Chapter Four #2
The lady laughed and patted Lydia’s knee.
“Many times, my dear, many times. When it comes to women, I generally cater to those who, for whatever reason, find themselves struggling to make a good match. I also offer the same service to men who are seeking a suitable wife and who are willing to pay handsomely for the privilege. The circumstances vary, as does the process. It is not uncommon for a woman to have several potential suitors, and vice versa. It is rare for me to refuse a request, though it is not unknown. I have, over the years, acquired a solid reputation for successful matchmaking.”
“I see,” Lydia replied, although questions remained. “So, what do you need from me?”
“Personal information. Your age, your likes and dislikes, what you expect from a future husband. And your worth, financially.”
“My worth?” Lydia blinked. “Is that important?”
“Extremely. A man may possess a title and an estate, yet still be insolvent. Marriage to a wealthy wife resolves the issue.”
Lydia winced inwardly. “I do not wish to be married solely for my money, Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”
“Then you have answered that question before I even asked it.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon shrugged.
“Some women are happy to swap their inheritance for a title, or to become the mistress of a neglected estate. Some are not. However, you must surely see that your worth also determines, or at least influences, who I might deem suitable for you.” The lady paused for a moment and took hold of Lydia’s hand.
“I have no doubt you want the fairy tale, my dear, and believe me, I’ll do all I can to find your prince.
But bear in mind, princes also have likes and dislikes.
Being aware of a person’s traits and principles, on both sides, is essential.
Think of yourself as the unique piece of a puzzle, if you will.
Somewhere out there is another piece of the same puzzle, but also unique.
The two pieces do not have to be identical.
They simply have to fit together to create a pleasing whole. ”
Lydia pondered for a moment. “Yes, of course. To be honest, I confess to harboring some doubt about my father’s instructions at first, but no longer.
I appreciate what you’re doing for me, Mrs. Dove-Lyon, I truly do.
” She swallowed against a sudden and unexpected stab of grief.
Six months had passed since her father’s death, but she had never stopped missing him.
Nor would she ever. The realization that he would not be at her wedding, that he would not walk her down the aisle, cut deeply into her heart.
“Ah, child.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon squeezed Lydia’s hand.
“I know you must miss him. And, although I’m sure you have people around you already, people who love you, from now on, for what it’s worth, you also have me.
Our association will not end when I find your match.
And be assured, I will find him. But first, I need to learn all about you.
I need to know all there is to know about the daughter of Reginald Baldw—”
A knock interrupted the remainder of Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s comment and she expelled an obvious sigh of annoyance. “Come,” she replied, her tone sharp. The door opened and a man stuck his head around it. The same man, Lydia realized, that she’d seen entering the Lyon’s Den a short while ago.
“Pardon the interruption, Mrs. Dove-Lyon,” he said, arching a brow when his gaze rested briefly on Lydia. “I’d like to speak with you as soon as you’re available.”
A moment of silence followed, one that continued to infer annoyance. “When I am available, my lord,” she said quietly, “I shall let you know.”
“My thanks.” The man winked and flashed a smile at Lydia. “And while I’m waiting, I shall donate some of my wealth to this fine establishment.”
“Then rest assured, my lord, I shall be certain to take my time,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon replied, her voiced now edged with amusement. The man laughed and closed the door.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon shook her head. “Now, my dear, where were we?”
“About to learn all there is to know about me.” Lydia nodded toward the door. “May I know who that gentleman is, Mrs. Dove-Lyon? I saw him outside earlier. He arrived shortly after I did.”
“That gentleman is Viscount Eskdale,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon replied. “You might say he is one of my success stories.”
“He came to you looking for a wife? Oh, I do beg your pardon. I can’t believe I asked you that.” Lydia’s cheeks warmed. “It is none of my business, of course.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon tutted. “That’s quite all right, my dear.
Actually, it’s fairly common knowledge. It was his now-lady wife who came to me looking for a husband.
Lord Eskdale was, at that time, considered to be something of a devilish rake, though I was never convinced that his less-than-stellar reputation was merited.
In any case, he now lives in married bliss with Lady Eskdale and their young twins. So, let us continue.”
Lydia smiled her acquiescence while wondering, vaguely, what a man purportedly living in married bliss was doing at the Lyon’s Den.
“Well, my dear,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said, a short while later, her breath stirring her veil as she glanced over the notes she’d made, “it’s quite obvious whose daughter you are. Now, tell me what you’re hoping for in a husband.”
Lydia fidgeted as a warm blush again flooded her cheeks. “I’m not at all sure how to respond to that, Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon chuckled. “Do not allow modesty to stifle your responses, Miss Page. I would much rather you speak candidly. Nothing you say will bring a blush to my cheeks, I can assure you. Believe me, I’ve heard it all before.”
“Right. Yes, of course.” Lydia chewed on her lip, wondering where to begin. She had an image in her head, of course, but such a perfect man could surely only exist in the pages of a book.
“Age.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s voice intruded into Lydia’s thoughts. “Let’s begin there, shall we? I’m assuming you would want a youngish fellow rather than a man who has one foot in the grave.”
Lydia laughed. “That would be preferable, certainly.”
“How about if he’s been married before? That is, a widower?”
Lydia barely hesitated. “That wouldn’t bother me.”
“And if there are children from the previous marriage?”
“I don’t think that would bother me either. I should like to have children of my own, however.”
“Noted. What about looks? Handsome, or at least reasonably? No deformities?”
