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

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Touring a House Comes with a Proposal

Meanwhile, at Park Lane in Mayfair

A my’s eyes widened when the town coach pulled up in front of a four-story townhouse. “Is this it?” she asked in awe.

Nervous with wondering what his betrothed would think of his recent inheritance, Charles nodded. “I’ve only been here once, and that was earlier today,” he said. “O’Riley probably knows more about the place than I do.”

“Is that true, Corporal?” Amy asked.

The valet sat across from them in the coach, his attention having been directed out the window for the entire ride. “Only because I asked a lot of questions of the staff.”

The door opened, and O’Riley hurried to step out first in order to assist Amy and provide Charles with his crutches. “Any idea who owns the house next door?” Amy asked as she regarded the matching white stucco abode. Only the doors were different colors.

“The butler said it’s owned by a marquess, but it rarely has any occupants. There’s a staff that sees to its upkeep, though.”

Pickering opened the door, bowing upon meeting the woman who would soon be the mistress of the house before he saw to hats and coats. “Would you like to have tea brought to the parlor?”

Charles looked to Amy, who said, “I know I could use some.” Her gaze darted about the hall, briefly pausing to admire the marbles that topped caryatids between every door. The floor, made up of white and black marble tiles, appeared much like a checkerboard. She chuckled before spinning around. “Well, this is quite elegant,” she murmured happily.

“If you’ll excuse me, sir, I’ll see to my duties in the study,” O’Riley said, indicating the pouch he clutched in one hand.

“Of course,” Charles replied, relieved they had made it to the house without incident. From what Titan had said before they departed the street in front of the Lyon’s Den, Charles had thought they might be set upon by footpads.

Charles joined Amy in a small salon at the front of the house. “This faces west, so there should be plenty of sunlight in the afternoon,” he commented.

“It’s a perfect room in which to do embroidery. If I were to do such a thing,” she said with a grin. She moved on to the next room—the library—and grinned in delight.

“My great aunt was a bit on the eccentric side, so I’m not sure what we’ll find in the way of books.”

“Well, I like her taste in decor,” Amy remarked, one hand smoothing over the top of a wingback chair featuring a floral upholstery.

“Hopefully you’ll still feel that way when you see the mistress suite.”

“Oh, dear. You’ve already had a peek into my room?” she teased.

“Not really, but I was warned.”

They moved on to a room with a sideboard and a round table. Only two chairs were pulled up to the table. “Breakfast parlor,” Amy said with appreciation. “And it has a window.”

Across the hall, O’Riley stepped out of the study. “Everything is secure, sir.”

“Thank you. You should…retire for the night. I, uh…” Charles glanced over at Amy. Although Major Culkins had made it clear he didn’t expect Charles to take her back to Sinclair House that night, he hadn’t had a chance to ask her what she wanted to do. With O’Riley having ridden in the coach with them, Charles had avoided what could have been an awkward conversation.

“Your services won’t be required again this evening,” Amy said. “I do hope your quarters are satisfactory?”

O’Riley’s eyes rounded. “Oh, yes, miss. Far better than what I’ve been used to,” he claimed. “Good night.” He nodded and then hurried up the marble stairs.

Charles pulled Amy into the study. “You’ll stay here tonight?”

“I will,” she replied, a flush of red coloring her face. “I do hope there might be a…night rail or a dressing gown I could borrow—”

“I’m sure we’ll find something,” Charles said. “The maids were going to see to freshening up your room.”

“I suppose I’ll meet them on the morrow.”

He nodded. “Yes. Does that mean…?” He paused and swallowed. “I just realized there’s something very important I must do.”

“Oh?”

Pulling her arm onto his, he led her from the study and toward the back of the house. “It might be far too dark to do it outside, though,” he said when they reached the door to the back garden.

“To show me the roses?” Amy asked, the scent apparent in the night air despite the chill.

Although there was a half-moon, it was hard to make out the path between the rose bushes. “Not exactly,” Charles said, leading her back to the stairs. They went up to the first floor where Pickering was delivering the tea tray to the parlor.

“In here,” he said.

“I can serve the tea, Pickering,” Amy said. “And please feel free to retire for the night.”

“Very good, ma’am.” He bowed and took his leave of the parlor.

Amy turned to find Charles grinning at her. “What is it?”

He shrugged. “I rather like that you’re already the mistress of this house,” he replied. “You’ve been the mistress of my heart for some time, and now I’d like to make you my wife,” he said as he pulled a ring from his waistcoat pocket. “Will you do me the honor of becoming my bride?”

“And here I thought you had already proposed,” she whispered. She leaned over and kissed him on the corner of his mouth. “So, it’s rather easy to say that I will.”

Charles gripped one of her hands and slid the ruby-topped gold band on one finger. “It’s not much, Amy. Not what I truly wanted for you, but—”

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, her bow lips open in awe. “This must have cost—”

“It’s a family ring,” Charles interrupted. “One of my mother’s.”

“You’re sure I should have it? Your brother—”

“He has a different one. Or rather had . He’s already given it to his betrothed.”

“Already?”

Charles nodded. “Sometime yesterday. He sent a note by courier that arrived this morning. Before I paid a call at the Lyon’s Den.” He led her to the settee, and they sat in front of the tea tray.

As Amy prepared the cups and poured the tea, Charles told her about his brother’s efforts to take a wife. “I feared he would not have the luxury of taking a young lady for whom he felt affection, but it sounds as if he’s quite taken with Lady Eloise.”

Amy offered him a cup of tea. “Will they live here in town? I hope I shall be friends with her.”

Charles nodded. “The earldom owns a townhouse in Westminster, where I would have been living if my aunt hadn’t bequeathed this house to me,” he explained. “I thought James would continue living there, but it seems Huntsford is giving him a townhouse here in Mayfair. Wants his daughter suitably housed, I suppose.” He paused and then frowned. “Apologies for my curiosity, but are the major and your mother betrothed? Or already married? I only ask because of what he said earlier. As if he had the right to give you to me.”

Amy dipped her head. “After what happened with tonight’s contest, he was quite adamant that I be allowed my independence. I know my mother was not in agreement, but she has already promised to marry him, so she deferred to his judgment.”

“After what happened?” Charles repeated. “What do you mean? They did want me to win, I hope?”

“Oh, yes,” Amy assured him. “But Mother was quite upset when one of the other women in the gallery told her what your opponent intended to do if he won—take me away to a place where my mother would never see me again.”

“If he had won, I would not have let him take you.”

“Well, Major Culkins assured me of the same after the matches were over—he couldn’t be with us in the ladies’ area, you see—but there was a moment up there when I thought Mother was going to kill Mrs. Dove-Lyon. I’ve never seen her so angry in all my life.”

All at once, the memory of what Mrs. Dove-Lyon had said to him—that he might have saved her life—came flooding back. He furrowed a brow, wondering if perhaps the pouch she had shoved in his direction contained more than the fifteen thousand pounds promised.

O’Riley would know. Charles would find out from him in the morning.

Or afternoon.

Depending on whether or not Amy spent the night in his bed—or him in hers—Charles wasn’t sure when he would ring for the servant.