Chapter Four
Winnie sat rigidly upright and brought her teacup to her lips as her gaze swept the lavish, tastefully furnished office of Mrs. Bessie Dove-Lyon.
Her grandmother had successfully coerced her to the Lyon’s Den for a meeting with the enterprising gaming proprietress.
Winnie did not know how to maneuver through this unwanted interference with her independence.
The entire idea of being forced into a loveless marriage was cringeworthy.
Her instinct was to run from this palace of indulgence and escape from the repugnant gentlemen who had nothing better to do with their time than wager their fortunes in wasteful games of chance.
Winnie was uncomfortably aware of her predicament.
Her grandmother and the disreputable matchmaker appeared as cozy as two peas in a pod.
They chatted amiably whilst she sat, a silent and wary participant in a game she had no desire to play.
She knew it was only a matter of time before she became the focus of their deliberations.
“My dear Bess, I must admit your establishment is a complete surprise. It is elegant and tastefully run, and my first impression completely contradicts what I imagined a gaming establishment would be. Are the gentlemen always so well behaved?”
“Oh Lord, no. They’re often irascible, and confrontations happen at the least provocation.
They will wager on anything and everything, and disgruntlement often ends in fisticuffs.
I maintain a large staff of formidable enforcers to keep the peace.
My matchmaking endeavors also often result in challenges among the gentlemen as they try to outwit and best whoever stands in their way.
You have no idea how many duels of supposed honor I have had to intervene in.
It is part of the male instinct to protect their sensitive natures regarding real or imagined insults.
Gentlemen will be gentlemen, as they say. ”
“And you encourage this behavior?”
“I consider it a whittling down of suitors for a lady. Let the best man win. As you know, the ton has its share of scoundrels, rapscallions, fools, and men of poor character among its caste. The house must be cleaned of such vermin from time to time. Many of my lady customers dream of finding a good marriage, even though Society has branded them tainted, sometimes through no fault of their own. I pride myself on being the arbiter of many a successful match. Not just satisfactory—many have resulted in a true love match.”
I doubt that very much. Winnie sipped her tea to keep from laughing. She had no faith in arranged marriages. Especially one arranged by a gaming hell doyenne.
Felicia nodded. “I am sure it brings you great satisfaction. That is precisely why Edwina and I are here today. Besides, naturally, it is my great pleasure to see you.”
Speak for yourself, Grandmama. You wrangled me here, and if I could, I’d be running out the door.
The wily self-proclaimed matchmaker, who had lifted her black veil when Winnie and Felicia joined her in her office, turned her eagle eyes to Winnie. “Your granddaughter is beautiful and will soon come into the baronetcy, I presume.”
“Yes, but without an heir, the baronetcy is not secure. Edwina must marry and produce an heir. I am determined to see her settled.”
Winnie felt her blood boil with resentment. If she were a male, she would not be forced to marry. “I would appreciate it if you did not speak of me as if I were absent. Mrs. Dove-Lyon, you should understand that I am not a willing participant in this…arrangement.”
There, she’d said it!
Her grandmother glared at her, but in Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s eyes, Winnie thought she saw a gleam of admiration.
“Edwina! I have told you your future is not up for discussion. Please do not waste Bess’s or my time. Your chances of making a brilliant match are less likely, as you have refused to cooperate. I have handled matters to facilitate your duty and secure the baronetcy.”
The tension between Winnie and her grandmother was palpable, a silent battle of wills that threatened to erupt at any moment.
Winnie could feel Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s penetrating gaze during this unsavory exchange. The woman studied her as if she could read her mind. “Tell me, Edwina, what do you desire in a man?” She nonchalantly brought her teacup to her lips as if this were the most ordinary question.
Despite her advanced years, Mrs. Dove-Lyon remained an elegant beauty, and Winnie couldn’t help but admire her strength and independence.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon clearly answered to no one and navigated her own ship.
She was a rarity in a world where women were treated no better than chattel.
However, from what Grandmama had told her, Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s independence had come with a price, one that had been paid over many years.
But deep down, Winnie couldn’t help but wonder if it was possible to have both.
That a woman could be strong and independent and happily married.
Her father had loved her mother fiercely, and her mother was no shrinking violet.
Winnie had memories of how much they loved each other and how much they loved her and Bennet.
But tragically, that was cut short, and Winnie still felt that loss, especially now that she was facing a decision that would affect her entire future, a decision that was being foisted on her by her grandmother.
Winnie felt she was being cornered, and that rebellious part of her didn’t want to comply.
If Mrs. Dove-Lyon wished to hear her parameters for a husband, then so be it.
Winnie would hold nothing back. “Assuredly, he should not be a gambler! Consequently, I see no way for you to find me a desirable husband, since the fish who swim in your pond all appear to suffer from this abominable affliction. Furthermore, he should be of moral character and have a reputation without blemish.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s brows lifted, and Winnie was reminded of her grandmother’s pointed brow. She did not dare look at her grandmother, afraid to find her brow raised so high it touched her hairline. She could already feel the scorching rebuke Grandmama would deliver.
Oh, drat, now you’ve gone and done it, Winnie.
“I see. I’m glad you brought this to my attention, because I need to consider your desires. Perhaps you have other requirements besides your distaste for gentlemen who wager and must possess an impeccable reputation?”
“Oh, and he should be very handsome. Exceedingly handsome. And tall. Very tall. With broad shoulders. And dark hair that is thick and wavy and eyes the color of a blue sky on a summer morning…” Her thoughts strayed to the stranger she’d robbed, in particular his sky-blue eyes that had nearly stolen her ability to speak.
He’d made an indelible impression on her, with features that seemed to be chiseled by a master sculptor.
It occurred to her that if she described him in as much detail as possible, the matchmaker would realize how impossible it would be for her to find such a man.
Neither her grandmother nor Mrs. Dove-Lyon knew she was describing a man she’d met and robbed at gunpoint.
But she doubted she’d ever see the likes of that gentleman here.
He no doubt had his pick of young debutante beauties vying for his attention.
He did not seem the kind of man who frequented the Lyon’s Den.
Her grandmother snorted. “This is all foolhardy balderdash. What bearing does a man’s appearance have on a successful marriage? Really, Bess, you shouldn’t indulge her.”
“My dear Felicia, I think it is important for Edwina to express what kind of man would complement her. Voicing what one wants is empowering, and the Lord knows that women are not empowered enough. Besides, it allows me to better understand the strategy necessary to match her with the right man who will win her approval, because I would never force a union between opposing factions,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said with an ingratiating smile to Winnie.
Winnie was surprised by the older woman’s words. She’d underestimated what a shrewd operator Mrs. Dove-Lyon was.
“Ah, very good!” Felicia thumped her cane on the floor with approval.
“You do see, Edwina, for all intents and purposes, you will be free to choose your husband—so long as you do choose. I told you how clever my dear old friend is. She will arrange things in such a way as to satisfy your demands, and I will be able to rest easy that the baronetcy will be assured of a future heir. Well done, Bess.” Felicia smiled as she raised her teacup to her lips and took a sip.