Chapter Four
London,
The disapproving look on Owens’s face said it all as he helped Lydia down from the carriage. “Are you sure this is the place, Miss Page?”
“Yes, Owens, I’m sure,” she replied, widening her eyes in surprise as she gazed up at the Lyon’s Den.
She hadn’t really known what to expect, but perhaps not this.
Once upon a time, the infamous establishment must have been a fine residence.
Even now, if one looked past the darkened windows and somewhat gaudy blue paint, its original grandeur could still be imagined.
“I’m not sure how long I’ll be, however. Not too long, I hope.”
“I’ll be right here, miss, never fear,” Owens replied.
Lydia nodded her thanks, picked up her skirts, and headed for what appeared to be the main entrance.
She did not get far. A man the size of a bear seemed to appear from nowhere, hat seated firmly on his head, a scarf loosely covering his nose and mouth.
Lydia slowed her stride, resisting an urge to turn and glance back at Owens for reassurance.
The man spoke, his voice muffled. “Your name, miss?”
Lydia gathered herself and lifted her chin. “May I know who is asking?”
The man paused, and Lydia imagined a look of amusement on his face. “Name’s Ulysses, miss,” he replied, folding his arms. “Do you have an appointment?”
Ulysses?
“An appointment?” Doubting the truth of the fellow’s name, Lydia glanced up at the building. “Actually, no, I don’t. I didn’t know an appointment was necessary. I was hoping to speak with Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”
The man tutted and rocked on his heels. “Need an appointment for that, miss.”
“I wasn’t aware.” Lydia frowned as her mind searched for a solution. “Can you make an exception, perhaps? I have a letter of introduction.”
Ulysses held out his hand. “I can deliver that for you.”
“Very well.” Not without some trepidation, Lydia handed the letter over. “But please sir, will you ask the lady if she might see me today? I have traveled quite a distance.”
Ulysses eyed the envelope. “I’ll ask,” he replied, with little enthusiasm. “No promises, though. Wait here.”
The man disappeared down the side of the building, glancing back at her as he opened a door and apparently spoke with someone else before handing them the letter. Then he closed the door and remained where he was, arms folded once more, watching Lydia.
Another carriage halting nearby drew her attention.
It was a fine conveyance, obviously private, though lacking any kind of insignia.
As she watched, a man descended, hat clasped in one hand, the other brushing the creases from his coat.
Tall, with dark hair, and impeccably dressed, he practically oozed nobility.
His fine, clean-shaven features came into profile as he glanced up at the Lyon’s Den.
As if sensing her scrutiny, he glanced at Lydia and acknowledged her with a brief nod before heading toward the main door.
Warmth flooded Lydia’s face. What must he have thought, or assumed, seeing her standing alone outside a house of questionable repute?
How much longer must she wait? Uneasy as well as impatient, Lydia shifted on her feet, and glanced at her carriage.
Owens, whom she’d known most of her life, nodded as if to reassure her of his continued presence.
The sound of male voices drifted through the air, and she turned to see the Ulysses character coming toward her. Lydia crossed her fingers. “Please,” she whispered. “Please.”
In response, the man halted halfway and gestured for her to approach. Lydia sent up a quick prayer of thanks.
“Follow me, miss,” he said, leading her down the alley to the side door, which he opened. “In you go.”
“Thank you.” Lydia entered, only to be startled by another giant of a man, who stepped out of the shadows as the door closed behind her.
“Right, miss, pay attention,” the man said, his garlicky breath doing unpleasant things to Lydia’s stomach.
“Go up the stairs, turn right, go as far as you can and then turn left. At the end of the hallway is a black door. Knock on the door and wait. Do not enter till you’re given permission to do so. Clear?”
Lydia nodded. “Yes, I think so. Thank you.” Grasping her skirts, she started up the dimly lit stairs, the smell of tobacco smoke tainting the air. From somewhere indeterminable came the sound of piano music and a vague hum of voices.
“Papa,” she murmured, “where on earth have you brought me?”
Following the directions, Lydia at last found herself standing in front of the black door. She inhaled, knocked three times in quick succession, and then exhaled as she took a step back.
The response, that of a woman, came almost immediately. “Come.”
