Chapter Eight
The Lyon’s Den
Quarter of twelve noon
Elspeth once again sat in Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s office, staring down at her lap, her tea growing cold as she dwelled on the morning’s events, her thoughts spinning.
Her heart had taken almost ten minutes to stop racing when Lord Timothy had vanished beneath the water of the Serpentine.
She had been sitting in a chair near one of the broad upstairs windows of the Cake House, and when he had dropped below the surface like a proverbial stone, she had leapt to her feet and plastered her hands against the panes, where she remained for the next half hour.
Even after she had calmed down somewhat, watching him in the water fascinated her. He seemed to simply hang there, eyes closed, a slight smile on his face. As if the river were his natural habitat.
Livingstone, in contrast, had struggled, even after Timothy had clearly given his opponent some instructions on staying afloat and completing the task.
He had aided his competitor.
That thought had stuck with Elspeth all morning.
Why would he do that? He could have easily stayed away, stayed silent, and the competition would have ended much sooner.
Livingstone clearly struggled from the moment he landed in the water with an awkward, flailing splash.
Everyone could see that in a few more moments, Livingstone would have had to concede. Instead, Lord Timothy had helped. Why?
Because it was the right thing to do.
That thought too clung to Elspeth’s thoughts, but from an entirely different source than this morning’s competition.
Life here in America grows more amazing every day.
I do wish you could join us. Gordon and Timothy make a remarkable team, although I am clearly biased.
Gordon has trained Timothy in almost everything he knows about business, and Timothy has been an unparalleled student.
And they dovetail well in their desires and goals for each acquisition.
They discuss every decision, consider the options, and finally make their choices for not only what benefits the business but on what is the right thing to do.
I did not know men could have such integrity and still succeed as they have.
You would not believe how secure we are financially, after all the years of struggle.
I also take a bit of pride in claiming what I saw in Gordon all those years ago, why I love him, and how grateful I am that circumstances meant waiting for him.
I know you will find someone as suited to you as we are to each other.
I beg you not to let your father bully you into something else.
Your last letter, about the quarrels in your home over money, distressed me to no end.
I fear he will use your unmarried status to save himself. Please do what you can to prevent this.
Gordon was worth the wait. So will your love be. May we all be able to do the right thing.
Elspeth had read this letter from Ella—one of four in the packet that had arrived at her house—again this morning.
All four of the letters had made Elspeth heartsick, the ache in her chest unrelenting as she missed her friend, valued her counsel, and feared her father’s edict to marry Viscount Godwin.
There had to be some option other than either a miserable marriage or fleeing to America with just the clothes on her back.
“Lady Elspeth?”
Elspeth’s head snapped up. “Am I doing the right thing?”
Behind her, Sinclair gasped but held her tongue.
“The right thing? In what way?”
Not for the first time, Elspeth wished she could see the full expression on the face behind the veil. “I mean all this. I am going against my parents’ wishes. Against Society’s dictates. Should I not just be a good daughter and marry the man my father has chosen, no matter what it means to me?”
This time Sinclair did not hold her tongue. “And spend the rest of your life in misery at the behest of a man who holds no respect for you or your desires?”
Elspeth turned to look at her. “I would hardly be the first. Our entire Society is rife with unequal, miserable marriages.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s voice held a calming tone. “But you do not have to join their ranks. For that reason alone, you are doing the right thing.”
Elspeth’s eyes narrowed. “You know of other reasons?”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon tugged Elspeth’s cup and saucer toward her, then set it on the tray nearby.
“I do but now is not the time. The gentlemen will be here shortly for their next instructions. There is a private room directly across the main hall from this office. Helena will escort you and Mrs. Sinclair over there. Refreshments have been provided if either of you is hungry. You will wait there for the gentlemen to deliver your bouquets. Do you need the list?”
Elspeth shook her head. “I remember them. Periwinkle, wood anemone, lesser celandine, primrose, English bluebell.”
“Good. They will deliver the bouquets to you, one by one. Please examine each carefully and make your judgment. This is totally up to you, whether you will accept substitutions. But do remember this is about more than whether they know the Latin names. It is also about cooperation, a willingness to ask for aid, and the response to a challenge. Unlike treading water or standing on a box, this is about the nature of their intellect and their character, both of which are traits important to you.”
