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

Chapter Three

M adeline had no idea what the inside of a gaming hell would look like. In truth, she was a bit disappointed that she’d been ushered in through the servants’ entrance and swept up the stairs to a small salon without ever seeing the den of iniquity and vice she had hoped for. Well, perhaps hope was not the right word. But she’d expected something so sinful to look sinful. Instead, it looked like any number of fine and luxuriously appointed homes she had visited while in London. There was nothing outwardly to differentiate it.

The room she had been shown to was decorated in shades of cream and gold, accented with black velvet drapes fringed with gold and a fireplace surrounded by black marble. Each of the tables was topped with black marble, as well. It was luxurious but it was not a feminine room. Considering that the hell was operated by Mrs. Dove-Lyon, it was a surprisingly masculine space. But then, it was a place she would want men to feel comfortable.

“It was my husband’s private sanctuary.”

The voice sounded like that of an older woman, like so many of the society matrons. It was well-modulated, each syllable perfectly enunciated. But when Madeline turned to see the woman who spoke, she immediately recognized that Mrs. Dove-Lyon was much older than she had imagined from her letters. Still, her wig, despite being old-fashioned, was perfectly coiffed and very flattering. Her facial features had been artfully enhanced with rouge and powder.

“It’s a lovely room. I was thinking it appeared to be a masculine space,” Madeline observed, striving for a tone that sounded sophisticated rather than nervous and awestruck.

“Most of the rooms here are masculine by design,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon replied. “My private quarters are less so, but this is an establishment for men. It is important that they not be reminded of the fussy and overly done drawing rooms and parlors of the women in their lives… past, present or future. You are well, Miss Keyes?”

“I am quite well, thank you. I trust you are well, also?”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon smiled. “Such a well-mannered young woman! It’s second nature to you, isn’t it? Even when society has turned on you like a pack of snarling dogs, you still play by the rules of engagement they have instilled in you over the years.”

“I think that is a fair assessment,” Madeline stated. “If I wish to resume my place in society, should I not maintain my adherence to their rules? At least outwardly.”

“They do not determine your place, Miss Keyes. You do. Follow the rules when it serves your purpose, but do not be afraid to break them if it serves your needs better. Take a page from your sister’s book, in that regard. She certainly didn’t play by anyone else’s rules when it came to getting what she wanted, now did she?”

Madeline’s eyebrows arched upward in surprise. “I didn’t tell you all of these things. I only told you that I required assistance in finding a husband and that I needed to do so quickly.”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon smiled in a coy fashion. “I am very particular about whom I will take on as a client, if you will. I investigated the matter quite thoroughly. Would you care to know what I discovered?”

Madeline’s stomach tightened into a knot. “I think I ought to know. That is a very different thing from wishing to know, isn’t it?”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon smiled sympathetically at that. But then she continued in a very matter of fact tone. “Your sister has been meeting with your betrothed for the past year in secret. Did you know that?”

“I did not. But in the last few weeks… well, I’ve done a considerable amount of examining events with the benefit of hindsight,” Madeline stated.

Mrs. Dove-Lyon smiled. “She accused you of being ruined… of being unchaste, I think her exact words were. Certainly a somewhat sophisticated accusation for a young and innocent girl, isn’t it? Indeed, her ability to speak of such matters publicly hints at a certain lack of modesty and of the presence of a sophistication a maidenly young lady would not have. How surprised all of those society matrons will be when she presents her new husband with an heir in seven months.”

It shouldn’t have made it worse. Madeline was truly puzzled by the fact that somehow it did. The sting of it was made even more bitter by the fact that they’d been carrying on for so long behind her back. And that she had been a blind fool certainly did not help matters. Believing that it had been something that happened suddenly or that perhaps Coraline had duped Edmund in some way had offered her some degree of comfort. But he hadn’t been duped at all. She had. His short temper, his lack of patience with her, his seeming boredom in her presence that had occurred over the past year—it was all becoming quite clear.

“I thought perhaps it had been a few weeks,” Madeline stated. “I didn’t realize it had been so… well, extended, I suppose.”

