Chapter Two
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Benton asked her as they waited in one of the private drawing rooms of the Lyon’s Den.
He’d asked Kitty the question more than once in various ways during their carriage ride over to the club. Kitty suspected he hoped she would change her mind, but she couldn’t risk the chance of Uncle Dominic gaining control of her family’s company. She couldn’t and wouldn’t allow it.
She smiled at him. “Benton, I’m content with my decision.”
“I feel protective of you girls,” the older man said gruffly.
“We appreciate all your help. Still, this needs to happen. Do I wish society didn’t base my abilities on my sex? Of course, but I, too, have studied similar court cases, and they don’t make me confident.”
“It is wrong,” he stated.
Benton was an ardent supporter of women’s causes. His wife wouldn’t allow him to be any other way. She hoped her future husband would be as well. It had been one of the many requirements she’d sent Mrs. Dove-Lyon.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the drawing room’s doors being thrown open. An older woman, dressed in a stunning magenta-and-black silk dress, entered the room. Both Kitty and Benton stood. She didn’t ask them to sit; instead, she studied Kitty.
Kitty flushed, not used to being stared at so openly or thoroughly. After all, she was of average height and build. Her hair was a normal brown, and her eyes a non-remarkable hazel color that her mother had often called lovely. Though Kitty wasn’t sure anyone else would see that.
“Please sit, Miss Larson and Mr. Smith. Miss Larson, I have received your missive with your long list of requirements for a husband,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said, gesturing to a settee on the other side of a low table.
They did as she asked, but Kitty bristled at her emphasis on “long list.” She hadn’t thought it so extensive. She was, after all, selecting a partner for life.
Now Kitty smiled, trying to ignore her nerves. “Thank you for meeting with me, Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”
The older woman settled herself in a wing backed chair and motioned to a staff member, who handed Kitty a slip of paper. “This will be my fee to find you a husband.”
Kitty opened the paper, and felt her eyes widen in shock. The sum was exorbitant but not undoable. She showed it to Benton, who gasped. “Madame, that is an outrageous amount. Miss Larson is only a bookshop owner.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s lips twisted into a smirk, and she lifted a brow.
“Let’s not play games. I’m aware of your underground press and books.
I’ve even had my staff procure publications from you.
A lady at my age likes a more mature romance from time to time, and some of your how-to guides have been very educational for women I know. ”
It wasn’t so surprising that Mrs. Dove-Lyon knew of their underground books for women.
Yet, Benton’s shock over the requested payment remained.
She had no doubt her solicitor’s huffing and puffing was his way of conveying his continued disapproval of the fee amount.
Kitty ignored him as the proprietor’s eyes locked with hers.
“Tell me, Miss Larson, is my sum unfair? You are neither a lady nor well known in respectable society, therefore making a match less easy. And, in addition, I suspect you will want a husband who will not interfere with your work.”
When Mrs. Dove-Lyon explained it like that, perhaps the amount was reasonable. She glanced at Benton. He frowned and turned his face to peer at her. “Kitty, it is a staggering sum.”
“But only a fraction of what the Larson Bookshop and Printing Press earns in a year,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon pointed out.
Kitty, grateful, squeezed Benton’s hand, wanting to assure him. “It is the best choice.”
He nodded, but she could tell he was still displeased.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon added, “I will ensure my solicitor works with you, Mr. Smith, to make sure Miss Larson’s business is protected.”
“And my sisters’,” Kitty stated.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon sighed. “Yes. I’ve reviewed your list of requirements.
It is much too long. You will need to provide me with only three.
Right now, I understand you want someone who will not involve themselves in your family business and won’t interfere with the choices made for your sisters. That leaves you only one.”
Kitty wanted to argue the point, but Mrs. Dove-Lyon slid a paper across the small table between them. It was her extensive list of requirements. Benton said, “Choose something for yourself, Kitty. Something that will matter as you grow old with this person.”
What did she want? Overwhelmed, she let her gaze roam over the list. Finally, she placed it face down, still contemplating the final requirement that Benton said she should choose for herself.
Mrs. Dove-Love sighed, indicating she was growing impatient.
Still, she pondered her choices until, finally, she decided. “Kind.”
The proprietor lifted a brow, and Kitty added, “As we grow old, I think I will appreciate a husband with that quality.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon tilted her head and studied her. “I thought you would request a lord, or someone handsome.”
Kitty shook her head and insisted, “I want him to be kind.”
Benton smiled proudly at her, and she said again, “If I’m only allowed one more requirement, that is my choice.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon nodded. “Fine. I suppose it is a fair request. I will send you a missive within two weeks. It would be sooner, but kindness is harder to investigate than superficial qualities.”
“Will it change the price?”
Benton gasped at Kitty’s question, and the regal proprietor tossed her head back, laughing. “No, I don’t want to alarm your solicitor any further.”
Kitty smiled, optimistic all would be well soon. Uncle Dominic would not be able to touch the Larson Bookshop and Printing Press.
A few days later, Oliver sipped a brandy as he waited for Mrs. Dove-Lyon to join him in one of her private drawing rooms at her club. He’d been shocked to be granted a meeting with her so quickly. Still, time was of the essence.
