Chapter Two #6
She smiled at him. “Sometimes. But I would not call myself a great reader, by any means. I read on occasion. But I prefer to paint. And sculpt.”
“Really? So you are an artist.”
“No.” She laughed. “Not by any means. I dabble. I offer poor imitations. I should hate for anyone truly accomplished to look at my work.”
He leaned over the balcony. “Why so modest?”
She smiled and looked away. “I used to wish to be bold about my accomplishments. But the men, they quickly lost interest. Some felt I was arrogant. Others, boring. The idea of an artist for a wife is not an enticement, I suspect.”
“Not for the wrong man, I agree. But the right one…” he said, meaning to give her hope.
“And do you offer yourself, Mr. Heyter?” she asked, teasing.
He coughed. “I, um… I mean…”
“Oh, do not trouble yourself, Mr. Heyter. I’m only teasing. I would never be so bold as to throw myself at a man such as yourself. The hunted look in your eye is enough to dissuade me, even if I were interested.”
A part of him felt relieved. Another part, sad.
He liked Miss Watson, even though they had just met.
She seemed bold, and open with her opinions, and honest. He liked her bold honesty, even though he knew it would certainly dissuade some potential suitors.
He did not like the games of attraction some women played.
Flirtatious banter and laughter was one thing, but coyness and all those come-hither looks and seemingly demure expressions, it was enough to drive a man to drink.
“What is it you are thinking, Mr. Heyter?” Miss Watson asked.
“Only that I find myself agreeing with you, on the subject of courtship. Things would certainly be easier if people declared their intentions and made themselves known.”
A figure in pink sailed into the room. “Easier, yes, but rather unlike courtship, don’t you think?
” Miss Harvey said. “I can’t imagine anything less romantic.
How businesslike things must seem. And so dull.
How can one distill down one’s feelings and emotions to a matter of business?
We are not cattle to be traded off, Mr. Heyter. ”
He and Miss Watson laughed.
“Now it is you teasing me, I believe,” he said.
“Not at all. I’m being quite serious.” Miss Harvey pouted.
“And where is your fair companion, Mr. Heyter?” Miss Watson asked. “Still dancing?”
“It’s likely, knowing George. He never knows when to take a hint.
Excuse me.” He nodded to the woman and exited the balcony.
Neville overheard Miss Watson say aloud, “I like him,” as he returned to the main gambling hall.
He wove in between tables and groups of well-dressed men and women talking, laughing, gambling.
He looked around. Where was Miss Clifton?
Sibyl gave Mr. George Percy a warm smile and curtsied. He was a fine dancer and told many jokes that made her laugh. But there was something overly light and friendly about him, that rather made her feel like she was dancing with an affectionate brother or a cousin. Not a potential suitor.
“How do you know Mr. Heyter?” she asked.
He glanced at her. “We go way back. To university, Cambridge. I studied divinity, he medicine. But then we were both called to fight and felt it our duty. So we signed up for the Navy.”
“And now?”
“Now we await His Majesty’s pleasure. He was training to be a ship’s doctor and was working as an apprentice to a surgeon.
I was destined for the clergy. Still am, I suppose.
Should probably look into that. It all seems a little dull, though, giving speeches.
I’d much rather dance with pretty, young ladies like yourself. ”
She cocked her head at him. His compliments came so freely, she hardly wondered if should take any of them seriously. “That’s very kind of you.”
He smiled. “Come. I must have another dance, or if not, then hear more about what brought you here to the infamous Lyon’s Den. You know what goes on here, yes?”
“I think so, but please, I would rather not dance a second time. That would give rise to rumors that we are courting, when you but do me a kindness.” She let him escort her away from the dance floor and over to a bench, where he procured her a glass of champagne.
“It is mainly gambling that happens at this establishment, yes?”
“In this room. But there are separate rooms for the men and women. You women have an observation gallery where you might watch us and discuss which gentleman takes your fancy. Like me.” He waggled his eyebrows.
She laughed.
“No, I jest, but the Lyon’s Den is a jolly sort of place. Good for an evening of fun. There’re contests, competitions, games, drinks a plenty, good company, and even matchmaking. But you know all about that.”
“I heard something of the sort.”
