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

Chapter Three

“I know what your father hasdone.”

~ Anon

“Y ou intend to abandon me, Lottie, don’t you?” Miss Parthenia Steere, the eldest of Lottie’s cousins, asked, clinging to her shoulders. Lord and Lady Steere’s ball was to commence belowstairs shortly, and Thenie’s arrival halted any notion of her refusing to appear.

Although her attempts to avoid balls, in general, had entered every discussion they’d had for the past week, whether in the garden, at supper, or taking tea in the parlor. Even outings to the modiste’s and Hyde Park had denied her a reprieve. Her aunt and cousins knew her method of thinking almost better than she did herself, and regrettably, her cousins understood that she’d find a way to escape any event if the opportunity availed itself.

She treasured her cousins without measure and put the importance of their futures far above her own, desiring only that they would find themselves happily settled. But not yet. She wasn’t willing to let go of them. Besides Papa, they were the only family she had.

Seated as she was at her vanity, she stared at her reflection in the looking glass, aware that her beloved cousin—whom she’d long ago nicknamed Thenie—expected a response in the awkward silence. Hiding the path her thoughts had taken, she played into Thenie’s hands, pretending to rearrange a pearl in her hair. She did not wish to be disagreeable to one of the two people she loved most in the world, second only to her father.

Thenie had a kind and loving spirit and a bright and easy smile that complemented her beauty, making her seem to glow from within. She deserved the attention of prospective admirers, men of distinction, and Lottie would rather die before damaging any of her cousins’ chances for finding true love.

But what if, by some perverted deception of Fate, she’d been seen entering or departing the Lyon’s Den? What if, while seeking to protect her father’s reputation, she’d unknowingly cursed them all by stupidly taking the chance to visit the Black Widow of Whitehall?

A sennight had passed with nary a whispered word of her presence at the Den reaching the servants’ ears. Mayfair was a good distance from Whitehall. And yet... Was it too early to hope that she hadn’t been seen or that her mission had been a success? Nonetheless, one thing was certain. She had been seen by Mrs. Bessie Dove-Lyon, the doorman, and that awkward, mucky fellow in the doorway.

Something about him bothered her still. It was almost as if he seemed familiar to her, but that wasn’t possible, was it? She knew no one in the East End.

Her heart raced frantically. Surely, the widow’s hapless henchman, living and working on the seedier side of Town, had not the wherewithal or the resources to report her presence there.

Those eyes . . . For a split second, they’d investigated her soul before turning away and . . .

She placed her hand on her chest and began to tremble. Had he recognized her? Oh, there was more at stake tonight than Thenie comprehended—a disgrace neither her father nor her aunt and uncle merited. It would be fitting, wouldn’t it, for her to be the one who brought down the House of Steere? For someone to arrive at the ball and call her out.

Thenie had no understanding of her nightmarish thoughts. She misunderstood her hesitance to appear in public. Those were the exposed moments when notes were passed to her on the street by errant boys and by mysterious coincidence at balls, the paper pressed into her hand as she navigated the crush only to turn and face a sea of disinterested faces. Would another threatening note about her father pass into her hands via a phantom tonight? Her heart sank.

Thenie toyed with her hair, saying, “You are not planning to lock yourself away in here, are you? I simply will not get on well if you forsake me again, Lottie. You know how much I depend on your good character.”

Lottie straightened her spine, refusing to cave into the feelings of inadequacy that Thenie’s intended compliment ignited. She reached for her cousin’s hand, turning to impart devotion, which was truly heartfelt.

“I will never desert you,” she admitted honestly. Though the reverse might happen if the information about her father ever reached the ton— or her cousin married. She inhaled, committed to suppressing her worries and cheering up Thenie. “You are like my very own sister, and you are my dearest friend. I may abhor the social set, but I would do—” she lowered her arm, clenching her hands into fists, her fingernails biting her skin at the merest suggestion that she would purposefully scandalize the family “—anything for those I love.”

“Yes.” Thenie blinked, love radiating from her like a source of all that was well and good. “I know.” Warmth overflowed in Lottie as her cousin turned back to the looking glass and gently squeezed her shoulders. “I also know that you despise the ton , dinner parties, and carriage rides to Hyde Park,” Thenie repeated. “Then there are the teas and country house parties you’ve avoided countless times and—”

“Thenie.” Lottie let out an exasperated sigh, careful not to sound wounded. “In my defense, on several accounts, I was not at liberty to join you, as I was in Cambridge, helping Papa. Do not take offense. I would deny you nothing. I’ve never really looked at the opposite sex as anything more than a curiosity.”

“Ever?” Thenie quirked her brow and pursed her lips, but she wisely kept Lord Septimus Grey’s name out of the conversation. “My dearest cousin, how can I forget that everything you find insufferable is that which I love? The differences between us are frightening by all accounts. And that is why I adore you. I promise my admiration for you will never change.”

The one constant in life was change. Nothing ever remained the same.

