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

Chapter Three

Meeting a Widow

The following morning…

Lyon’s Gate Manor, Cleveland Row, Westminster

C limbing down from his brother’s phaeton, Charles Audley winced when pain shot through his damaged leg. He quickly grabbed his crutch from the bench seat. In the event he ended up on his bum, he wanted an assist in getting to his feet.

He had hoped to use his mother’s chariot for travel about the capital, but he’d discovered from the Leicester House’s head groom that his brother had sold it shortly after the last Season had begun.

Studying the five-story facade of the house located at the end of Cleveland Row, Charles frowned. James had implied the house had not only been the home of the late Colonel Lyon but was now a gambling den. From the white Portland stone blocks that decorated the corners and the otherwise blue-painted exterior, its first floor embellished with a black wrought iron balcony, it looked like the house of a wealthy family.

Then he noticed a man posted outside the front door. Dressed all in black—pantaloons, topcoat, and top hat—the sentry looked as if he was dressed for the theatre or a row in a dark alley. The dour expression he displayed was probably due to boredom, for no one was about at this time of the morning. From the way he stood, Charles knew he had been a military man. From the way the man kept opening and closing one hand—fisting it and then splaying the fingers as wide as they would go—he wondered if he was about to have an encounter with a pugilist.

Perhaps he had timed his arrival too early for a meeting with Mrs. Dove-Lyon. He didn’t have an appointment and now worried he wouldn’t be allowed inside.

Apparently, he would have to go past the man to gain entry, for when he made his way toward the black front door, using a single crutch to help him walk, the sentry held up a staying hand.

“Your business, sir?”

Charles pulled a letter from his waistcoat pocket. “I wish to see Mrs. Dove-Lyon regarding a private matter,” he said as he indicated the document he held. He stared at the man a moment before he added, “Do I know you?”

“Doubt it.”

“You look familiar. Were you in the army?”

The man ignored the query and instead asked, “Have you an appointment?”

Charles shook his head. “Do I require one?”

The black-clad man huffed and opened the door. “You can ask inside.”

Surprised he was allowed entrance, Charles hurried through the door and nearly stopped short. Before him was a typical Georgian townhome, with a wood-paneled entry hall and doors that led to a cloakroom and a salon. Just beyond, he could make out a pair of marble stairs that went up to the first floor.

“Your first time, sir?” a man dressed in livery asked.

“Yes. I was hoping to meet with the…proprietress? Unfortunately, I don’t have an appointment.”

“I’ll see if Mrs. Dove-Lyon is in residence. May I tell her who is calling, sir?”

About to give the man his name, Charles realized his title might help his cause. He hadn’t yet resigned his commission. There was always a chance he could land a position behind a desk in Whitehall. “Captain Charles Audley, King’s Army,” he replied, managing an authoritative delivery. “I am here on a private matter.”

He detected the slightest rise in one of the butler’s bushy eyebrows.

“Perhaps you would be comfortable waiting in the gentlemen’s lounge?” the butler suggested, his arm extended to indicate a room to his right. “Would you like tea?”

“Thank you, no,” Charles said with a nod. He made his way into the brightly lit lounge, his gaze taking in the decidedly masculine furnishings and decor. Given the close proximity of the other buildings in Cleveland Row, he would have expected little light to come through the two front windows.

Upon closer inspection of the furnishings, he noticed the fabrics were a bit on the worn side. The drapes that dressed the two east-facing windows were faded, and there was a definite pattern of wear in the Axminster carpet beneath his boots. There was no coal in the fireplace, nor did it appear as if it had contained a fire that morning.

Or perhaps Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s housemaids were especially efficient.

Having completed a circuit around the room, he was about to settle into one of the upholstered wingback chairs when a woman sailed into the lounge.

At least, he was fairly sure she was a woman. She was clad in widow’s weeds from head to toe, and the black netting that extended down from her black hat hid most of her facial features. Despite his difficulty in making out her appearance, he knew she was surprised at finding him leaning on a crutch.

Charles snapped to attention before performing a deep bow. “Good morning, ma’am.”

“Morning, Captain,” she replied, dipping a slight curtsy. “I am Mrs. Bessie Dove-Lyon. Egeus tells me you’re here on a private matter. I can assure you, there is at least one young lady out there who will overlook your crippled leg and make an excellent wife.”

Blinking, Charles regarded the widow a moment before he shook his head. “Oh, I’m not here about a wife,” he stated. “I am here about a debt.”

The woman gave a start. “I don’t recall seeing your name on the list of those who owe me money,” she replied.

Charles held out the document he’d been holding in his gloved hand. “It’s the other way ’round, ma’am. My brother, James, Earl of Leicester, asked that I see to this. He had business up in Cambridge, or he would have come himself.”

Before she had even a chance to look at the IOU, the widow angled her head to one side and let out a “tsk.”

“If Leicester thinks he’s going to convince Lady Stephanie to marry him, he’s in for a disappointment, I fear.”

Charles blinked again. “What do you know of Lady Stephanie?”

“I’m a matchmaker, Captain Audley. It’s my business to know who is available for matrimony and who is not, and Lady Stephanie is not. She accepted a marriage proposal only last week.” Her manner seemed to deflate when she regarded the paper, and she sighed. “I suppose the earl would not be as inclined to pursue this payment of debt if he had secured a promise of marriage,” she murmured.

