Chapter Nineteen
Henry strode through the private door of the Lyon’s Den as if he had practiced his entrance all day, his music book tucked beneath his arm, his chin lifted with earnest determination.
“Good morning, Miss Edgewood,” Henry said. “I’m ready.”
Lila stood beside the pianoforte with her hands folded neatly before her. Morning light warmed the polished mahogany and brushed the curve of her cheek. She smiled softly, reassuring, composed, as though nothing had unsettled her the evening before.
Marcus recognized the effort.
“Good morning, Miss Edgewood,” he said.
“Good morning, my lord.”
Her composure held, but a fine thread of strain ran through her voice. Not fear. Vigilance.
Henry hurried to the bench, but before he could climb up, Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s cane tapped once against the floor.
“Miss Edgewood,” she said. “A word.”
Lila blinked. “Of course.”
Marcus stilled.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s gaze moved between them, assessing. Bessie Dove-Lyon did not traffic in gossip. She gathered facts the way generals gathered maps.
She inclined her head toward the hall. “Lord Wolfton, walk with us.”
Marcus’s pulse tightened. This was not an invitation.
Henry looked up. “Should I wait?”
“Yes,” Marcus said. “Stay with the keys. Play the measure you kept. We will return.”
Henry nodded, already humming.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon led them into the small side parlor. The door shut with a decisive click. She faced Marcus first.
“You escorted her home last night.”
Marcus inclined his head. “Fenwick left no choice.”
Lila drew a quiet breath. “Mrs. Dove-Lyon, I assure you—”
“You assure no one,” Bessie said. “Not when your safety is in question.”
Her gaze sharpened as it returned to Marcus. “Fenwick is becoming bold.”
“He spoke to her as if she belonged to him,” Marcus said. “I will not allow it again.”
Bessie’s brow lifted slightly. “Will not allow,” she repeated once. “Interesting phrasing.”
Marcus held her gaze.
Lila did not.
“Mrs. Dove-Lyon,” she said carefully, “I do not wish this to become a matter of concern. I am careful. Nothing happened—”
“Nothing happened yet,” Bessie cut in. “Which is when men like Fenwick are most dangerous.”
Marcus’s hands curled.
“I do not want trouble brought to your house,” Lila said.
“My dear girl,” Bessie replied dryly, “trouble never waits for an invitation.”
Silence followed.
Bessie shifted her cane. “Now. To the purpose of this discussion.” Her gaze fixed on Lila. “There was a wager placed on my books concerning you.” She turned her head slightly. “And Lord Wolfton.”
Lila stiffened.
Marcus’s jaw tightened. “Who would dare?”
“I closed it,” Bessie said. “Quietly.” Her eyes gleamed. “But it was not removed.”
Lila’s breath caught.
“Meaning?” Marcus asked.
“It means Fenwick believes the matter unresolved,” Bessie said. “And Fenwick never leaves a wager unfinished.”
Cold settled low in Marcus’s chest.
“What wager?” Lila asked.
“One claiming Fenwick would convince you to accept his attentions,” Bessie said. “Over Lord Wolfton’s.”
Lila went utterly still. Shock passed through her. Then humiliation. Then something colder. Resolve.
Marcus stepped forward at once. “Miss Edgewood—”
She raised a hand. Not refusal. Balance.
“I understand,” she said.
Bessie tapped her cane. “I closed the wager to limit the spectacle. But Fenwick’s pride is bruised. And a bruised man with money is a persistent nuisance.”
“I should have been told,” Marcus said.
“You would have throttled him,” Bessie replied. “Satisfying. Ineffective.”
Lila tightened her grip on her portfolio. “What would you have me do?”
“Keep teaching the boy,” Bessie said. “And do nothing alone.”
Marcus answered at once. “I will see to that.”
Lila looked between them. Gratitude warred with alarm.
“I do not want to be a burden,” she said.
“You are not,” Marcus replied.
Her gaze met his. Softened. Trembled.
Bessie cleared her throat pointedly. “If you are finished providing material for next week’s gossip sheets, we have a child waiting.”
They returned to the music room.
Henry brightened. “Papa, I played the measures twice!”
“Well done,” Marcus said.
Lila sat beside Henry, though Marcus noted the faint tremor in her fingers as she straightened the music.
Henry leaned into her without hesitation. Her shoulders eased. The room steadied.
The lesson resumed. Scales. Small victories. Lila’s voice found its calm.
Marcus watched Henry’s hands and the doorway.
The room felt smaller than it had an hour before.
A wager placed in a gaming house could travel faster than any carriage in London. And once such talk began, it rarely stopped where it should.
Marcus intended to see that it stopped here.
Fenwick did not appear. But his absence carried weight.
When Henry finished a simple melody, Lila praised him, warmth returning to her smile.
Hope stirred in Marcus, and he did not trust it.
When the hour ended, Lila stood. “Tomorrow,” she said.
Henry nodded. “Papa will walk you home.”
Lila froze.
“We will discuss it later,” Marcus said.
Bessie smiled faintly. “Indeed.”
Lila gathered her portfolio. “Good day, my lord.”
“Good day, Miss Edgewood.”
Their brief gazes held charged and restrained.
As she disappeared up the corridor, Marcus watched her go. He did not follow.
But if Fenwick pressed further, Marcus would remove him from her path quietly.
For now, he left with Henry, sunlight catching the edges of a world he had tried to keep closed.