Chapter Three
The Lyon’s Den, the notorious gambling establishment owned and presided over by Mrs. Bessie Dove-Lyon, appeared quite innocuous from the outside.
Painted an attractive shade of pale blue, it occupied a corner on Cleveland Row and was once known as Lyon’s Gate Manor, in the days before it had become a den frequented by the rich and ambitious… and the desperate.
Its proprietor, Mrs. Dove-Lyon, on discovering the debts of her late husband, had made the decision to transform her home into not just a lucrative gambling den, but also a match-making service for young ladies and gentlemen who might otherwise find it difficult to secure a marriage.
This was an open secret, and the gentlemen who frequented the Den knew that if they were unmarried, they stood a good chance of not maintaining that situation for long.
Perhaps it added a little spice to their visits and they liked it that way. Who knew?
On the morning in question, Mrs. Dove-Lyon was taking tea in her parlor when a knock on the door produced Titan, the manager of the escorts who made up the Wolf Pack, accompanied by one of the female escorts from the ladies’ side of the Den—Hermia.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon, clad as she habitually was in black and with her face veiled, looked at them expectantly. She wasn’t used to her mornings being interrupted. “Yes?” Her tone was a little frosty.
Titan swept a bow, expertly concealing his damaged hand. “A young lady has called at the Ladies’ Entry and is requesting an audience with you, Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”
“So early?”
Hermia took a step forward and made an elegant curtsey. “She has the look in her eyes of it being an urgent matter.”
Intriguing, but then, many of the young ladies who came begging an audience were intriguing. Such was the nature of the business she ran.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon set down her teacup. “And is this young lady in possession of a name?”
“She says she is Miss Georgiana Frampton.”
Aha. Mrs. Dove-Lyon prided herself on her encyclopaedic knowledge of every section of the ton, and the name Frampton was not unfamiliar to her.
Hadn’t the girl’s father, someone many would classify as nouveau riche, died a few years back?
And hadn’t he left her encumbered by one of the largest fortunes in the country?
A fortune based on trade, yes, but nevertheless of such a size as to render her humble origins of little importance.
And, after his demise, hadn’t the girl all but disappeared from polite society?
She’d heard rumors of a spinster aunt taking her in, but nothing more.
All of this served to make her presence here at the Den intriguing. She bestowed a smile upon her servants. “Very well. I will see her. You may escort her up here, Hermia.”
They departed and, a few minutes later, the door opened yet again and Hermia ushered in this unexpected visitor.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon surveyed the young lady. She was of middling height and slender build and, although no one could have described her as classically beautiful, she had about her a pleasing air of pert prettiness that men would no doubt find attractive.
Take away those spectacles and dress her fashionably and she could be very attractive.
Especially combined with her fortune. Thick brown curls had been arranged beneath a becoming bonnet as somber and restrained as her matching gray gown.
A girl who would benefit from some womanly advice on how to make the most of herself.
She looked what she was. A girl who had spent too much time under the iron rod of an elderly spinster.
“Mrs. Dove-Lyon.” Miss Frampton swept an elegant curtsey, no doubt instilled into her by governesses first and then her guardian, and regarded Mrs. Dove-Lyon out of eyes that although they sought to convey demureness could not hide a certain rebelliousness of spirit.
An interesting and determined young woman.
Yes, she would listen to what this young woman had to say and find out what she wanted from her.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon was under no illusion about this visit—young ladies only ever came to see her personally if they required something.
Usually they were in some sort of fix they needed help to escape from, although what a girl with such a fortune would need to escape, she had no idea.
“Miss Frampton. If you would care to be seated.”
The young lady lowered herself into the offered chair and folded her gloved hands in her lap, in a careful attempt to maintain that air of demureness. Mrs. Dove-Lyon was not fooled.
“Would you care for some tea?”
“Thank you.” She appeared composed and calm, but the slight quaver in her voice gave her away.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon, an expert in divining those with problems, detected an edge to her voice as though she were struggling to conceal an extreme anxiety.