Lydia cleared her throat, smoothed her skirts, and entered. A quick glance took in the room’s lavish décor and the somewhat risqué artwork on the walls. It was not, however, an unwelcoming space. The touches of red and gold, while extravagant, exuded warmth.
The heart of the room, however, was surely the massive desk, behind which sat an intriguing figure. A woman, dressed all in black, her face hidden by a veil of corded black lace. She had a letter clasped in her hand. A familiar letter.
Lydia, wondering vaguely why the lady was still in mourning after all this time, closed the door and stepped forward. “Mrs. Dove-Lyon, I presume.”
“Miss Page.” Setting the letter aside, the woman rose, stepped out from behind her desk, and approached Lydia, bejeweled hands outstretched. “I consider myself honored to meet you, my dear. I was grieved to learn of your father’s passing. He was a good man. A good man, indeed.”
Lydia, sensing rather than seeing the smile behind the veil, took the woman’s hands, the flesh soft and warm against hers.
“It is a pleasure to meet you also, Mrs. Dove-Lyon. My father spoke very highly of you, though I confess it was through a letter I inherited after his death. Prior to that moment, I had not heard your name. To say I am intrigued about your connection to him is an understatement.”
“I’m sure it is, my dear, and all shall be made clear in the next little while.
” The woman squeezed Lydia’s hands, released them, and then went over to a nearby settee, where she sat and patted the seat next to her.
“Come and sit with me, please. Would you care for some refreshment? Tea? Or coffee?”
“No, nothing, but thank you,” Lydia replied, settling onto the settee.
“A husband then, perhaps?” Mrs. Dove-Lyon replied, a hint of humor in her voice.
Lydia laughed. “My father left me strict instructions to come to you if that were the case. So, yes, I should indeed like to be married. At the same time, I confess to being a little uncomfortable about relying on someone else to arrange that for me.” Lydia shook her head.
“Forgive me, but the concept of it sounds so…”
“Impersonal?”
“Well, yes, actually.” Lydia frowned. “Why did Papa choose you, Mrs. Dove-Lyon? What is your connection to him? I’m longing to know.”
A deep sigh made the lace veil flutter slightly. “What I am about to tell you is in confidence, Miss Page.”
Lydia nodded. “Of course.”
“My husband died a little over ten years ago,” the lady began.
“I knew he’d accumulated some debt, but I had no idea how bad it actually was.
I soon learned the only thing left of value was this house.
I suppose I could have sold it, paid everyone off, but I was determined to keep it.
So, I created the Lyon’s Den as a means to remain in my house while paying off the debts.
Establishing a gambling house was, in itself, a gamble, but so far I’ve managed to fend off the wolves.
In fact, many of those wolves are now my customers.
And in case you are wondering, no, your father was never a customer, but he was one of the creditors who came to see me.
I confess I feared his visit. The debt owed was substantial, and I wasn’t sure what to expect.
As I had with all the others, I explained why I could not pay him back immediately, told him about my plans for the Lyon’s Den, assured him of my intent to pay, and asked for his understanding and his patience.
Then I steeled myself against the expected barrage of threats and insults.
” A soft laugh emerged from the veil. “But it never came. Instead, he stared at me in silence for a few moments, which was a bit unnerving if I’m to be honest. I had the impression he was reading my mind.
But then he smiled and told me, quite calmly, that the debt was forgiven and that he wished me well in my business venture.
‘You’re a courageous woman, Mrs. Dove-Lyon,’ he said.
‘I look forward to witnessing your path to success.’” She shook her head.
“I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Indeed, I couldn’t even speak at first. I waited for him to laugh, to tell me it was some kind of cruel joke.
When I finally realized he meant it, I wept with gratitude and told him that if he ever needed my help in the future, he only needed to ask.
” Another sigh stirred the veil. “That he has asked me to help you secure a good marriage is the very least I can do to repay him, Miss Page. The very least.”
Lydia blinked back tears. “I have to say, Mrs. Dove-Lyon, I am not overly surprised by what you’re telling me. Papa was a generous man. A true philanthropist. But with respect, I’m curious to know how you might set about finding a husband for me. Have you done this sort of thing before?”