Lydia winced. “Good looks do not matter necessarily. I suppose I should hope for a fully functioning husband who is pleasant, mannerly, and intelligent. I dislike vanity and overbearance, but I’d nevertheless prefer a man who takes pride in his appearance and comportment.
” She cocked her head as a sound of amusement emanated from behind the veil.
“I get the impression you’re trying not to laugh, Mrs. Dove-Lyon. Am I asking too much?”
“A fully functioning husband.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon released a shout of laughter.
“My dear Miss Page, I am stealing that description for future use. It covers all the important aspects of marital life. And no, I don’t think you’re asking too much at all.
Such men do exist.” She took Lydia’s hand in hers.
“I just need to find one for you. And I will. You have my word.”
Lydia smiled. “I can see why my father sent me to you. He was always a good judge of character. At the risk of sounding maudlin, since meeting you I don’t feel quite as lost as I did a short while ago.”
“Well, now.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon puffed out her bosom a little.
“Hearing that gives me great pleasure. So, let us carry on. You said you did not wish your inheritance to be the only lure in a potential match, so what we’d prefer is a man who is solvent.
One who is not looking to marry simply for money.
Although, as I suggested earlier, your inheritance will invariably play a part in the proceedings, so I will need the details of it.
A well-shod suitor is not likely to be enthused about courting a pauper. ”
It came out of nowhere, making Lydia shiver. A brief, but sharp stab of doubt about these so-called proceedings. Agreeing to meet with a complete stranger based solely on his curriculum vitae felt cold, somehow. Impersonal. Was she doing the right thing?
“Better the devil you know,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said, as if reading Lydia’s mind. “Rest assured, my dear, I will not introduce you to anyone inappropriate, nor will there be expectations or obligations. Above all, you must listen to your heart and trust what it is telling you.”
“And if my heart tells me he is not for me?”
“Then we set him aside and continue with the search.” An unseen smile seemed to emanate from behind the veil. “There are plenty of fish in the sea, Miss Page, and I cast a wide net. Now, I have a few more questions.”
“I believe, Mrs. Dove-Lyon, you now know me better than anyone,” Lydia remarked sometime later, having emptied out heart and mind to the enigmatic owner of the Lyon’s Den. She sensed, rather than saw, a responding smile.
“And how do you feel, my dear?” Mrs. Dove-Lyon asked.
“I have to say unburdened,” Lydia replied, after a moment’s consideration. “Lighter, somehow.”
A nod followed. “I’m glad to hear it.”
“So, what now?” Lydia asked.
“Now, Miss Page, you should go home, remain calm, and carry on as you usually do.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon rose to her feet. “I’ll be in touch when the time comes, which it will. I’m just not sure how long it might take.”
“I understand, of course.” Lydia rose as well. “There’s no great hurry after all, although remaining calm might prove to be a bit of a challenge.”
“My advice, Miss Page? Keep busy.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon headed toward the door and opened it. “Indulge in those things you said give you pleasure. Play your harp. Read a favorite book. Keep a journal, if you don’t already.”
“I will do all of those things.” Lydia paused on the threshold and gazed at the veil, wishing she could see the face hidden behind it. “Thank you, Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”
“It has been a sincere pleasure, my dear. And if, in the meantime, you have need of me for any other reason, do not hesitate to seek me out.”
Lydia smiled, nodded, and stepped into the hallway, pausing a moment as the black door closed gently behind her. She drew a slow breath and released it.
“All done?” a man’s voice said, startling her. “Oh, my apologies, miss. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
Lydia turned and regarded the man, the same one she’d seen outside, and who’d poked his head into Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s parlor a short while ago.
Viscount Eskdale, supposedly living in married bliss with Lady Eskdale and their recently born twins.
“Apology accepted, sir,” Lydia replied, with more grace than she felt, although it was difficult not to smile at the fellow.
He was, she silently admitted, incredibly handsome, with a charming, boyish twinkle in his eyes.
But the earlier question arose in her mind.
What was he doing at the Lyon’s Den? Then again, he was probably thinking the exact same thing about her.
Lydia set her unfounded suppositions aside and surrendered to a smile.
“I take it you left the Black Widow in a good mood?” he asked, returning the smile.
Unfamiliar with the epithet, Lydia widened her eyes briefly and then chuckled. “I believe I did, sir, yes.”
“Then you have my gratitude, miss,” he said, and approached the door. “Still, I believe I’d feel better if you wished me luck.”
Lydia laughed again. “I’m sure it’s not necessary, sir, but if you insist, then good luck.”
“Thank you. That should do it,” he replied and landed several solid raps on the black door.
Lydia left him to his fortune and, minutes later, stepped out into the street and headed to where Owens awaited with the carriage.
“All is well, miss?” he asked, a look of concern on his face. Or was it, perhaps, disapproval?
Lydia paused at the carriage door and threw a quick glance at the Lyon’s Den, not quite able to imagine what kind of a suitor Mrs. Dove-Lyon might deem appropriate.
Her stomach fluttered. Then Owens extended his hand and she took it, lifting her skirts with the other as she climbed into the carriage.
“All is well, Owens, thank you,” she replied, settling onto the seat.
“Home, then, miss?”
“Home, yes.”
The door to the carriage closed, leaving Lydia in a hushed, veiled half-light. She took a calming breath. There was a certain peace to be found in shadows, she thought, and wondered, vaguely, if that was the reason for Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s choice of attire.