“Yes, well, it’s the one good thing about this place. Here, people can be however they like and do as they please. The women who come here, many come for a pleasant evening out. Others come looking for love. That’s where Mrs. Dove-Lyon comes in. You’ve seen her, of course.”
She opened her mouth to speak, when he said, “But how could you miss her? The old gel, the lady in black. The infamous Black Widow of Whitehall.” He shivered. “I swear, if she weren’t so hospitable, I’d be scared half out of my wits.”
Her mouth dropped open. That was very rude to say about their hostess, especially as she was… standing rather close by.
He looked at her face. “She’s standing behind me, isn’t she?”
Sibyl pursed her lips together. “Umm…” She tried to hide her smile.
He muttered a curse and turned around. “Good evening, my dear Mrs. Dove-Lyon. How wonderful to see you here.”
The woman stood back, a vision in black bombazine. “Mr. Percy. How good of you to patronize my establishment. Again.”
He tugged at his collar.
“I trust you are enjoying yourself,” she said curtly.
“Oh, yes. Yes, indeed.”
“I am glad to hear it. I wonder if I might borrow Miss Clifton for a moment.”
Sibyl rose. “Of course.” She curtsied to her hostess.
“Let us take a turn about the room,” the widow said. “I like to see what my guests are up to.”
Sibyl readily agreed, curious to learn more about this mysterious matchmaker.
“I will make no bones about it, Miss Clifton. Your mother has come to me, looking to engage my services for you. You are aware of my profession?”
“Yes. You make love matches between couples.”
The woman stopped and looked at her. “I will not lie, Miss Clifton. Sometimes love does not always come about so easily, or so quickly. It can take time to grow. But before I agreed to help, I wanted to speak with you. You are open to this?”
Sibyl thought about it. She loved her mother and sisters but knew that she was getting older, and with each passing year, she was becoming more and more of a burden on her mother.
At the same time, she had no wish to spend the rest of her life as a spinster, to eventually die as an old maid.
She wanted more from life and felt like she was passing through the days and nights, waiting for something to happen that never did. Restlessness ate at her.
“I don’t want to end up an old maid.”
“No one is saying that you will.”
“My mother wants me to marry. She thinks it’s time.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon shrugged. “What do you think?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes. What do you want, Miss Clifton? I deal in hearts and minds, not just pocketbooks and business deals. I will not waste my time matching someone who does not want it.”
Sibyl thought on this. “I don’t know. I thought going along with Mama’s plan was good, but none of the men I meet are readers, and I love to read.
I fall in love with the stories and the characters, and when I reread books I like, it’s like visiting old friends again.
I want someone whom I can share that with.
Who will understand what it’s like to treasure a good book. But no one seems to.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon nodded. “There are two ways of looking at it. Practically, life is not a story, Miss Clifton. It is real. Books often give us a fantasy. Especially fiction nowadays.” She paused.
“But the romantic view is the dreamers, philosophers, artists. They might say that life is full of many stories, all linked together.”
Sibyl smiled. “It’s nice to meet someone who understands. My mama worries I read too much, even though she did too when she was younger.”
“Then we are both in good company, for I too, love a good book. Especially of the wild and fantastical variety. Have you ever thought that maybe you might like to try writing one yourself?”
“Me, write? No. That’s for men. That’s for poets and playwrights and… writers.” Sibyl wondered aloud as the thought occurred to her. She had never considered that before.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon laughed. “Perhaps rather than a husband, you need a hobby.”
She looked ready to turn away. Sibyl knew her mother would be disappointed in her if she were to lose her chance of speaking with the grand lady.
“Do you have a library for those at the Den, Mrs. Dove-Lyon?”
“I do not. I have my own private one, of course. I enjoy reading as much as the next person. But I would say that if it is real love you seek, perhaps you might look outside the walls of a library or bookseller’s. Ah, do excuse me. I see an old friend of mine.”
Sibyl nodded glumly. Mrs. Dove-Lyon seemed to understand her love of reading and books, but that wasn’t the advice Sibyl had been hoping for. “Thank you, Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”
She curtsied as the older woman walked away to a crowd of cheerful onlookers. Sibyl was just about to observe the gambling when she became conscious of a few men’s enquiring looks.
Sibyl wandered out, away from the main dining hall, when she spotted Mrs. Dove-Lyon speaking with a young man in deep red, almost a claret, who was watching Sibyl closely. She felt discomforted and looked around.