Charles feigned ignorance. “I’m quite sure I would not know, ma’am. I’ve just returned from the Continent yesterday.” He swallowed, wondering if it was far too late for a rider to catch up to his brother’s coach and warn him about Lady Stephanie. James would be disappointed, but at least he wouldn’t accrue additional expenses chasing a wild goose.

Mrs. Dove-Lyon regarded him a moment before she said, “May I ask why it is you are not in the market for a wife?”

Dipping his head, Charles considered how to respond. “It’s very simple, actually. I do not wish to subject a young lady to life with a cripple,” he stated.

Scoffing, Mrs. Dove-Lyon indicated the chair he had been about to sit in when she had arrived. “You must know very little about women, Captain,” she accused as she sat on the front edge of the settee. “You would not be subjecting a woman to anything other than a life with you. Trust me when I tell you this, because I am a colonel’s widow, and I have seen it all when it comes to military men and their wives.”

Charles was wishing he had accepted the butler’s offer of tea. During his quick perusal of the lounge, he had noticed the decanters of various liquors on a sideboard. Any one of them would have been sufficient to spike the tea.

He was surprised when the servant showed up on the threshold carrying a silver tea set. The proprietress had no doubt ordered it before she made her appearance.

“Still, I am not in the market for a wife,” Charles stated in response to her query. “However, I do wish to dispatch our business as quickly as possible so that you can get back to yours.”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon seemed to ignore him as she went about pouring tea. “Milk and sugar?”

Deciding he would appear churlish if he didn’t accept her hospitality, Charles asked, “Would you think poorly of me if I said both? I thought I had grown used to drinking tea straight, but I find I missed the milk and sugar.”

“I understand,” she replied as she poured a dollop of milk and then dropped a lump of sugar from a pair of silver tongs into the steaming cup. She handed the cup and saucer to him. “Now, about this debt…” She paused to read the IOU. Apparently recognizing the signature, she let out a sigh of disappointment. “I can either provide you with a cheque today or if you must have banknotes, I can arrange for their delivery on the morrow.”

Shocked that she wasn’t arguing—he expected she would dispute the debt—Charles said, “A cheque will suffice, ma’am. I’ve already planned to pay a call on my banker next.”

“I suppose I cannot talk you into a double-or-nothing wager?” she countered. There was a hint of a tease in her voice.

He shook his head. “I am not a gambling man, Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”

She regarded him with disbelief. “A captain in the King’s Army? Surely you accepted a wager or two over a game of cards. Over a pair of dice?”

Inhaling softly, Charles shook his head and said, “I used to arm wrestle.”

The widow seemed to take great delight in this bit of news. “Well, should I ever encounter a wager that requires me to host an arm wrestler, may I send word of my need for you?”

Chuckling, Charles gave a shrug. “If you must.”

Lifting a bell from the side table, Mrs. Dove-Lyon rang it. The butler appeared as if he had been standing just outside the lounge’s door.

“Bring a cheque and a pen, won’t you, Egeus?”

“Right away, ma’am.”

The servant disappeared as quickly as he had arrived, and Mrs. Dove-Lyon turned her attention back to her guest. “I would ask you to stay and avail yourself of some of the games going on upstairs. Even enjoy a late breakfast or an early luncheon—I have an excellent cook—but since you’re not a gambler—”

“I do appreciate the offer, and someday I might,” he replied. For some reason, the mention of food had him aware of the tantalizing scent of fried bacon. Apparently, the gentlemen’s lounge was next door to the dining room.

“Well, in the meantime, I fear I must take my leave of you just as soon as I pay off this debt. I need to prepare for an appointment with a young lady of some fortune. Her mother seems determined to marry her off.”

Despite the netting that covered her face, Charles could see that Mrs. Dove-Lyon rolled her eyes as she made the comment as if she were disgusted by the thought of taking on a managing mother as a client. But weren’t most mothers determined to see to it their daughters were wed? Hiring a matchmaker seemed terribly extreme, but perhaps the girl wasn’t particularly handsome, or she suffered some malady that prevented her from attending Society events.

Mayhap she was crippled, like him.

The mention of a fortune might have had his brother interested in meeting the young woman, but Charles certainly wasn’t. “I’ve taken too much of your time, ma’am, and I do appreciate you seeing to this so quickly.”

Egeus arrived with a cheque and a laptop desk. Mrs. Dove-Lyon took a moment to write and then looked up to say, “I have learned it is far better to live free of debt than to have them hanging like a noose around the neck.” She stood and handed him the cheque.

Struggling to gain his feet, Charles reached for her black-gloved hand and brushed his lips over the back of her knuckles. “This payment will help to dispatch the debt of the Leicester earldom.” He bowed. “Good day, Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”

Charles took his leave of the salon and made his way out of the house. For a brief moment, after he stepped out, he lifted his face to the sun and closed his eyes, glad for the bit of warmth and the lack of clouds.

Bessie Dove-Lyon watched the captain limp out of the gentlemen’s lounge with the help of his wooden crutch. Although she understood his reasoning for not wanting to pursue marriage, she recognized a challenge when she saw it. Captain Charles Audley needed a wife. She was sure of it. As for how she might convince him, she decided he would accept a wager if the odds were in his favor.

Arm wrestling?

Despite having written a cheque to cover six-thousand pounds of debt, she was practically smiling when she took her leave of the gentlemen’s lounge.