Chapter Fifteen
Early November, London
Rufus’s second visit to the Lyon’s Den lacked the element of surprise of his first, but Mrs. Dove-Lyon was no less impressive.
She entered the parlor in a rustle of black silk, still veiled, but Rufus felt he knew her a little better now.
He rose and bowed. “Good afternoon, madam.”
“Lord Marsden, a pleasure to see you again. I trust our previous arrangement worked out to your satisfaction.”
“Eventually. There was the unfortunate and tragic death of two oarsmen during the celebrations. The Chinese pagoda caught fire and rained down destruction on the poor fellows in the rowboats.”
“Tragic, indeed.” They took a few moments, heads bowed in acknowledgement of the loss of two lives, and then Mrs. Dove-Lyon looked up again. “I believe the encounter with Lord Hetherington occurred later that evening, in a well-populated part of the park with many witnesses.”
“It was widely discussed in the days that followed.” Rufus had positioned his tent so Clem’s parents would see and hear the encounter and know that Clem’s suitor was no longer acceptable. Lord Basingthwaite was a stickler when it came to an unblemished reputation.
“If not for the horrific deaths of those poor men, it would have been the most talked-about social execution of the week. Brandy, my lord?”
Rufus raised a hand in refusal. “Thank you, but no. Hetherington left town two days later when news of his involvement in the death of that unfortunate young woman’s brother was published in the papers.
I would love to know how you uncovered that information, but I respect the need to protect sources and their secrets. ”
“I believe you have your own methods of ferreting out such secrets, but I, too, respect your process. So, your return suggests another . . . impediment to the matrimonial aspirations of the young lady you are protecting. How may I assist this time?”
“Viscount Mersey.”
“Widowed and left with three young children. A governess would be more appropriate so soon after the passing of his wife.”
“Four months is not considered sufficient mourning by most people, but he has already expressed an interest in Lady Clementine.”
“Many would say he is moving on with unseemly haste.”
“But there are some, including Lady Clementine’s mother, who believe he sets aside convention for the sake of his children. Lady Clementine’s work for an orphanage is well known, probably setting her high on his list of potential new wives and mothers.”
“Hmm, Lord Mersey is not a patron, but I do have a suitable young lady on my books. Her family was minor aristocracy, but her father’s recent death has left her family in straitened circumstances. If you were to pay her fee—”
Rufus drew out his pocketbook and withdrew several notes, which he set down on the table between them. “Leave Mersey to me. I’ll find a way to bring him to you. Your fee, plus some to assist the young woman if she requires assistance to present well to catch the viscount’s attention.”
As Mrs. Dove-Lyon accepted the proffered payment, she said, “You are a kind man, Lord Marsden. If ever you require my assistance in attaining your own married bliss, it would be my pleasure to find you your perfect match.”
Rufus stood and bowed. “Thank you. I will remember your offer should the need arise.”
As he left the blue house and climbed into his carriage, he wondered how much longer he could continue protecting Clem like this. His preferred mode of engagement with an enemy had always been proactive, but this situation made him feel he was constantly running to keep up.
Lady Basingthwaite had been pleasant and encouraging of his friendship, but lately, her demeanor had become somewhat distant when they met.
Friendship with an earl was not what she wanted for her daughter. It might even be a hindrance to encouraging other suitors.
Marriage was the only relationship that would satisfy her, and an engagement with him must be Clem’s last resort if they couldn’t bring Will home in time.
But unrest was brewing again in France, and Will’s latest report revealed increasing support for the little emperor.
How long before Bonaparte made his move?
Late November, London
Clem looked up, startled, as her mother entered the parlor and sank heavily onto the sofa. She hadn’t removed her coat and gloves, and her fur muff had fallen to the floor without her noticing.
“I don’t believe it!”
Worried by Mama’s unusual loss of control, Clem closed the book she had been reading. “What has happened, Mama?”
“Viscount Mersey’s engagement to another has just been announced.”
“But—” Clem counted back to when Mama had first told her of the viscount’s intention to court her. “You only told me about him around All Saints Day, barely two weeks ago.”
If Rufus had had a hand in it, how did he manage it so quickly?
Mama shook her head and sighed. “It is rather sooner than polite society considers appropriate, but he has a young family to consider and—”
“Regardless, his wife has been gone little more than four months. Surely it would have been more seemly to hire a nursemaid or a governess and take time to grieve her loss.”
“I agree, but I had believed you would catch his eye, dearest.” Mama noticed a maid enter the room. She cut off whatever else she might have said as the maid stooped, picking up the dropped muff and holding it to her chest.
“Yes, yes, I know, my coat and gloves.” Mama rose slowly and turned her back as the maid hurried forward to assist her in removing her outer garments.
Jenny took them, bobbed a quick curtsy and scurried out.
“Which disappoints you most, Mama? The fact that Mersey is not engaged to me, or the speed with which he is replacing his first wife?” Clem joined her mother on the sofa, sitting at an angle so they could look at one another.
Mama’s lips tipped into a wry smile as her gaze connected with Clem’s. “Both, although in this instance I wonder how any man could overlook my beautiful girl for another.” Her hand brushed Clem’s cheek, and her eyes were sad.
“Don’t you want me to marry for love like you and Papa did?”
“Love? What gave you that idea? We weren’t in love when we married.”
“But I thought—” Clem’s forehead tightened as the long-cherished ideal of her parents’ love match dissolved into thin air.
She loved Will and had imagined her parents had felt the same when they wed.
Her love was a real, wondrous thing, but her mother’s words had just taken that belief and blown it to pieces.
Was it possible she had somehow duped herself into believing the feelings she and Will had for one another—what she called love—was nothing more than a strong attraction?
Hesitantly, she asked, “Is love a lie?”
Mama shook her head and took Clem’s hand in hers. “Oh no, my darling. Love grows over time. It blossoms as a couple learns how to live together, to make a life together, but please . . .” She squeezed Clem’s hand. “Don’t expect it to be there when you walk down the aisle.”
“It’s just that—” She couldn’t explain her feelings for Will when her mother knew nothing of their relationship. “Never mind. How was your shopping expedition?”
Mama looked at her sharply before sitting back on the sofa.
“Until I heard the news about Lord Mersey, I was having a perfectly lovely coze with Maria Chelmsford. Madame Cerise had the most divine shade of turquoise silk in her shop. I asked her to put the roll aside for you. We must visit her tomorrow.”