Chapter 10 Eleanor’s Entreaty
Eleanor’s Entreaty
The Lyon’s Den might present itself as merely another exclusive gambling establishment, but those who sought out its proprietress knew its true purpose—to provide solutions for women when the law offered none.
A discreet entrance was tucked away on a quiet Mayfair Street, a brass lion’s head knocker gleaming in the afternoon light.
As Eleanor was led toward the blue parlor by a maid, the door swung open before they reached it, revealing two figures she recognized from social events, though she’d never spoken directly with either, engaged in animated conversation—or rather, dispute.
A gentleman and lady, both impeccably dressed in the height of fashion, were so absorbed in their disagreement that they didn’t notice her.
“I assure you, Lord Cedric, your methods are far too blunt,” declared the lady, a vision in green silk with red hair artfully arranged in an elegant coiffure. “Lady Long Limbs needs her reputation salvaged, not brutally reconstructed.”
“And I assure you, Lady Adelaide,” countered the gentleman, tall and distinguished with silver threading his brown hair at the temples, “that sometimes the most effective solution is cauterization. And one that worked, as you’ll recall.
Operation Rockfaces is now peacefully established in Bath, where the waters will no doubt heal their social wounds eventually. ”
Lady Adelaide rolled her eyes heavenward. “Bath. You may as well have buried them alive.”
“They’re breathing, are they not? A courtesy their enemies would not have extended had I not intervened.”
Only then did the pair seem to notice Eleanor standing in the doorway. Lady Adelaide recovered first, her eyes quickly assessing Eleanor’s appearance with the swiftness of one accustomed to gathering information at a glance.
“Your Grace,” she said, dropping into a perfect curtsy. “How delightful to encounter you. I’ve heard marvelous things about your work with Madame Tansley’s charity.”
Lord Cedric bowed with elegance and precision that could only be achieved by decades of practice. “Duchess. A pleasant surprise indeed.” His keen eyes betrayed nothing, though Eleanor had the distinct impression he was cataloging every detail of her appearance for future reference.
“Lord Cedric. Lady Adelaide,” Eleanor acknowledged.
“You must excuse us,” Lady Adelaide said, her smile warm. “I see it as my duty to educate Lord Cedric on the necessity of a woman’s gentle touch for some problems rather than a gentleman’s scorched-earth approach.”
Lord Cedric leaned toward Eleanor conspiratorially and murmured, “Society’s wolves often hunt in packs, Your Grace. Best to arrive with a canon blazing than armed with a fan.”
“Good day, Your Grace. I’m certain we shall meet again,” Lady Adelaide said warmly, taking Lord Cedric’s proffered arm.
Eleanor watched the striking pair make their way down the corridor, noting how they moved together with the ease of longtime partners.
“Lady Adelaide and Lord Cedric,” came a melodious voice from behind Eleanor as the pair disappeared around the corner. “London’s most formidable fixers of precarious situations. They specialize in the art of social rehabilitation… or demolition, depending on which of them you ask.”
Eleanor turned to find The Black Widow of Whitehall standing by the open door of the blue parlor, which was richly appointed with sapphire velvet furnishings, ornate silver candelabras, and a magnificent painting of Artemis hunting that dominated one wall.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon was exactly as Eleanor remembered.
In her early fifties, she possessed a timeless beauty enhanced rather than diminished by the silver streaking her chocolate brown hair.
Her black gown, adorned with jet beading that caught the firelight, emphasized her slender figure, while her shrewd eyes missed nothing as she assessed her visitor.
“Your Grace,” she said with a slight curtsy. “What an unexpected pleasure.”
“Mrs. Dove-Lyon,” Eleanor replied, accepting the older woman’s gesture to take a seat opposite her. “I see you’ve had interesting visitors today.”
“Indeed.” The Widow’s lips curved in a knowing smile. “Anyone except the individuals themselves can see the fondness they have for each other. But I’m sure you have more pressing matters to discuss.”
“I believe you must know this visit is not entirely pleasurable,” Eleanor said.
A smile touched the older woman’s lips. “Direct as always. One of your many admirable qualities.” She signaled to the hovering maid. “Tea, Lily. And ensure we’re not disturbed.”