“Must I remind you,” Thenie went on, “that your papa promised you would be a most willing companion this Season. Yet, here you sit, alone, whilst the candles are lit and glittering for all to see.” She inhaled to fuel her excitement. “The beeswax scent mixed with fragrant flowers has revived Mama’s spirits. The décor is divinely placed, and the guests will soon arrive by the dozens to dance in our triumphant ballroom.”

“It sounds heavenly,” Lottie said, tugging Thenie’s hands, all desire to tease and provoke her cousin to madness bolting from her mind. “I am sure The Morning Post will provide glowing praise by dawn.”

“As long as you attend, our ball will be a success.”

Lottie’s selfishness pained her. How could she have entertained the notion of destroying her cousin’s hopes? Thenie’s parents, Lord and Lady Steere, had carefully planned this happy event for months in honor of their young twins’ debut. Long before someone had threatened to expose Lottie’s father.

She and Papa lived off meager earnings from the university and the British Museum. Together, they had nothing to proclaim of value. Nothing to fend off despicable brigands without seeking the elder Walcot’s help. But involving Lord Steere was something she simply would not do. She would not jeopardize her uncle’s honor, especially after he had treated her like one of his own daughters all these years. Nor would she do anything to ruin the two brothers’ close relationship.

“Then what are we waiting for? We must prepare.” Thenie’s playful tone held a hint of mischief. “This could be the night when you meet your match.”

“You say that before every ball.” Lottie had since given up hope someone would catch her eye—or vice versa—instead resigning herself to spinsterhood after several disappointing Seasons. No one measured up to Lord Grey. Still, she offered an encouraging smile. “Perhaps you are right.”

“Have I died and gone to heaven?” Thenie gasped. “Did you just agree with me?”

“I did.” She relented before laughing. “I do. Only because you believe.”

Her cousins enjoyed pomp and circumstance, the thrill of the crush, orchestras, dancing, and the possibility of meeting him —the man of their dreams. And therein laid the rub. Though Lottie desired to explore the world, she wasn’t fond of change or intimate diversions. Facts and meaning fueled her spirit.

Thenie desired marriage and children, and Lottie begrudged her none of it.

She met Thenie’s gaze in the mirror and smiled thoughtfully. She and Thenie were the same age, and as close as Thenie’s twin sisters, but they contrasted each other like night and day. Physically, Thenie’s coloring was light with curly gold locks, blue eyes, and she possessed a petite shapely form sure to arouse a man’s protective instincts. Lottie’s dark looks and longing for intellectual stimulation—aspects of womanhood that held little magnetic appeal to men—made her a wallflower, a fish out of water.

Nevertheless, there was more to life than corporeal pleasure. She yearned for a challenge, and because of that, she manipulated the opposite sex, much as her aunt had advised against it. Men were not interested in a woman’s mind but the width of her hips and childbearing abilities. The marriage mart required a woman’s surrender, not a contest of wills.

Fruitless.

“You love life to the full, Thenie,” she said, deciding against destroying the expectant look on her cousin’s face. “But you know I much prefer exploring libraries and the British Museum to fending off superficial, reckless raids on the female heart. It is time ill-used in my humble opinion.”

Thenie giggled, her nose crinkling. “Superficial, reckless raids? You have been listening to your father’s students again.” She huffed. “Pfft. You are a beautiful woman, Lottie. Just look at yourself,” she said, angling Lottie’s face this way and that. “You are dark and sensual, and one teasing look with your exceptional eyes is all it will take to bring a man to his knees.”

“I do not want to bring a man to his knees,” Lottie said matter-of-factly. “I want to look him in the eyes. I want to be considered his equal.”

“And you shall when the right man comes along.” Thenie smiled sweetly, a hint of mischief tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I cannot wait to watch your inhibitions melt away when that happens.”

The right man had come and left her wanting. “I am twenty-four,” Lottie said, again remembering they were the same age and that she had most likely dampened her cousin’s spirits by reminding her.

“And numerous gentlemen have shown interest,” Thenie countered, forcing a smile.

“In you.” Which was a truthful statement. “But a man’s interest is fleeting where I am concerned.”

“Look at Mama and Papa!” Thenie argued, sweeping her arms outward. “They have been married for thirty years. Five children are proof of their abiding love, and your own father loved your mother very much. Papa speaks of it fondly and—” Lottie lowered her eyes. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be loved; she’d been denied her mother’s love. “Have I said something wrong?”

“No,” she quickly reassured her cousin before studying her reflection. “It is just that... I still don’t know what she looked like.”

“You are speaking of your mama?” At her nod, Thenie continued. “If your features are any indication, we both know she was breathtaking.”

“How can we know that?”

“Well, you do not look like a Cambridge professor, for one,” Thenie argued jovially. “Though your spectacles do shed light on your parentage.”

She adjusted her spectacles and looked more closely at her face in the looking glass. Was it true? Did she look like her mother? Wouldn’t someone have recognized her by now and told her so? Her father had repeatedly told her that she resembled her mother, but what proof did she have? There weren’t any portraits or even members of her mother’s family with whom to compare herself. Perhaps if her mama had lived, she might think differently than she did now, might yearn for the things Thenie did.