“You held your sister to blame entirely. And she is undoubtedly a villain in this piece. But so is he. Make no mistake in that, Miss Keyes. If a man can be tempted to stray, he was never yours to start,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon stated. The sentiment might have been harsh, but it was couched very gently and with no small degree of empathy. “The date for your wedding was set six months back, and he’d already been intimate with her at that time. So if you think her a monster, you must think him one also.”

“You are quite right, Mrs. Dove-Lyon. They are equally villainous. That makes it even more important that I make a suitable match… that I marry well enough to leave no doubt that I am better for having broken irrevocably with them both,” Madeline stated firmly. Her course was set and there was no looking back.

“The gentleman I have in mind for you is downstairs,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon stated. “I’ve spoken with him. He has recently come into the title, somewhat unexpectedly as a second son. Unfortunately, having lost his father and his brother recently, the death taxes have been quite a burden.”

“So his need for a fortune was not precipitated by a predilection to vice, at least,” Madeline surmised.

“Precisely. I’ve always felt that one being in need of a fortune does not necessarily make one a fortune hunter. In his case, I find that to be especially true. That being said, he can be a bit highhanded. Do not tolerate it, Miss Keyes. Begin as you mean to go on,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon instructed with a nod that set her wig to bobbing. “Now, you may wait here and I will send him up. If you are certain, that is. There is no shame in taking time to heal, Miss Keyes. You’ve been through a terrible ordeal and rushing into a marriage with a stranger might salvage your reputation, but it is no guarantee of happiness.”

“Perhaps not. But a reclusive spinsterhood locked away in the frigid north is guaranteed unhappiness,” Madeline stated.

“I would certainly agree with that sentiment,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon replied with a shudder.

“I attempted to marry for what I thought was love and that ended in complete disaster. I think a more pragmatic approach is much more the thing now, but I do thank you for your concern, Mrs. Dove-Lyon.” A woman she had never met showed more concern for her feelings and her happiness than either of her parents had. That was certainly a disheartening revelation. “I’m confident in my decision.”

“Very well.”

Oliver hadn’t been certain what to expect. Generally speaking, he couldn’t think of a more unorthodox way to meet one’s intended bride than via a marriage broker tucked up inside a gaming hell. Following one of Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s inner guards, as it were, back to the upper floor and to a different room than he’d been entertained in earlier, he had to wonder just how often such arrangements were engineered within the walls of the Lyon’s Den. It seemed her matchmaking was even more in demand than her games of chance.

“In here, your lordship,” the servant said, but he did not open the door that he’d halted before. “I shall leave you to your privacy.”

“Do you even know who is waiting on the other side of that door?” Oliver asked. It wasn’t a reproach so much as curiosity. As strange it was to be involved in the midst of it, the process itself was quite fascinating to him.

“No, my lord. I have no need to know. Mrs. Dove-Lyon makes it a point to protect the identity of the ladies to whom she offers her very particular services. Only she and their prospective husbands will ever see their faces or know their names, barring unusual circumstances,” the servant explained. “Our discretion in these matters is a requirement of our continued employment. It is also a point of pride for those of us who have been in Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s employ for an extended time.”

“And that same level of discretion is not warranted for prospective husbands?”

“No, my lord. A man can enter this building and not be ruined by having done so,” the servant pointed out.

It was a valid point and one, having been so removed from so-called polite society for so long, that he had not considered. Most of those he associated with were on the fringes of society, as well. Artists and rogues, bastards barely acknowledged by their fathers, women known more for their loose morals than anything else—that was the company he had kept for so long. As a way to punish his own father. He could recognize that now but, at the time, he had not given it such deep thought. Since his father’s death, he’d been a recluse entirely. It had been all about his roses, about achieving the glory of creating something entirely new. His brother, before he’d passed, had often remarked on the fact that he’d cut himself off from the world and had chosen not to be a part of it. It had always been followed by a caution that such an action would only create regret. With both his father and his brother gone, with the opportunity to be more a part of their lives forever gone from him, he had to wonder if that was not accurate.

Alone in the corridor, he felt something that might have been a frisson of nerves as he knocked on that door. The voice that called out to him was light, airy, well-modulated and completely feminine. And it bade him enter. Forcing that nervousness back down, locking it away just as he’d locked away all of his anger and grief, he braced himself for what was to come.

