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

Chapter Two

February 1817

London

H arriet sneaked a peek at the mantel clock and then silently berated herself. It was, after all, ungracious to be wishing the time away. Besides, only fifteen minutes had passed since her last surreptitious check on the hour. She resolved not to give the wretched timepiece another glance.

The afternoon’s pleasantries had been graciously hosted by Harriet’s dearest friends, Lord and Lady Shipley, at their elegant Westminster townhouse. The aperitifs had been followed by a delicious four-course dinner served promptly at five o’clock. After that, there had been some musical distractions on the pianoforte, card games, and now, as the evening wound to a close, some cordial conversation. Fortunately, it had been a small informal gathering of mutual friends, with no dancing and not a single guest drenched in perfume, the two things that invariably presented Harriet with a challenge.

While she enjoyed listening to music, dancing, with all its whirling and twirling, often resulted in an attack of vertigo, with or without her spectacles. In addition, she also had an inconvenient aversion to perfume, particularly that of a floral nature. The stronger of these would tickle Harriet’s nose like invisible feathers and produce a spate of sneezing. Unfortunately there were many ladies who seemed to bathe in the stuff.

Vertigo and sneezing, it turned out, did not a great dancing partner make. There had been more than one embarrassing incident while in the arms of a potential beau. In order to avoid such embarrassment, Harriet usually sought out the periphery of the ballroom with her redundant dance card. Small in stature and somewhat plain in appearance, she rarely drew a second glance.

It took but one season for Harriet to learn that men preferred beauty over brains. They seemed to have little difficulty, however, ignoring a woman’s physical shortcomings if she had attractive monetary attributes. As for the women, a man’s title and wealth were undoubtedly the most attractive lures in the societal pond.

Title and wealth meant little to Harriet if they came without the devotion and companionship of a worthwhile marriage. She’d hoped to find someone with whom to share life and, if truly fortunate, love. She couldn’t imagine marrying simply for the sake of being married. Now, after several similarly uninspiring seasons, she couldn’t imagine marrying anyone at all. It seemed as though her dream of marital bliss was destined to remain unfulfilled.

Or at least it had until she’d recently decided to pursue a perfectly preposterous solution. She could hardly wait to tell Joanna about it.

A burst of laughter startled her from her musing. She blinked, tapped her spectacles more firmly onto the bridge of her nose, and stopped herself from taking another glance at the clock.

The laughter had come from Lord Fenton, a jolly widower of later middling years who’d been a close friend of Harriet’s father. He’d known Harriet for all her twenty-five years and, though not a blood relative, was as caring as one might be. Harriet loved him dearly.

As for the other guests, Lord and Lady Vaughan lived not far from Harriet on Grosvenor Street and were the perfect example of a successful and devoted marriage. The couple had been ancient for as long as Harriet could remember yet were still active in society and loved to entertain.

Cornelius Kinley taught Latin at Eton and, though barely halfway through his thirties, was the typical hackneyed professor: inarguably intelligent yet scatterbrained and as fusty as the language he taught. His wife, Eva, was a quiet woman with a natural air of contentment and a bit of a twinkle in her eye. Harriet suspected the lady had the upper hand in that particular marriage.

Phineas, the other single gentleman, was the second son of Lord Winston Cullimore, Marquess of Brant. Seeing him at the gathering had been an unexpected and emotional surprise for Harriet. Their friendship had been forged over several years, due to the fact that Phineas had attended Oxford with her brother, Oliver. The last time she’d seen him had been not quite a year ago, on the day of Oliver’s funeral. The recollection of that sad occasion wrung a quiet sigh from her.

Joanna, seated beside Harriet on the sofa, leaned in. “I’m so glad you accepted my invitation, Harri,” she said in a hushed voice. “I know how you dislike socializing, so I purposely kept the invitation list short and mutually relevant. You’ve always adored Lord Fenton, and I managed to track Phineas down through his illustrious father.”