She shrugged, angered by what she’d been denied. Thenie couldn’t comprehend the turmoil raging inside her. How could she? “My sweet, sentimental cousin,” she said, determined to lighten the mood. “I lean to your understanding. One day, I am sure, you will marry well, and I—” she paused to control the catch in her throat “—I will visit and indulge your children as if they were my own.”

Thenie bent down and hugged Lottie’s neck. “Oh, cousin! If I could rewrite the past, I would. I’d—”

The door to her bedchamber opened. In a thrice, Thenie’s mother, Lady Steere, and her twins, Delphi and Augusta, joined them, saturating the room with their contagious laughter. The timely intrusion prevented Thenie from finishing her sentence, kind words that never failed to calm Lottie’s tempestuous emotions whenever the topic of marriage, lost love, and her longing for the mother she’d never had cropped up.

“Are you ready, girls?” Lady Steere asked, flanked by her two younger daughters filled with starry-eyed wonder.

“Aunt.” Lottie swiftly rose and curtsied, ever mindful to behave with decorum in her aunt’s presence. For she owed the greatest of thanks to her aunt and uncle for their continued generosity. Her admiration knew no bounds.

“Yes, Mama,” Thenie answered. “We are ready.” She squeezed Lottie’s hand reassuringly. “Oh, Lottie!” she exclaimed, embracing her carefully, so as not to muddle her finely styled hair or wrinkle her gown. “Tonight will be a success. I just know it.” She released Lottie, then addressed her mother with the most expectant expression. “Doesn’t Lottie look exquisite, Mama? Your instincts were exactly right, as always. The silver sets off her skin tone perfectly.”

“Quite so,” Delphi and Augusta agreed. The twins were forever speaking in unison or finishing each other’s sentences. So much so that people often didn’t know where one girl’s thoughts ended and the other’s began.

Lady Steere smiled reassuringly, then opened her arms, welcoming Lottie into her embrace. “You are a vision, my dear. I predict many hearts will be breaking this night.”

Delphi appealed to all within hearing. “Don’t mention the British Museum whatever you do, Lottie, I beg you.”

“Or touring Egypt and digging up those nauseating mummies,” Augusta declared, scrunching her nose in distaste.

Lady Steere clucked her tongue. “Charlotta knows how to comport herself and will do us proud.” She smoothed a wayward strand of dark hair from Lottie’s neck, filling her with warmth and a sense of belonging. “No one is asking you to alter your character, my dear. Remember, ‘Necessity knows no law.’ ”

“Aesop.” Augusta sank onto the chaise lounge at the end of the bed.

Delphi immediately joined her. “Again!”

“Girls, take care you do not wrinkle your gowns.” Lady Steere winked at Lottie. “I happen to enjoy quoting Aesop as much as Charlotta does.” Her affectionate smile touched a place of longing deep inside Lottie’s heart.

Was this love welling inside her the love a daughter felt for a mother? She had no way of knowing. Oh, how she envied her cousins exceedingly.

“Without your uncle’s fascination with antiquities,” her aunt continued on, “you might not have the fine trimmings you adore—the fancy carriages, equipage, turned-out horses, and ball gowns. We are indebted to your uncle and to Lord Lansdowne’s patronage. Without their connections, your father wouldn’t own one of the finest collections of ancient sculptures in England. Culture, my dears, has elevated your importance. Remember that. Embrace it. Refinement is like honey, attracting the busiest of bees.”

Thenie latched onto Lottie’s hand. “Bees, again.”

“What was that, Parthenia, dear?” Lady Steere eyed her daughter suspiciously. She clucked her tongue. “One day, you will find the subject of bees quite enthralling. Without them, we’d have no flowers or fruit.” She raised a finger. “Or honey. There is nothing sweeter to a gentleman’s palette than—”

“Mama!” Thenie exclaimed with mortification as a knock rapped at the door.

Lady Steere inspected their appearances, then shouted an order. “Enter.”

The bedchamber door opened, and a housemaid appeared. “Milord has asked me to inform you that guests are beginning to arrive, milady.”

“Quite so,” Lady Steere said with a nod. “Please inform my husband that we shall be down presently.” The maid dipped a curtsy, then quietly closed the door. “We mustn’t keep our guests waiting.” She clapped her hands gleefully. “Now. Check your hair and put on your gloves, and then we must be off.”

The twins adorned themselves, yanking their gloves over their elbows and speculating all the while who would be the first to sign their dance cards.

Thenie handed Lottie two pieces of long white, supple leather. “I predict it is going to be a spectacular evening for us both.”

“We shall see,” Lottie said, swallowing back her dread.

There was an odd sort of energy in the air, and it mystified her. Would another anonymous note be passed to her in the crush? And would the Black Widow of Whitehall stop her blackmailer from scandalizing her father before her cousins found marriageable men and her uncle had time to retreat to his country home? And was she gullible enough to believe she might meet a worthy suitor this night?