Chapter Five
“Aaran!” a familiar voice called as Graham entered White’s, and he turned to view his half brother striding towards him with his arms open for a masculine embrace.
Naturally, Aaran knew nothing of this until much later in his life.
He learned it after his father married Lady Eímear Boyde and begot a son and then, a bit over a year later, died of a broken neck, resulting from a fall from a barn’s roof while in a drunken stupor.
No one knew why Aaran Graham, the senior had been upon the barn’s roof, but most believed he had chased the milkmaid up there.
Those who viewed the scene said the maid had crawled upon the roof to escape her master’s demands.
Several on the estate spoke of His Lordship abusing many of those who were employed to serve him.
Naturally, Aaran had not even known he was a Graham until well after his father’s death.
He had thought himself to be Aaran Lessier.
He had forgotten his mother’s betrayal and was happy on a tenant farm.
That is, until Lord Macdonald Duncan changed everything.
The lord and lady of the manor had brought Aaran to live with them with a promise to train him to be a “better Lord Graham” than had been his father.
“Did you not know that Mother has recently remarried?” Boyde asked.
Aaran swallowed the word “again” and instead said, “How is Lady…?” He was not confident which name his stepmother was currently using.
This would be the woman’s second marriage since Aaran’s father’s passing.
It seemed to him, and likely to many, that Lady Eímear had lost a number of husbands in such a short lifetime, especially as Lord Roland passed within three years of marrying the lady. That was nearly ten years ago.
“She is now Lady Rayland, an English baroness, so she might host house parties and the like,” Boyde said with a grin.
His brother directed Aaran to a nearby table.
“I hear Lord Thompson is to marry soon. I came here this evening in hopes of encountering you, or at least one of your Duncan brothers to let you know I was in Town. Thought we might spend some time together if you are not too busy with other affairs.” Meaning Duncan and Aaran’s responsibility to the Home Office.
Aaran kept the frown from his forehead. Generally, Boyde avoided comments about Duncan’s role in removing Boyde from the direct line of succession for the earldom.
“I have some specific duties to Lord Thompson, for I am to stand with him in His Lordship’s wedding ceremony, but I would be pleased to ride over to Rayland’s estate, so we might find something productive to entertain the Grahams. Tell me more about your mother’s marriage and your last year at university.
” He motioned for meals and drinks to be served.
Aaran had come to White’s in hopes of finding one of his ‘brothers’ there so he might pass along a message to Duncan and the Home Office.
He had received word regarding the Luddites recently captured and placed in several of London’s prisons and their reaction to the hangings in York.
It appeared a few more uprisings were being planned.
Aaran had duties to the government, but, first, he had a duty to the young man with whom he shared blood.
Freya did not know what she had done to garner God’s good graces, but she had spent more than a few minutes this morning on her knees in praise.
It seemed that her mother and father had been invited to the wedding celebration of the son of a close colleague of her father in the Lords and said event just happened to overlap closely with the one being planned by Miss Whitchurch and Lord Thompson.
“I suppose you could stay with Imelda in our absence,” her mother said as she spread honey on her toast.
“Are not Imelda and Dickerson visiting with his parents that week? Something about Lord Dickerson’s grandmother,” Freya said with as much casualness as she could muster.
“Your father always makes these plans without consulting me,” her mother grumbled. “There will not be so many young people there. Nothing like a summer house party. In fact, the invitation only lists your father’s name. I am included as ‘spouse.’”
“I could perhaps visit Aunt Felicity instead. Uncle Philip broke his ankle recently. I could assist Auntie with his care. How long might you be gone?” Freya infused her tone with innocence.
“Yours is a reasonable solution. I would rather you were in Felicity’s care,” her mother admitted pensively, “and I imagine she is at her wit’s end.
All men are poor patients, but Philip Turner has stubborn down to a science.
Perhaps I should write to Felicity and offer your services.
Your father is thinking of investing in a canal in Norfolk, so I imagine we will be away for at least a fortnight. ”
“It has been more than a year since I have spent time with Aunt Felicity. I could assist her with parish calls or transcribe Uncle’s sermon for him,” Freya suggested in carefully controlled tones.
Her mother paused in contemplation. “Perhaps we should not inform your father of your joining Felicity. Do not lie to him if he specifically asks you, however…”
“Permit him to believe I am with Imelda,” Freya suggested.