He walked around the room. It was a decadent space.
The walls were covered with rich magentas and silvers, while the furniture had a different pattern but similar colors.
Oliver pondered how many other men had stood in the same room facing a similar predicament.
He swallowed, doing his best to soothe his nerves; he was offering himself up as some type of prize.
It was for the best. He wasn’t the first Everly to find himself in this type of awkward position.
The family had endured and kept several scandals quiet.
This would be just another one. Still, he wondered whether he would come to love the wife selected for him.
Would he be able to pick any qualities he wanted in a partner?
He doubted it. Oliver had nothing to offer Mrs. Dove-Lyon but his name for the match she was being paid to make.
The doors opened, and the proprietor of the Lyon’s Den entered.
She was an older woman, dressed in black silk.
The gown and the veil she wore obscured most of her.
Rumors swirled that she had once been a courtesan, and he pondered for a moment what she looked like behind all the fabric.
He pushed the thoughts away. Oliver needed to focus on his responsibilities.
He rose. “Thank you for meeting with me, Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”
She nodded and sat, pointing to the chair across from her.
A member of her staff poured her a glass of champagne and then started to refill his brandy glass, but stumbled.
The liquor landed on his pants, and the male server stepped back, a horrified expression on his face.
“I’m so sorry, my lord.” He reached for a cloth on the liquor cart and held it out to Oliver.
Oliver smiled at him, taking the cloth he held out. “I spill enough things on myself; it would be wrong to be angry about your mistake.”
The man shot him a grateful look and took his glass, refilling it. He placed it on the table next to Oliver, likely thinking it was the safer move.
“Thank you, Quince,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said.
Oliver handed Quince back the cloth, and the man hurried from the room.
“Sorry about that, Everly. He is new. I suppose I may have to let him go.”
He shook his head, alarmed and not wanting a man to lose his job for a simple mistake. “Please don’t. It was an accident.”
She tilted her head and studied him. “Would you say you’re a kind person, my lord?”
Oliver frowned, confused by the question. “I try to be, but I’m human.”
“I’ve known men with lesser titles or none who would demand I fire or garnish Quince’s wages.”
He took a sip of his drink. Oliver wasn’t sure he would ever do that, but his time on the Continent had also changed him.
“I’m sure you are aware, as you are, of everything that I’ve just returned from France.
You learn when you are fighting or enduring so much loss that kindness is the greatest blessing a man can give or receive. ”
Oliver hadn’t meant to say something so personal. He’d seen more death than he ever imagined he would as a lord’s son. He’d been na?ve when he left to fight, thinking that he’d not be near the front line. That hadn’t been the case.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon said, “I think this generation of men will be forever changed, and I’m sorry for the hardship you went through.”
Oliver lifted his gaze to her face. The proprietor of the Lyon’s Den was a shrewd and calculated woman; he was shocked to be offered words of comfort from her. “Thank you.”
She took a sip of her champagne. “I have a woman whom you might suit. But what are your requirements?”
Gone was the tiny bit of compassion she’d shown, and the businesswoman was back. “My family has fallen into a dire situation.”
“You are broke,” she said plainly.
The woman’s investigators were skilled. No one in his circle had any idea. Oliver supposed that was one of the pluses of being the primary investor in a failed mine in a faraway place. “We are. I would need a wife who brings a substantial dowry.”
“How much?”
He’d expected this question and had spent the previous night reviewing his family’s finances to be as accurate as possible. Oliver pulled a paper from his pocket and slid it across the table. Mrs. Dove-Lyon picked it up and read the sum. It was a staggering amount, but he had no choice.
She nodded. “What other requirements do you have?”
He was shocked that he even had options. What did he want? Eventually, after some thought, he said, “Someone with whom I enjoy speaking.”
Surprise flickered across the proprietor’s face, and he flushed, wondering if his requirement was absurd. “I’m sure that isn’t easy. Let me think of something else—”
“Not necessary. I can accommodate that request.” She paused and peered at him. “You didn’t mention that she needed to be a lady.”
He shrugged. “It isn’t necessary. My mother wasn’t one until she married my father.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s mouth lifted into an amused smirk. “I recently discovered that information. The ton would be scandalized if they knew their leading lady wasn’t always one of them.”
He laughed. “I’m sure that if you are aware of my mother’s past, then you understand my family is adept at covering up scandals.”
“I actually admire it. I enjoy the ton being tricked, especially if it has to do with their silly societal rules.”
They smiled at one another, and he suspected this woman had been playing tricks on the lords and ladies of London for quite some time. Then she sobered and drained her champagne before she said, “I have everything I need. Await my missive with further instruction.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon stood, and Oliver joined her. Their meeting was over, but he still had so many questions. “Who will it be?”
“You will have the chance to win the hand of a woman who has a sizable dowry and who can hold a conversation. That is all I will say for now. Good evening, Everly. Please join some of the other gentlemen for a drink before you leave. I’m happy to have you here.”
He nodded, but he wasn’t satisfied. What did she mean by a chance, and who was the lady she had in mind?