Harriet met her friend’s pretty green-eyed gaze. “You’re very sweet to have considered me. I adore everyone here, and I especially love that you invited Phineas. He and Oliver were good friends.”

“I just wanted you to feel comfortable, dearest. I know it’s been a difficult year for you.”

“Made easier because of friends like you. I do appreciate it, Jo.”

“You’ve enjoyed your day, then?”

“Yes, very much.”

“But you can’t wait till it’s over.”

Harriet shook her head. “That’s not true.”

Joanna chuckled and nodded toward the fireplace. “It’s rather splendid, isn’t it?”

Harriet regarded the logs burning brightly in the hearth. “Yes, very cozy,” she said, smiling.

“No, not the fire. The new mantel clock. You’ve been admiring it constantly since you got here.”

Harriet’s smile dissolved. “Oh, dear. Was I that obvious?”

Joanna laughed. “Only to me, I’m sure. Don’t worry, it’ll be over soon.”

“No, really, I truly have enjoyed myself.” Harriet leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper. “Part of my impatience is due to the fact that I have something exciting to tell you later. In confidence, of course.”

Joanna’s eyes widened. “Really? I knew there was something going on in that head of yours. You’ve been positively preoccupied lately. What is it?”

“I said I’d tell you later,” Harriet replied, unable to prevent a warm flush of excitement rising in her cheeks. “Did I not say that? I’m sure I did.”

“You did, but I can’t wait. And now you’re blushing! Can I at least have a clue? Have you met someone?”

“No.”

“No, I can’t have a clue, or no, you haven’t met someone?”

“Jo, I said I’ll tell—”

“What the devil are you two muttering about?” Lord Shipley demanded, a dark brow arched in question. “Come on, ladies. Out with it.”

“Um, actually, my lord, I was just thanking your lady wife for arranging this wonderful gathering,” Harriet said, straight-faced. “It’s been very enjoyable.”

“Indeed, it has,” Lady Vaughan said. “And it’s been lovely to see you out and enjoying yourself, Harriet, my dear. It’s what your dear mama would have wanted for you. Far more preferable than moping around on your own in that townhouse. You know you’re always welcome to call on us if you feel the need for company.”

“I know, my lady, and I’m grateful,” Harriet replied. “But I’m not really alone. I have the servants. Rees fusses over me as much as she did Mama.”

“Servants! Pah!” Lord Vaughan, his right eye magnified behind his quizzing glass, furled his lip. “You should be keeping company with people of your station, young lady. The season is upon us. Plenty going on. Get out there and snag yourself a husband before you get too long in the tooth.”

“Let the girl be, Georgie.” Lady Vaughan snapped her fan open and wafted it frantically beneath her chin. “Take no notice of him, dear. He’s had a tad too much port, I think.”

Lord Vaughan harrumphed. “Too much? I’ve only had two glasses of the stuff.”

His wife patted his knee. “Nevertheless, my lord, it’s perhaps time we headed home. Can we give you a lift, Harriet, or are you staying here for the night?”

“I’m staying here, my lady,” Harriet replied, “but thank you for the offer.”

Their departure started a trend. Not a half hour later, only Phineas remained. He stood in the hallway with Harriet, who watched as he readied himself to leave. He was a handsome man, she thought. Though not remarkably tall, he nevertheless had a solid physique, straight-legged and broad-shouldered. His hair—a rich, dark brown—had a natural wave that mellowed his appearance. He always looked a person in the eye when speaking, smiled readily, and had a gentle nature. Indeed, he did not appear to possess any unappealing vices. All fine qualities in a potential husband.

“I’ve been remiss in not keeping in touch since Oliver’s death, Harriet,” he said, shrugging on his greatcoat. “I’ll endeavor to remedy that in the future. I’ve often thought about you and wondered how you were keeping. Do you still reside at Huxley during the summer?”

“Not since Oliver died,” Harriet responded with a shake of her head. “Huxley is no longer my home, Phineas. If not for Mama’s legacy, I’d probably be seeking employment and accommodation.”