Once they were alone, Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s posture relaxed marginally. “Your husband has returned from the East, I hear. How inconvenient for you.”
“Inconvenient?” Eleanor’s voice rose slightly before she controlled it. “It’s a disaster. You assured me he would remain abroad. The entire arrangement was predicated on his absence.”
“I arranged a proxy marriage to a gentleman with no interest in returning to England,” The Widow corrected, her tone mild. “I never guaranteed his permanent absence.”
“You implied it strongly enough,” Eleanor countered. “And charged accordingly. Wasn’t his brother’s scandal three years ago painful enough? Why has he returned?”
The Widow inclined her head in acknowledgment. “His return is unexpected.”
“Yet not entirely surprising to you,” Eleanor observed, studying the other woman’s composed expression. “You knew something might draw him back.”
The maid returned with a silver tea service, interrupting their conversation. The proprietress poured for them both, adding a precise amount of sugar to Eleanor’s cup without asking her preference.
“Addiction is a difficult devil to exorcise. Lord Dominic is no exception to that vulnerability,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said after settling comfortably with her tea.
“Have you seen or heard anything about Lord Dominic?”
The Widow’s expression revealed nothing. “No, but perhaps you should ask your husband.”
“He reveals nothing of substance,” Eleanor said, frustrated. “He occupies my house at night, charms my staff, all while refusing to explain his sudden return to London.”
“And yet, I sense your frustration stems from more than mere inconvenience,” The Widow observed with disturbing perception. “Has the duke proven difficult to live with in ways you didn’t anticipate?”
Heat rose to Eleanor’s cheeks as she recalled the dinner on the night of his arrival—the removal of his cravat, the corded muscles in his forearms, his lips on her knuckles… “He is unnecessarily provocative,” she admitted stiffly.
The Widow’s smile deepened knowingly. “Ah. I see the arrangement has developed complications.”
“Can it be undone?” Eleanor asked, pushing past her embarrassment.
“I’ve considered and offered several approaches,” Eleanor continued, leaning forward.
“Renting a separate residence for him, tripling his allowance in exchange for his departure, even making the household so uncomfortable he chooses to leave voluntarily.” She gave a rueful smile.
“He has refused the first two options and has yet to be convinced by the third.” An idea occurred to her, and Eleanor looked up suddenly.
“And what of his properties? Might there be estate matters requiring his attention elsewhere in the country?”
“His entailed property is apparently in ruins from neglect,” The Widow said thoughtfully. “He returned last year to assess the situation, but I believe he cannot afford the cost.”
“He returned last year? And you didn’t tell me?”
“Why should I? It had nothing to do with your matrimonial contract.”
The Widow tapped her fingers lightly on the arm of her chair. “The duke has been consumed by concerns for his brother for years now. I doubt his ancestral home would hold much interest unless…”
“Unless?”
“Unless you gave him reasons to be concerned.”
“Such as?”
“I’m uncertain, but I’m sure one as resourceful as you could think of something,” The Widow said smoothly, then tilted her head thoughtfully.
“Perhaps you’ve approached this from the wrong direction, Your Grace.
Rather than attempting to drive him away, perhaps you should consider the advantage of a present husband.
He was quite influential with his peers before the unfortunate circumstances with his brother occurred.
His Grace had a natural talent for persuading stubborn aristocrats and resolving conflicts. Surely his skill sets could be of use?”
“Perhaps, but what good are his skill sets if he takes away my freedom?” Eleanor’s exasperation colored her tone. “And he shows no willingness to sign any new documents to give me more assurance.”
“Then you must look elsewhere for answers.” The Widow’s voice lowered conspiratorially. “Your network of investments near the docks—they give you eyes and ears in places a duchess cannot normally access. Use them.”
Eleanor blinked in surprise. “How do you know about my investments?”
The thin smile that curved The Widow’s lips was answer enough.
“I know about all notable financial activities in certain quarters of London. Your efforts to provide alternate lending sources for business owners haven’t gone unnoticed.
” She leaned forward slightly. “Just as Lord Croft’s interests in those same areas haven’t escaped attention. ”
“Lord Croft?” Eleanor’s voice grew cold. “He approached me after George’s death, you know. Made quite the persistent suitor, claiming he could protect my interests better than any solicitor.”
