellent choice, your lordship.” As his valet helped him into it, he vowed to have a long talk with the man about dressing himself without interference. When the man held up two frockcoats—which looked remarkably the same to him, he pointed to the one on the left.

He paused to check his reflection in the looking glass before thanking his valet. Time to take the next step toward his new life on land. Sending up a silent prayer for patience, he strode from his bedchamber.

The vicar waited .