Phineas frowned. “But your cousin would have let you stay on at the manor, surely!”

“Clement is a second cousin, and yes, he did offer to let me stay but only if I agreed to marry him.” Harriet suppressed a shudder. “I would rather drink sour milk, as Oliver used to say. I’m fortunate to have the townhouse, and Jo has already invited me to their Dorset estate once the season is over. But what of you? Are you still pursuing a legal career?”

“I am indeed.” His shoulders straightened. “In fact, I completed my apprenticeship this spring and am now a fully-fledged solicitor in the process of building my new practice.”

“Oh, but that’s wonderful news. Congratulations! You should have said something at dinner. Such an achievement is deserving of a toast.”

“Thank you,” he replied, “but I’m not one for blowing my own trumpet. Never have been.”

“Well, if I’m ever in need of a solicitor, I’ll know who to contact,” Harriet said. “Do you have a card?”

“As a matter of fact, yes, I do.” He fished a card case from his pocket. “Here you go. And please don’t hesitate if you do find yourself in need of me. I’ve always had a great fondness for you, Harriet.”

“Thank you, Phineas.” As Harriet studied the card, a thought wandered into her mind. Could it be that Phineas saw her as more than Oliver’s little sister? What if he did? The notion was not at all unwelcome. She could do worse than be married to a solicitor. Though he didn’t exactly make her heart flutter, she genuinely liked him. Could it be that what she hoped for had been right under her nose all along?

The answer came a moment later.

“You should also know that I have recently become engaged,” Phineas said, as if he knew exactly what Harriet had been thinking, “although it has yet to be officially announced. Miss Lavinia Ballantine is the third and youngest daughter of Lord Geoffrey Ballantine, Earl of Sudbury.”

Harriet smiled over her demolished imaginings. “Yet more excellent news! I’m so pleased for you, Phineas. I know Oliver would have been delighted for you as well.”

Later, when the house lay quiet, Harriet sat on the same sofa as before with Joanna. The fire had dwindled, the glowing embers pulsing like a heart, their brilliance slowly fading.

“Thank you again, Jo.” Harriet heaved a contented sigh. “I really did enjoy my day.”

“Pleased to hear it.” Joanna handed her a small, flat package, wrapped in linen and tied loosely with a white silk ribbon. “I bought you a gift, dearest. Saw it and couldn’t resist. I hope you like it.”

Harriet set the package on her lap, undid the ribbon, and folded back the linen wrapping.

“Oh!” She removed the delicate fichu and let it fall open. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

“It’s Mechlin lace. Unique and very special, not unlike yourself.” Joanna leaned in and kissed Harriet’s cheek. “Right, I can’t bear it any longer. What is it you have to tell me?”

Harriet glanced at the door, reassuring herself of their seclusion. “I want to be married, Jo,” she said. “I want to have a family.”

Joanna looked nonplussed. “Hmm. I do believe you’ve informed me of that on several previous occasions. Do you have someone in mind?”

“No, not yet. And I’m running out of time.”

“You’re five-and-twenty, Harri.” Joanna reached over and squeezed her hand. “You have plenty of time.”

“I disagree.” Harriet set her gift on the side table and turned to face her friend. “I had my first season at eighteen years of age, Jo. That was seven years ago. And here I am, still on the shelf and getting long in the tooth!”

Joanna clucked her tongue. “I’m sure Lord Vaughan meant no offense. He’s naturally abrupt.”

“I wasn’t offended,” Harriet replied. “Truth is, if I lowered my self-imposed standards, I could probably marry someone tomorrow, but I’m not prepared to do that.”

“So what are you prepared to do?” Joanna asked. “It sounds as though you have something up your sleeve.”

Harriet cleared her throat. “Have you ever heard of an establishment called the Lyon’s Den?”

Joanna gasped. “Harriet Georgiana Hurst, what the devil are you up to?”

Harriet chuckled. “I must assume, by your reaction, that you have heard of it.”