“Ah, yes,” The Widow said with knowing satisfaction. “How fortunate that your mourning period provided such a convenient excuse to decline his generous offer.”
“It wasn’t entirely an excuse,” Eleanor replied tartly. “The man made my skin crawl. All that talk of protection when I could see the calculation in his eyes—he wanted my money, not my welfare.”
“Which is precisely why I arranged your proxy marriage without informing him of the opportunity.” The Widow’s smile turned predatory.
“Lord Croft had come to me for help, you know, after your refusal. He was irate when he learned I’d facilitated your union with the duke instead of encouraging you toward his own suit. ”
Eleanor stared at her. “He requested your assistance, and you deliberately chose Westmore?”
“My dear, I’ve built my reputation on reading character.
Lord Croft seeks to possess and control.
Your duke, for all his complications with his brother, possesses genuine honor.
He would protect rather than exploit.” The Widow paused meaningfully.
“Though I confess, Lord Croft’s subsequent displeasure with my decision has made our relationship rather strained. ”
“Is that why he’s moving against my business interests now?”
“Possibly. He’s a man who doesn’t forgive being outmaneuvered.” The Widow took a thoughtful sip of her tea. “Your alternate lending sources for business owners threaten his territory, but they also represent the independence he wanted to strip from you through marriage.”
“I find it curious,” Eleanor said, “that our friends in the ton continue to trust his respectability despite the rumors from the docklands.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon tilted her head. “What sort of rumors have they heard?”
“Rumors of enterprises that profit from other’s desperation. Moneylending at ruinous rates. Establishments that cater to gentlemen’s… weaknesses. The sort of businesses that thrive on destroying lives rather than building them.”
The older woman laughed unexpectedly. “Your Grace, you describe my business ventures exactly. Except I deal with the nobility and the affluent, while Lord Croft deals with the poor.”
“That makes him a predator and you a savior.”
The Widow laughed heartily, then sobered gradually. “Perhaps. But more importantly, it makes him a man who holds grudges and has the resources to act upon them. Be very careful, Your Grace. A rejected suitor with Lord Croft’s particular talents can be extraordinarily dangerous.”
Eleanor frowned. “No doubt he’d collect information on me using his charm.” She hesitated, then asked, “Will you alert me if you hear anything about Lord Dominic?”
The Widow’s expression was neutral while she watched her carefully. “I don’t know. I have not yet decided,” the older woman said, finally. “What I do know is that a distant duke provides legal protection, but a present one offers far more tangible deterrence against Abram’s machinations.”
Eleanor’s eyes narrowed. “You’re suggesting I accept his presence? After everything I paid to ensure his absence?”
The Widow’s smile was enigmatic. “I’m suggesting you recognize when circumstances have provided an unforeseen advantage. Your husband’s return may prove more beneficial than his absence, particularly if you can align your interests with his.”
“Our interests could not be more opposed.”
“Truly?” The Widow raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. “Perhaps you simply lack sufficient information to identify where they might converge.”
Eleanor sat back, considering this perspective. “You know something about his return that you’re not telling me.”
“I know many things, Your Grace. It’s how I’ve survived in a world designed for men’s success.” The Widow rose, signaling their meeting was concluding. “My advice remains the same as when you first came to me—find leverage where others see only obstacles.”
Eleanor stood, recognizing she would get no clearer answer. “And if his purpose threatens everything I’ve built?”
“Then you’ll need a new strategy.” The Widow’s eyes gleamed with interest. “One I’m more than happy to assist with.”
As Eleanor departed the Lyon’s Den, her mind churned with more questions than answers.
The suggestion that she investigate through her network of investments made practical sense, yet Eleanor hesitated. Involving her business associates in her personal issues risked exposure she couldn’t afford. The gossip alone could jeopardize funding from some of its benefactors.
No, she needed another approach—one that would uncover the duke’s secrets while protecting her own.
As her carriage carried her back toward Mayfair, Eleanor made a decision. She would accept her unwelcome husband’s presence for the time being, but that would not stop her efforts to drive him away.
The memory of their conversation about the marital relations heated her skin despite the chill air.
He may come to her bedchamber any night now, but she must not give in to his charms. Unless he was the most atrocious lover, it would require formidable self-control for her not to enjoy what he had to offer.