This one would take some drawing out. She poured the tea and passed her guest a cup.
She smiled at the girl and infused her voice with as much kindness as she could muster. She was well used to having to do that with nervous young ladies. Best to check the girl was whom she thought she was first. “Do I assume you are the daughter of the late Mr. Percival Frampton?”
Miss Frampton nodded, but color rose to her cheeks as though this was for some reason not something she wished to own to. Might she not have got on with her late father? Although his death had been at least four years since. More intriguing than ever.
Miss Frampton wet her lips. “Did you know my father, Mrs. Dove-Lyon?” Still with the tremor in her voice. Perhaps she was worrying that her father had frequented the Den, and she was about to find out something that might tarnish his memory.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon put her at her ease and shook her head.
“I did not have the pleasure of his acquaintance. Mine is not an establishment frequented by gentlemen such as your father. You must know, or you would not be here, that most come here to gamble…” She left the rest unsaid lest she send the girl running for the hills.
She certainly looked as though she might bolt at any moment, despite her veneer of confidence.
Miss Frampton nodded. “No. My papa was not a gambler, although he was very astute with his investments and that might be considered by some to be akin to gambling.” She swallowed.
“And up until his death, he taught me how to manage money, so I like to think that I might one day be considered as adept as he was.” She took a breath.
“In short, ma’am, I am a young lady of considerable means, and…
” she paused and took a second steadying breath, “I am here today to ask your help. I am more than willing to pay for the service. Any price you might ask as my predicament is of the most urgent.”
Her cheeks had gone from the gentlest of blushes to bright spots of red, and her bosom rose and fell as though she’d been running. Clearly, she wanted to get over the formalities and proceed to the crux of the matter.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon bestowed another gentle smile on her, intended to encourage her to confide.
“You need have no fear that anything you say within these walls will ever leave them. I pride myself on my discretion. Whatever it is you need to tell me will be considered as a confession to a priest. Unless, of course, you give me permission to reveal it to anyone. And do not for a moment imagine that I have not heard the worst of secrets here in this room, because I have. Yours cannot be so bad that I will be shocked. I am long past that stage in my life.” She reached out a hand and patted Miss Frampton’s gloved ones.
“Please, unburden yourself and I will find a way to help you. I am certain we can sort out your problem for you, whatever it might be.”
Miss Frampton’s eyes blazed for a moment in hope and a little defiance, as though she thought her secret might be worse than any revealed here before. She lifted her chin. “I am with child.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon patted her hand again. “Is that all? I thought perhaps from the expression on your face that you had committed a murder and were in need of an escape route to Europe.” Always a good idea to lighten the conversation.
Miss Frampton gave a nervous giggle. “Nothing so exciting, I’m afraid, although my aunt is lucky I haven’t done just that in the four years she was my guardian.
” She paused. “I should explain that I have quit her establishment now that I’m of age and am in complete control of my fortune.
My father left it to me in its entirety as he had confidence I would know how to manage it. He was an excellent teacher.”
She pulled a wry face. “Unfortunately, he did not foresee the fact that he would depart this world before I came of age.” Her eyes clouded.
“Nor that I would have to live under the guardianship of such a tyrant as my Aunt Patience. She has been…difficult throughout the four years I have resided with her. She would have been happy in past times as a Puritan, I’m sure.
In fact, when I revealed my predicament, hoping against hope for some support, she told me I could no longer remain under her roof after I had so disgraced her. ”
“So she knows of your condition.”
A nod. “She does. She had forbidden me from consorting with all gentlemen as she said I was too young to think of marriage. I was not allowed to be presented at court, as my friends from school were, nor to attend any society occasions.” She frowned.
“So you can imagine how angry she was that I had not only gone against her rule but also committed the ultimate sin, in her eyes.” Regret tinged her voice.
Was it also regret at her own mistake, or something else?
“And the gentleman concerned? Where is he in this?”
Another deep breath. “At the bottom of the Irish Sea.”