“They are indeed.”
“I would also ask that you remember that cold water can produce a cramp in anyone, even the strongest of men. Mr. Livingstone delivered a valiant effort this morning. What you are looking for—a man who desires to travel for long distances—requires strength, stamina, as well as determination. Men who choose the missionary field are seldom weak or lacking in character.”
“You want me to give Mr. Livingstone a chance. Not to default to Lord Timothy.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon shook her head slowly. “Not at all. I can tell you have your mind set, no matter the outcome of the competition. All I ask is that you be fair when you talk to each of them.”
Again, the veil allowed Elspeth’s imagining to run wild. This was by far the oddest conversation she had had with the woman. None of her words seemed deceptive, yet Elspeth had the strangest feeling Mrs. Dove-Lyon meant more than she said. “I will.”
A rap on the door brought an end to the conversation. At Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s response, Helena entered. “The gentlemen are here, in the lounge.”
“Excellent. Please escort Lady Elspeth and Mrs. Sinclair across the hall.”
Helena stood aside as Elspeth and Sinclair exited the office, then they followed her along the right-hand wall of the hall.
As they traversed the distance, the cacophony of the room increased, and Elspeth heard calls of “They are back” and “Get your bets ready.” Leering expressions turned their way, and midway across, Helena stepped back, pointed at the door of their destination and herded them in front of her.
Inside, she merely stated, “Make yourselves comfortable,” then left.
The closed door cut away some of the noise—a distinct relief.
The room was set as a parlor, with a gaming table with chairs along one wall.
Against the other, a longer table, draped with linen, held a buffet of savory and sweet finger sandwiches, pastries, and a large silver tray holding a tea service.
Two other trays held glasses of white wine and water, as well as smaller cups of lemonade.
In the middle of the room, four cushioned armchairs circled a low table.
On the outside wall, low flames cracked in a fireplace. A clock on the mantelpiece showed five past noon. The competition in the garden had begun.
Elspeth surveyed the food. “This is a feast, considering we will not be here more than an hour.”
“You did not eat breakfast.”
“I did. You brought the tray up.”
“And you had one-half piece of toast and a slice of pear. You did not even finish your tea.”
Elspeth dropped down on one of the armchairs. “I could not eat. My stomach is in too much of a swirl. You go ahead.”
Sinclair shook her head and began preparing the tea, heating the pot with hot water, dumping it, then adding the tea leaves. “This is happening so fast, you cannot catch your breath. You are starting to question everything again.”
“How can I not?” Elspeth sighed. “And I still do not know how I am going to present any of this to Father.”
Leaving the tea to steep, Sinclair picked up a plate and added a scone, a small bit of clotted cream and jam, and a cress sandwich. She brought it to Elspeth. “Here. Nibble.”
Elspeth looked at the plate, doubtful, then her stomach snarled. She was hungry.
Sinclair grinned. “Would not do for the gentlemen to hear that.”
“Oh, all right.” Elspeth took the plate.
Sinclair fixed a second plate and set it in front of the chair next to Elspeth’s. “I will sit at one of the gaming tables when the men arrive. And I promise I will not say a word.”
“Until they leave.”
“That is why you brought me.”
“I brought you as a chaperone.”
“And a pundit of servant gossip.”
“A marvelous secondary quality.”
Sinclair went to pour the tea, straining it into two cups.
“Are the servants aware of what is happening this week?”
Sinclair brought the cups to the table. “My lady, they are as enthralled as if it were a play by Mr. Sheridan.”
Elspeth laughed, which sent a sense of relief through her, some of her tension easing. “Did any of them come to the Serpentine this morning?”
Sinclair took a bit of her sandwich, pausing before she answered. “Most could not get away. But two or three were allowed to skip their morning’s chores. I will also give a full report when we return.”
“I supposed you must give to get.”
“Oh, yes. I have already heard that Lord Timothy’s brother gave him a right set down about going under the water as he did. Apparently, you are not the only one who felt a sense of panic. I am sure I will hear more later.”