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

Chapter Seven

I t was evening, but not overly late. There was still an hour or so of light outside even if it was beginning to take on the purplish cast of twilight. The minutes seemed to alternately drag on and then fly by.

After leaving the church and returning to Easton House, a truly impressive residence in the center of Mayfair, they had enjoyed a modest breakfast prepared by his staff. It was not the sort of spread one would ever call a wedding breakfast, but it had been well prepared and had been enjoyed in peaceful surroundings. Her maid, Lucy, had elected to join her rather than remaining in her parents’ employ, which would likely have been short-lived with both daughters married off, and had arrived that afternoon along with most of Madeline’s things. Oliver had retreated to his study to write letters and deal with necessary correspondence from solicitors and, quite likely, debt collectors, while she had supervised Lucy’s efforts to get her fully moved into the mistress’ chamber.

The room itself was quite lovely, with dark and elaborately carved furnishings and lovely fabrics in what had, at one point, been a rose color that had faded to the softest blush. The ornate fireplace, surrounded by delicately carved marble, was a thing of true beauty. The mullioned windows looked out over the rooftop of the conservatory and into a garden that rivaled anything she’d ever seen. In short, it was exquisite and suited perfectly to her taste. But she was too nervous to appreciate it.

She’d spent the better part of her time in that room nodding vaguely and muttering meaningless monosyllabic responses to Lucy’s questions while her gaze had been locked on a single door in her chamber. It was the door which connected her room to Oliver’s. If Lucy noticed her preoccupation, the maid kept quiet.

The memory of that one brief and humiliating conversation with her mother on the eve of what should have been her wedding to Edmund came back to her. The particulars of it were all still a bit vague, but it involved, according to her mother, some discomfort and embarrassment, but that it was all, thankfully, over very quickly. In the end, she’d been left more anxious and no better informed than when the conversation had first begun.

“Will you be going down for dinner, my lady?”

Madeline was silent for a long moment, not because she hadn’t heard, but because she hadn’t realized the question was addressed to her. My lady. “Oh, well… I don’t know. I’m not certain what Lord Foxmore’s agenda for the evening is. How would I find that out, Lucy?”

“I’ll inquire with the housekeeper when I go below to talk to the laundress about your things,” Lucy stated. “You don’t find things out, mis—my lady. I find them out for you. That’s part of my job, isn’t it? Lady’s maids have always been household spies. And here in this room, you may call me Lucy if you like. But in front of others, you’ll want to call me Ballard. That’s my family name. When you’re maid to the lady of the house, especially a house like this, other servants expect it, you see? And they’re right snobs, my lady. You don’t want to give them any reason to think less of you or they’ll be impossible to manage for years to come. If you think the matrons of society are vicious, you should see what their servants will do when given cause.”

Madeline frowned. Apparently she had far more to worry about in terms of her wifely duties than those that were restricted to the marriage bed. “There is so much I do not know. Anytime I spoke with my mother or Edmund about what I would need to know to run his household, they brushed me off and said his mother would handle it.”

Lucy shuddered. “Thank heavens, then, that he ran off with your sister instead… or mayhap she ran off with him. It’s all a bit muddy, isn’t it? It saves you from sharing a house with that pinch-faced crow of a mother he has!”

Madeline laughed in spite of herself and in spite of the very inappropriate nature of the jest. “Muddy is certainly one word for it! Go check with the housekeeper then, Ballard, and let me know what I’m to do.”

Lucy curtsied and moved toward the door. But she hadn’t yet reached it when a knock sounded. The maid raised her eyebrows in question and at Madeline’s nod, opened the door. The housekeeper entered. A tall and thin woman, but who possessed a rather kindly demeanor, she was the least intimidating housekeeper that Madeline had ever encountered.

“Oh, Mrs. Wilson, I’d just instructed my maid to come find you.”

The woman’s hands clasped tightly in front of her. “Is there a problem, your ladyship?”

“Oh, no. There are no problems. I was only set to have her inquire about the arrangements for dinner. I wasn’t certain of Lord Foxmore’s plans.”

“It will be served in the dining room at seven, my lady. Of course, Lord Foxmore will dress for dinner, given the circumstances. When he dined alone, he was less formal, but with the momentous nature of the day, I should think all matters of propriety will be seen to,” the housekeeper stated. “But in speaking of the matter of propriety, my lady… there is a woman to see you. I put her in the morning room as it’s… hmmm… more private.” The latter part of her short speech seemed to be beset with some sort of throat ailment. She paused, cleared her throat, paused again and finally settled on the word she deemed least offensive. And during all of it, she kept wringing her hands as if she were Lady Macbeth in some terrible comedic version of the great tragedy.

“Are you unwell, Mrs. Wilson?” Madeline asked.

“No, my lady,” the housekeeper stated. “But the guest that has come to call—well, she’s not really the thing, you know? I should think you would want to see her rather quickly and then put her on her way before it sparks any further gossip. We’ve enough scandal already, what with the last Lord Foxmore dying in a duel and the one before him… well, being less than cautious in his finances and investments… and then, well, given the hasty nature of your recent nuptials—caution, my lady. Caution in all things, as my mother used to say.”

Further gossip. Enough scandal. So the entire staff of Easton House knew the ugly and vicious lies that Coraline had spread about her. How in the world was she supposed to run a household when no one in it would have any respect for her at all? “You’re quite right, Mrs. Wilson. I’ll see her immediately and then we shall all get on with our day.”

“Very good, Madam. I shall send a pot of tea but no cakes or refreshments. Given the lateness of the hour, no one could expect more, after all?” It was voiced as a question, but Mrs. Wilson did not wait for an answer. She bustled from the room, still talking under her breath about how else she might hurry things on a bit.