Opening the door, he stepped into the room and felt instantly at ease. It was not a fussy chamber full of delicate furnishings and pointless objects d’art. The furniture was heavy and of dark wood, the mahogany stained and polished until it was almost like onyx. The textiles were all cream and gold. But the light was dim. Only a few candles burned about the room and no fire had been laid in the hearth in deference to the day’s warmth.

She had her back to him. Her figure was not slim, but not overly voluptuous. He would never have described it as average though. The proportion of feminine curves was too perfect for that. Her hair was quite dark and piled up in some configuration of curls that seemed to defy reason. It gave the illusion that plucking a single pin would send the mass spilling over her shoulders. Having been intimately acquainted with a number of women in his life, he knew beyond any shadow of doubt that there was always more than one hairpin required to achieve such an effect.

“I am Lord Oliver Easton, Earl of Foxmore,” he offered. “And you have me at a disadvantage as I do not know your name.”

“You did not deduce it from what Mrs. Dove-Lyon told you of my situation? It—and I—have been quite the talk of the ton , after all,” she said, turning partially so that he could see the hint of her profile. A softly curved cheek, a stubborn chin and the slight protrusion of a full and pouty lower lip were all that was visible to him.

“I am not much acquainted with what is being tossed about in gossip rags or by the gossips themselves,” he said, wishing she would turn more, wishing that he could see her fully. “In point of fact, I have very little to do with society, at all. Though my understanding of your requirements indicates that shall change.”

“Only temporarily,” she said. “I have little patience left for society, myself. But I am a perverse enough creature to want to exit it on my own terms rather than because my welcome has been rescinded.”

Oliver felt his lips quirking in a smile. It was a goal he could readily understand. “It’s a sentiment that I can appreciate. What is your name?”

“Madeline Keyes,” she replied softly, turning to face him.

He wasn’t a man given to poetics. He’d never gushed about a woman’s beauty or found himself simply bowled over by one in his life. If he had, it would be in that moment. There was a softness to her features, gentle curves and delicate lines that were so markedly feminine. Her eyes were dark, though their exact color in the dimness remained a mystery to him. There was no one feature beyond the others that was distinctly beautiful, yet the whole of her was perfection. Soft, feminine, lovely. “And what, Miss Madeline Keyes, has occurred to set the wolves of society upon you so soundly?”

“I was to marry the Right Honorable Mr. Edmund Wortham. But during the ceremony, my sister voiced her objection… she claimed that I had been… that I had behaved in a lewd manner and was not fit to be Edmund’s wife. He agreed and, quite conveniently, had left my given name off the marriage license that he had obtained—a common license which was unnecessary as we’d had the banns posted—and he married my sister instead.”

It was unheard of. It was beyond scandalous and would have rendered her a laughingstock amongst society. And all so handily done that there was no question it had been accomplished with intent. “I cannot imagine that your parents would have approved such a maneuver.”

“What were they to do? Contracts had been signed, after all. There were financial matters that had been settled and undoing the lot of it would have been terribly complicated,” she answered. “And then to have both daughters embroiled in scandal—well, I understand why they did it. But the truth is that they would have given Coraline, my sister, anything she desired. They always have. It’s easier that way.”

Though he found her phrasing of that last bit somewhat strange, he elected not to comment on it. The impression had been given that it was a sore subject. “And how will that impact our union, Miss Keyes?”

“I’ve reached my majority, Lord Foxmore. I do not require anyone’s permission to marry. The fortune that will be transferred to my husband upon my marriage does not come from my father. It comes from my grandfather and is held in trust… in short, what my family thinks of my decision will not impact us at all.”

“I assume that you would wish to wed quickly but with some degree of fanfare?”

She cocked her head. “I think I can do without fanfare this time. A special license, if one can be obtained, should be impressive enough to mitigate the lack of a well-orchestrated service and extravagant wedding breakfast.”

It was completely bloodless and entirely dispassionate. In short, it was the strangest sort of proposal that had likely ever occurred. In fact, there had been no proposal at all. Instead, it had been more of a mutual inspection. “In that case, Miss Keyes, when should you like to marry?”

“The sooner the better, Lord Foxmore. You may send word to me via Mrs. Dove-Lyon when the arrangements have been completed,” she replied.

“I will be in touch, Miss Keyes.”