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

Chapter Three

H arriet set down her pen and allowed herself a satisfied smile. It had taken a few days of careful consideration. Questions had been added and discarded and added again. Frustrated at times, she’d left the list to simmer for a day or two and then returned to it with fresh eyes. In the end, she’d whittled it down to eight fairly basic, but hopefully revealing, questions. She picked up the paper and perused them.

How would your friends describe you?

How would your enemies describe you?

How would you describe yourself?

What are your greatest pleasures?

What are your greatest desires?

What do you fear the most?

If you could change one thing in your life, what would it be?

If you could relive one day of your life, which day would you choose?

“Perfect.” She removed her spectacles and pinched the bridge of her nose. Now all she had to do was arrange a rendezvous with the notorious Mrs. Dove-Lyon to present her proposal. She wondered how many copies she might need.

“Three should be enough,” she muttered.

At that moment, a cursory tap came to her door followed by a weary creak as it opened. “Lady Shipley is here to see you, Miss Hurst,” Yates announced. “Shall I send her in?”

Harriet replaced her spectacles and squinted up at the mantel clock. “Goodness, is that the time? Yes, Yates, of course. And arrange for some lemonade, please.”

The servant acknowledged the instructions with a nod and left the door ajar. Moments later, Joanna entered the parlor with a graceful swish of pale-green silk. “Lord above, Harri,” she said as her gaze came to rest on the desk. “Please don’t tell me you’re still working on it.”

“And a good afternoon to you too, Jo.” Harriet beamed a smile, rose to her feet, and brushed the creases from her skirts. “And I’m happy to tell you nothing of the kind.” She lifted the paper and regarded it once more. “The list was finished not more than a few minutes ago. It only remains for me to make copies.”

Joanna produced a sound somewhere between a squeal and a snort. Fingers wiggling, she held out a hand. “Give,” she demanded, her voice edged with excitement. “Let me see.”

Harriet handed it over. Joanna paced as she read, a variety of expressions crossing her face.

“Well?” Harriet linked her fingers together beneath her chin. “What do you think?”

“Er…hmm.” Joanna ceased pacing and gave her head a single firm shake. “No, I’m sorry, my dear, I confess I’m somewhat disappointed. These will not do at all.”

The response crushed Harriet’s anticipation. “Whyever not? They’ve been very carefully thought out. I actually removed a few that I felt were redundant, but what remains should give me a good idea of the man’s character.”

Joanna looked up. “Only if the man answers honestly, which I fear is highly unlikely. You might believe you’ve hooked a saint only to discover, after you’re shackled to him, that you’ve actually netted the devil himself. Which is precisely what happened to me.”

Harriet gasped. “Jo, you exaggerate. Poor Cedric! I’d hardly compare him to the devil.”

“ Poor Cedric?” Joanna huffed. “He doesn’t know how lucky he is to have me. Look, I’ll grant you, some of these questions have worth, but you’ve missed the most pertinent ones that pertain directly to securing a happy marriage.”

Harriet folded her arms. “For example?”

“For example, I would add, um, let me see…at least three or four more.” Joanna tapped a finger to her chin and perused the paper. “First, do you snore loud enough to rattle the windows? Second, do you pass wind frequently and without excusing yourself? And third, are you selfish in bed, or is pleasuring your wife of some importance to you? Oh, and while we’re on the subject of pleasure, fourth, how big is your—?”

“Joanna Frances Shipley, for shame!” Harriet all but choked on her suppressed laughter. “I swear, you are quite beyond hope.”

Joanna wrinkled her nose and handed the paper back. “And you, my dear Harri, deserve a man who will cherish you above all else. Preferably a man not possessed of some irritating habits. Believe me, such things may start out as minor irritations but after several years become valid reasons to poison his wine.”

Harriet grimaced. “I have no expectations of hooking a saint, nor do I want one. I simply hope the answers might give me some insight into the man who is offering to share his life with me. I’m no coveted prize either, but I won’t accept just any offer. We have to be somewhat compatible.”

“There you go again, belittling yourself.” Joanna settled on the sofa and arranged her skirts. “I do wish you wouldn’t. First of all, as you said yourself, you’re not without means. You’re still young, intelligent, pretty, and—”

“Have lived through more than a half dozen seasons without so much as a single proposal,” Harriet interrupted. Heaving a sigh, she sat beside her friend. “I’m not belittling myself, Jo. I’m simply being realistic. Pretty, you say? I’ll admit my features are at least aligned correctly, but I’m no great beauty. Yes, I do have a brain, and I like to use it, but many men consider that a liability in a potential bride. I would never be happy, however, with a man who expects his wife to be docile and subservient. It’s not that I’m looking to share cigars and brandy with the menfolk after dinner. I would simply like some semblance of equality and inclusion in the relationship. He must also want children for more than just inheritance purposes. He must want us to be a family .”

Joanna gave her a dubious look. “I thought you said you didn’t want a saint.”

Harriet sucked air through her teeth. “Am I reaching too high?”

“Just a little. Does age matter? Looks?”

“Age might. It depends. Looks, no.”

Joanna snorted. “So a pockmarked, one-eyed, one-legged, bald hunchback who’s still relatively young would be acceptable.”

Harriet laughed. “I don’t think Mrs. Dove-Lyon would consider such a poor, afflicted soul as a likely candidate.”

“Ah, yes. I need to remind myself that the Black Widow will be the one doing the choosing. Initially, anyway.”

There came a tap on the door, and Yates entered. “Your lemonade, miss,” he said, the jug and glasses rattling a little as he set the tray on a nearby table. “Shall I pour?”

“No, that’s all right, Yates,” Harriet replied. “I’ll see to it. Thank you.”

“Allow me.” Joanna went over to the tray and spoke again once Yates had left. “Have you told anyone else about this madcap venture?”

“No.” Harriet parted with a rueful smile. “Well, actually, yes. Rees is fully aware of all the details.”

“I should probably have words with that servant of yours.” Joanna handed Harriet her glass. “I hold her responsible for leading you astray.”

“I’m not being led. In fact, Rees warned me against going ahead with it.” Harriet took a sip of lemonade. “I thought three copies would be enough. What do you think?”

“God, no. A half dozen copies, at least.” Joanna, glass in hand, settled back into her seat. “Better too many than not enough.”

Harriet gasped. “A half dozen? That’s taking optimism a little far, don’t you think?”

“No farther than your saintly criteria.” Joanna assumed a thoughtful expression. “How are you getting there?”

“To the Lyon’s Den? I’ll hire a carriage.”

“But you’re not going alone, surely.”

“No. I’ll probably take Rees.”

“I’ll go with you.”

Harriet gasped again. “Absolutely not! You can’t risk being seen in a place like that.”

“Oh, I have no intention of going inside,” Joanna replied. “I’ll wait in the carriage.”

“But the appointment will be in the evening, and I have no idea how long it might take. You could be waiting a good while.”

“Then I’ll be sure to take along a blanket or two so I don’t catch a chill.”

“What about Cedric?”

Joanna huffed. “God no, I’d rather take a blanket.”

Harriet laughed. “You know what I mean. It’ll probably be a late night, so you’ll have to stay here. What will you tell him?”

“The truth, or a version of it,” Joanna replied. “I’m visiting you for an evening of female companionship and intend to stay the night.”

“Are you sure? Rees will be more than happy to escort me.”

“My dear, I must confess that my motives are not entirely unselfish. I want to go with you. I want to know how the meeting went and what the Black Widow had to say about your proposal. And I want to know all about it that same day. I can hardly wait.”