“This is not ideal, Lucy—Ballard,” Madeline corrected. “Who could it be? Surely not Coraline?”

“If it is, you should have the silver counted,” Lucy replied. “I know I ought not speak of her so. She is your sister, after all. But I don’t like what she did. Not to you. It wasn’t right or fair for her to snatch your betrothed… but to do it in such a way that—well, she wanted you ruined, didn’t she? It wasn’t just taking what was yours. It was trying to see to it that you couldn’t even have anything else.” The maid clamped her lips together tightly then, as if embarrassed that she’d said too much and spoken so impassionedly. With a curt nod, more to herself than to Madeline, the maid left the chamber.

Alone, Madeline found her gaze drawn once more to that door before she left her chamber to greet her mysterious caller.

Mrs. Bessie Dove-Lyon rarely left her gaming hell to venture into the more refined parts of Mayfair. They shared a similar address but, in truth, her establishment and homes such as the one now occupied by Lord Foxmore and his new bride were entire worlds apart. As she glanced around the morning room, she noted that it was filled with lovely antiques and art. Whatever Foxmore’s financial woes, he hadn’t resorted to selling off the family treasures. There was at least that.

When the door to the morning room opened and the newly minted Lady Foxmore entered, Bessie extended a warm smile to girl. “My dear, what a lovely picture you make on your wedding day! I simply wished to call and be certain you were well satisfied with your choice… though I daresay, it might have been better to ask you such a question tomorrow.”

“Why?” Madeline asked.

Bessie blinked at her. Then smiled beatifically. Surely no one was that innocent! The girl might not have been the lightskirt she’d been accused of by her sister but, still, her ignorance could not be so profound. “Why, indeed? Never mind, dear. You are well? You are not having any regrets about your decision?”

“Well, not regrets, per se,” Madeline said. “Mrs. Dove-Lyon, I know this is far beyond the scope of what you might be expected to do as a marriage broker, but I was wondering if I might ask you about a personal matter?”

Bessie cocked her head to one side, wondering what sort of meandering road she’d just agreed to be led down. “You certainly may ask, though I cannot guarantee that I will answer. But I shan’t take offense regardless. What would you like to know, my dear?”

“Prior to my wedding day—well, almost wedding day—with Edmund, my mother attempted to explain to me what transpires in the marriage bed… but I’m afraid her explanations were not very illuminating. In fact, I think I may be more confused about the matter now than I was prior to that very disquieting conversation,” Madeline admitted. “Perhaps, since you are not my mother, but you are a woman who was married for some time, and a woman who is certainly more worldly than my mother, you might be better able to inform me about such a thing?”

She was that innocent and, God help them both, that ignorant. Bessie was prepared to do many things but not sit in the morning room of Easton House in the bright light of day—well, early evening—and explain connubial relations to a nerve-rattled virgin. But there was something about this poor girl whose own family seemed to be completely without sympathy for her. Bessie couldn’t say no entirely. “Tell me what your mother told you and I will attempt to assuage your fears a bit.”

Lady Foxmore blushed furiously and then seated herself on the small settee next to her. “Well… she said very, very little. Extremely little of any note. I was advised that it would be uncomfortable, but if I tolerated it, it should be over quite quickly. Is that really all there is to it? I can’t imagine if women allow themselves to be ruined for the love of a man, that poems and sonnets and songs are written about it, that it can be something akin to a nuisance. Can it?”

Lud, how she hated cits. “No, Lady Foxmore, that is most assuredly not all there is to it. Your mother gave you utterly terrible advice. But sadly, there are many women who believe that being a lady and being a well-satisfied woman are mutually exclusive. That is emphatically not true. Now, that is not to say that all society marriages are passionate and loving, but I would never match one of my girls with a man who I thought would make the marriage bed a chore to be tolerated. Your husband is a young, handsome and virile man. I have little doubt that if you simply trust him and if you allow him to guide you in this matter, you will find yourself quite pleasantly surprised.”

“I suppose that is certainly better advice than my mother gave me. I was rather hoping for more specifics.”

A slightly rattled blink was Bessie’s only outward reply for a moment. If ever there was an activity that required demonstration rather than explanation it was certainly lovemaking. If she provided the specifics, the girl would be terrified. “The specifics will not help you, my dear. They will sound so utterly ridiculous that you wouldn’t believe them anyway,” Bessie said with a laugh. “A little ignorance and a little faith shall hold you in good stead. I will bid you adieu, Lady Foxmore. I shan’t call on you again now that I know the deed is done and you are pleased with the outcome. And should we ever pass on the street, you will not smile, you will not wave, you will not acknowledge me.”

“I couldn’t possibly do that. You’ve been so very kind to me!”

Bessie really liked her. She liked all of the girls she helped, but there was something special about her. “Then should our paths cross, you may place your left hand over your heart so that your wedding ring shines in the light. I shall know you are pleased with your lot and that I have served you well. It will be enough.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Lady Foxmore offered.

“No need, dear. I’ll show myself out. You should be getting dressed for dinner, no doubt. You will want to look your best.” And it would give her an opportunity to have a cautionary word with Lord Foxmore about being patient with his young bride. The sort of ignorance forced on young women through archaic beliefs about the sanctity and value of virginity was positively idiotic to her mind.

“You are certain? I’ve been a terrible hostess. The maids haven’t even brought in tea yet!”

“But I am not a guest… not in the true sense of the word. I am rather like a tradesman, if you will. I provided a service to you, did I not? Now, go and dress for dinner. I have great hopes for your future happiness, Lady Foxmore. Great hopes, indeed.”