“Oh yes, I’ve heard of it,” she replied. “I’ve also heard what goes on there. It’s a gaming hell, Harriet. You can’t possibly expect to find a decent husband at the tables.”

“Actually, I just might,” Harriet replied. “It was Rees who told me all about it.”

Joanna touched the back of her hand to Harriet’s forehead. “No fever, so obviously you have completely lost your mind. And Rees had likely been at the gin.”

“Rees doesn’t imbibe, and you haven’t yet heard what is on my mind.” Harriet squirmed in her seat. “The Lyon’s Den is more than a gaming hell, Jo.”

“The devil you say.” Joanna gave a wry smile. “I would never have guessed.”

Harriet waved a dismissive hand. “The establishment is apparently owned by a lady called—”

“Bessie Dove-Lyon. The Black Widow. Yes, I know of her. She’s something of a mysterious character. Rarely shows her face to anyone, I’ve heard.”

“I’ve heard that too. But did you know that she arranges marriages?”

“Of course. It’s no great secret,” Joanna replied. “Oh, Harri, surely you’re not thinking—”

“She charges a rather hefty fee, but apparently she’s very good at what she does. I believe her usual clients are women who have been ruined somehow and are seeking husbands. However, Rees told me she also arranges marriages for wealthy women, widowed or otherwise, to men who are sorely in need of blunt. I have no scandal attached to my name, nor am I a society heiress, but I’m not without means. In any case, I don’t see why she wouldn’t help me find a suitable husband as long as I’m willing to pay. Just imagine! No more society marriage marts. No more unmarked dance cards or ballrooms that smell like a perfumery. It’s a perfect solution, don’t you think?”

Shaking her head, Joanna looked away for a moment. “I think no such thing. It’s folly at best, and you have to be mad to even consider it.” She turned back. “Which makes me wonder why I’m rather excited about the entire idea.”

Harriet clapped her hands. “You mustn’t tell anyone. This is between us. For now, at least.”

Joanna drew an imaginary X on her chest. “Cross my heart. But how can you be sure this woman will find you a suitable match? You might end up with someone you cannot abide.”

“She’s extremely perceptive, apparently. Good at reading people and good at matching them. You make an excellent point, though, which is why I’ve come up with a plan to better my chances. I just hope the lady will consider it and not take it as an insult to her skills.”

“What’s the plan?”

“Well, it occurred to me that when one is applying for a position, it is customary to present documentation to support one’s application. A curriculum vitae, or references, for example. Which is why I intend to compile a list of questions for potential suitors. Their answers will hopefully give me some insight into their characters.” She wrinkled her nose. “That’s assuming, of course, I will actually have some potential suitors.”

“I’m certain you will, dearest. But I’m not certain this list is a good idea.”

“I don’t see why not. I’m not going to ask anything too personal. Just general questions about likes and dislikes, that kind of thing. There’s no point meeting someone with whom I have nothing in common.”

“Have you arranged an appointment with the Black Widow already?”

“No, not yet. I want to wait till I’ve compiled my list. It shouldn’t take long. Perhaps another week or so.” Harriet studied her friend for a moment. “Despite what you said, I get the feeling you’re hesitant about something. Be honest. Do you think this is a bad idea?”

“Would it stop you if I did?”

“No.”

Joanna scoffed. “As I thought. Look, it’s not that I think it’s a bad idea. I’m just afraid that if things don’t work out the way you hope, you might—”

“Hurl myself into the Thames?” Harriet shook her head. “Don’t worry. I’m fully aware there’s a good chance I’ll be facing disappointment. If that turns out to be the case, I shall accept defeat with grace, acquire a fluffy little lapdog, and resign myself to spinsterhood. I know this seems like a desperate measure, Jo, but right now…” She sighed. “Right now I have to believe there is someone, somewhere, who will look past my rather unremarkable facade and see the worth of the woman behind it.”

Joanna gave Harriet’s hand another squeeze. “I cannot believe someone hasn’t done so already. I’m sure your Prince Charming is out there somewhere. I just hope this mysterious matchmaker can find him for you.”