Chapter One #2
Even so, she pulled her hooded cloak more securely around her face and form, concealing anything that might reveal her identity, before exiting the vehicle. As soon as she stepped to the pavement, a large hulking figure of a man stepped from the shadows.
“Can I help you, miss?” he asked, his tone polite and even.
“I’ve an appointment with Mrs. Dove-Lyon,” she answered in kind, keeping her chin lowered and her features in shadow.
The man nodded then gestured for her to follow him. He led her around the corner of the building. “This entrance is reserved exclusively for our female guests,” he explained gruffly.
Opening a door that revealed a quiet stairway, he gave a nod.
As soon as she crossed the threshold, he closed the door behind her while he remained outside.
It was all very mysterious and intriguing and certainly tickled Charlotte’s natural appreciation for the theatrical.
The lighting was dim but she could hear the muffled echo of music layered with a wealth of voices and other indistinct noises.
At the top of the stairs, she stepped into a small entryway where a woman awaited her with a quick but not unkind smile.
“Miss Dickson?”
Charlotte nodded.
“I am Hermia. I shall escort you to Mrs. Dove-Lyon. This way please.”
The elegant Hermia led her through lush and opulent interiors with thick carpets underfoot, silk-covered walls, and paintings that many would consider scandalous but which only partially piqued Charlotte’s curiosity.
Having grown up amongst the inspired artists of Paris, she’d seen an endless array of subject matter portrayed in various forms. From the virtuous and mundane to the sensual and licentious.
Though not shocked by the extremely carnal images depicted, she was a bit surprised to see that these examples were of exceptional quality and had likely been done by masters of their medium.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s taste in artwork—though undeniably wicked—was also quite expensive and rather impressive.
When they finally reached a door painted black, Hermia gave a sharp knock which was promptly answered by a call to enter. With a nod and another smile, Charlotte’s escort stepped away, leaving her to enter the Black Widow of Whitehall’s den alone.
The room was as luxurious as the other rooms she’d passed through, but Charlotte’s attention focused intently upon the woman—dressed in swaths of all black with a veil covering her face—rising to her feet behind a wide desk.
“Welcome, Miss Dickson,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said in a tone that was amiable and concise as she gestured to a pair of chairs facing the fireplace. “Do come sit and we’ll have a nice talk.”
There was only the briefest hesitation as Charlotte experienced a distinct sense that the next minutes would be instrumental in dictating the rest of her life. She only had a single moment to commit to her path or turn away from all of it.
She stepped forward with her gaze steady. “Thank you for seeing me, Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”
The Black Widow tilted her head and Charlotte thought she detected a faint smile behind the fall of the veil. “Of course. How could I refuse an audience with the daughter of the illustrious Sarah Bell?”
Charlotte had just reached the chair and tensed sharply at the woman’s words.
Once known in England as Miss Sarah Ballard then Mrs. Sarah Dickson upon her marriage, Charlotte’s mother had eventually become much better known across Continental Europe as Sarah Bell, a famous and beloved actress who’d graced the finest theaters throughout Italy and then France.
Her popularity amongst the elite of European society was only surpassed by the utter devotion shown to her by the artists she so adored and supported in any way she could.
A muse to many, her face and figure had been recreated countless times by artistic masters.
“How did you know?” Charlotte asked stiffly.
The other woman shrugged. “I know many things.”
“You knew my mother?”
“Knew of her,” the Widow replied as she swept forward to take a seat.
“Her talent on the stage was such that her admirers’ praises reached us even here in the dull lanes of London, as did the very sad news of her passing.
I do wish I could’ve seen her perform. I am deeply sorry for your loss, Miss Dickson. ”
Swallowing past the constriction in her throat, Charlotte grasped hard to the anger that always arose with her grief as she took her place in the other chair. “Thank you,” she replied.
Gesturing to the decanter and crystal glasses on the table between them, Mrs. Dove-Lyon asked, “Sherry?”
Charlotte nodded.
Once their glasses were poured, the black-veiled woman eased back in her chair and stared at Charlotte with calm attention. “Now, why don’t you tell me why you’ve sought my assistance.”
“I understand you have a talent for making impossible matches within the haute ton.”
The Black Widow laughed. “More a highly developed skill than a talent, but yes, I have had significant success in that arena. Are you in the market for a husband?”
“I am,” Charlotte confirmed. “But I have some specific requirements.”
A pause. “Oh? Such as?”
“I need a gentleman of extreme wealth, impeccable family pedigree, and the highest social influence. He must be someone who inspires awe and envy in all who know him and all who wish to know him.”
“Is that all?”
The Widow’s dry tone was unmistakable but Charlotte would not be deterred by the challenge her requirements might present.
She leaned forward, finding the shadow of the other woman’s gaze. “Allow me to be crudely blunt, Mrs. Dove-Lyon. I want…a king.”
A smile curved behind the veil. “I’m afraid they’re all rather taken.”
“A prince, then.”
The Widow chuckled and took a sip of her sherry, not bothering to reply.
Charlotte sat back in her chair. A rush of frustration made her next words testy. “What is the highest you can procure?”
A moment of silence followed her curt demand before the other woman spoke with an undeniable hint of censure at Charlotte’s disrespect. “I should be able to get you a duke.”
“As long as he possesses the qualities I’ve listed, I suppose that should be good enough.”
“Hm.” There was a curious note to the single syllable.
“Your demands are not terribly unusual, yet I suspect they are motivated by something far darker than ambition,” the Black Widow mused.
“Anything you say here will be between the two of us only. The more I know about your desires, the more I shall be able to accommodate them. What is it you truly want to gain in this union, Miss Dickson?”
Charlotte took a heavy breath and spoke the truest word she knew. “Revenge.”
There was only a brief pause then the Black Widow lifted her glass in a toast.
“Now, that is something I can work with.”