“It will be easier for both of us,” her mother murmured with a deep frown.
Four ladies of society stepped down before the pale-blue house in Whitehall. Freya stood beside the coach and looked off in awe. “It appears so ordinary,” she murmured.
“You shall think otherwise once you are inside,” Lady Annalise warned.
“Quite colorful,” Lady Emma said with a chuckle.
“Pink and gold everywhere,” Miss Whitchurch warned.
“Come along, ladies. We do not wish to be viewed loitering upon the walkway before the Lyon’s Den.”
As Freya glanced around, all she could see were brownstones, each trimmed in white.
She did not know if the buildings were residences or businesses.
She did not imagine many would wish to live in close proximity to a place as infamous as the Lyon’s Den, though she was impressed with how ordinary the building appeared from the outside.
The most extraordinary thing about it was its pale-blue paint.
“Not many about,” she murmured, as they crossed the open space leading to the house, as a group.
“Most who work within sleep during the day,” Lady Emma said with authority. Freya decided such spoke of Her Ladyship, whether the woman was ordering tea or instructing servants or leading a tour of a grand museum on the Continent.
“The house has a welcoming look about it,” Freya remarked with a bit of trepidation, wondering if she should call off this scheme. She started towards the front door while wondering if the Lyon’s Den employed a butler.
“This way,” Lady Emma and Miss Whitchurch said together and caught Freya’s arm to tug her off to the right just as a handsome man, of some years, stepped out to greet them.
He bowed politely. “Lady Orson. Lady Beaufort. Miss Whitchurch. Have you business at the Lyon’s Den today?”
Lady Emma continued to speak for them. “We hoped to speak to Mrs. Dove-Lyon, Titan. Our Lady Freya is interested in a match with our dear Lord Graham.”
The man’s eyebrow rose in interest. “Is your Lord Graham aware of the lady’s aspirations?”
Freya did not approve of the word “aspirations” nor did she think Lady Emma openly discussing Freya’s situation with a stranger acceptable, though, she supposed, there was not much she could do to stop the wheel from rolling along without her, now that it had been set in motion.
“Lord Graham is interested,” Lady Annalise declared.
“Then you will find Hermia in place at the other door,” the man said with what appeared to be a nod of approval. “Best wishes, Lady Freya,” he said with a proper bow.
“This way,” Lady Emma ordered.
As they walked away, the man asked Miss Whitchurch, “Is the boy doing well, Miss?”
“Growing too quickly for my liking,” Miss Whitchurch declared with a smile. “Our Ethan spends his afternoons with Lord Thompson and a book of Shakespeare. He will soon be the smartest one-year-old in London.”
“Tell Lord Thompson I send my regards.”
“I shall,” Miss Whitchurch declared as she scurried to catch up with them.
“Watch your step,” Lady Emma warned as they climbed a flight of stairs towards another entryway on the upper story. That door was also guarded, but this time by a woman, who was oddly dressed in men’s clothing.
“Lady Orson,” the woman said with an awkward curtsey. “Miss Whitchurch? Do you have an appointment?” she asked with a raised eyebrow, as she looked first to Lady Annalise and then to Freya.
“I apologize for not sending word ahead,” Lady Orson repeated both politely and with authority. “Our friend Lady Freya requires Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s assistance.”
The woman known as Hermia eyed Freya oddly. “And the lady can afford Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s services?”
Freya fidgeted. She had not considered how the woman would charge a fee.
“The lady wishes a match with our Lord Graham. His Lordship has Duncan and four brothers who will gladly pay the lady’s fees to see Graham well settled,” Lady Emma declared.
“If you recall, it was Lord Graham who gladly paid Mrs. Dove-Lyon extra for the use of the ladies’ dining room when Duncan was shot. Lord Graham will be quite generous.”
Hermia glanced behind her. “This way, my ladies.”
Freya walked arm in arm with Miss Whitchurch as they followed the others along a dim hallway.
Though her friends had warned Freya of the decor, she still knew surprise at the preponderance of pink-and-gold-gilt paper upon the walls, only to be brought up short by a rather lurid painting displayed on a less ornate wall.
Lady Emma chuckled. “Leda and the Swan,” Her Ladyship said smartly. “Obviously not the original.”
“Obviously,” Freya murmured in stunned disbelief as Miss Whitchurch tugged on Freya to keep up with the others.