Chapter Four
A week later, Kitty and Benton both paced in the same private drawing room of the Lyon’s Den they’d visited before.
She’d received a missive yesterday that her husband would be selected tonight.
Kitty wasn’t sure what that meant. It was late evening, and voices, noise, and music echoed from the public places of the club.
“You can change your mind,” Benton said.
She smiled at him. “That is nice of you, but I actually can’t. I signed a contract.”
“I should have never allowed you to do so.”
It was her only choice. Her uncle had tried to meet with her several times since she’d made her arrangement with Mrs. Dove-Lyon, but she’d been out, or pretended to be so.
Benton also heard he was building a case for guardianship.
It couldn’t happen. So many ladies relied on their underground, illicit books.
Yes, some of it was for pure enjoyment, and she loved that, but their publications also provided books on reproduction, female pleasure, women’s health, philosophy, and so much more.
Uncle Dominic would destroy it all. Her father had often tried to involve him in the business or find him work, but it always ended with her uncle taking more than he should or being fired.
His attempts to become their guardian were probably the hardest he’d ever worked.
She was glad this decision would be made tonight.
In a few days, ladies’ maids, female scholars, and other women would arrive at the bookshop after hours to pick up their requested books.
Those days and nights were always well worth it.
Still, she would be happy not to be pondering who her future husband would be.
The door opened, and the Black Widow entered, wearing her usual mysterious veil. “Hello, Miss Larson. You look lovely. I should have been clearer in my note. You will pick your betrothed, but not meet him this evening.”
Benton questioned, “Whatever does that mean? I’m not sure I enjoy these games you play, Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”
She chuckled and gestured to the chairs. “Both of you, please sit.”
Kitty and Benton joined her in the sitting area. Mrs. Dove-Lyon set a copy of The Mysterious Disappearance of a Villainous Pirate on the table between them all. Kitty frowned at the book, confused by what it had to do with her betrothed.
“Mr. Smith is correct. I like my games, and we will be playing one. Still, I’ve done as you asked in regard to your requirements, including vetting all candidates to ensure they are kind.”
“How would one even go about that?” Benton demanded.
One of her staff members placed champagne in front of all of them. “You can tell a great deal about a man by how he treats others, especially those who society considers beneath them. The six men I’ve selected for you all passed my test. Another six did not.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon had considered twelve men for her. Kitty was shocked. The proprietor smiled at her staff member. “Thank you, Quince.”
“What is the game?” she asked, somewhat alarmed but also intrigued.
“You’ve given me a hefty sum to help you, and I do want you to find a suitable partner. So instead of me selecting your husband, you will. Each man is now arriving and in the next thirty minutes will be provided a paper on which to write his thoughts about this new popular pirate tale.”
“That is absurd,” Benton blustered.
But Kitty wasn’t so sure she agreed with him. You could learn a lot about a person from their writing and opinions. The idea thrilled her more than picking someone in person based on their appearance.
“I will do it.”
“Kitty, this is madness.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon smiled. “Trust me.”
She turned to her solicitor and dear family friend. “It will be fine.”
He shook his head but didn’t argue with her.
Excitement with a bit of alarm coursed through her.
She was intrigued to find her husband this way.
Her mind crazily flashed to the Marquess of Everly.
Stop it. That man didn’t suit her and didn’t need funds, but she could still choose someone who connected with her on an intellectual and emotional level.
Likely even more than a marquess with whom she had nothing in common.
“You said I won’t be able to meet him tonight.”
The proprietor shook her head. “No, after you choose. I will ask Mr. Smith to stay behind and give his final approval. I think he will be happy with any of the options. Your betrothed will call on you tomorrow and formally ask you to be his wife.”
“Why not tonight?”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon smirked, amused. “I like the romance of making you wait.”
Benton sighed, clearly aggravated. Mrs. Dove-Lyon turned to him.
“I can see you care a great deal for Miss Larson, which is why I’m letting you have the final say.
The agreement can only be broken if you determine that the person I’ve chosen, and who she chooses doesn’t quite meet her requirements.
Once you concur, you will draft a contract for Miss Larson’s other two specifications.
Her betrothed will sign the document right away. ”
Kitty glanced at Benton, who seemed more relieved by Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s assurances. Why was she herself confident that this would turn out well? “I’m ready to read the book summaries.”
At the very least, she’d learn if her betrothed could write well, which would be a bonus.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon rose. “I will return shortly. I have a small bet with my own solicitor on whom you will pick. I think I have the right of it.”
Her words intrigued Kitty because the woman barely knew her. As if reading her mind, Mrs. Dove-Lyon said, “I’ve been doing this for a long time, Miss Larson.”
She and Benton watched her leave. Kitty took a large gulp of her champagne, suddenly unsure of her feelings that all would turn out as it should. She glanced at Benton, who downed the bubbles in his glass as well.
Oliver sat in a smaller room at the Lyon’s Den.
It was decorated just as elegantly, but more petite than the drawing room he’d met with Mrs. Dove-Lyon in previously.
He was nervous about meeting his future bride and wasn’t sure he would have selected a gentlemen’s club as the location for their first introduction, but he supposed none of that was up to him.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s staff member, Quince, entered and handed him a brandy. “No spilling today, my lord.”
They shared a smile, and Oliver reiterated again, “It was nothing.”
The man nodded and left. Mrs. Dove-Lyon joined him next. “Tonight, you will get to woo your lady with hopes of making her your bride.”
He took a large sip of his brandy, enjoying the burn of the liquid fortitude. “I’m ready.”
“Please join me in the sitting area.”
Oliver took a seat in the wingback chair across from where she sat on the sofa. She placed a book on the table between them. It was the story he’d purchased from the bookshop.
“There are five men located in rooms similar to this one. They all, including you, fulfill your potential bride’s requirements. This next part is to make sure you are well-matched.”
Oliver’s brows drew together in confusion.
Whatever did she mean? She set one sheet of paper and writing implements in front of him.
“You will provide a summary of the pirate story. Share what you liked about it, what your opinions were on the characters, and the ending. Focus on your personal thoughts. Don’t speculate on what you think she would want.
The lady will select her future husband based on her most preferred summary. ”
He looked at her incredulously. “Madame, this isn’t a game for me, or I’m sure this lady.”
Amusement and shrewdness lurked in her eyes. “I assure you, I know what I’m doing. Do your best, Everly, and I think you have a real shot at being her choice.”
Oliver was well aware Mrs. Dove-Lyon enjoyed games, both rigged and not.
Yet, this seemed outlandish. As if sensing his inner turmoil, she added, “One’s opinion and writing can tell a great deal about a person.
You wanted a woman with whom you can enjoy conversing.
This lady is intelligent, witty, and loyal.
To be her choice, you must woo her with this summary. ”
His mind had moved past outrage to what he would write. The proprietor stated, “You have thirty minutes.”
He began to write, deciding that sharing his true thoughts was the best. To Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s point, if the lady connected with his words, then it was meant to be, and if not, he would find another solution for his family.
When done, Oliver stared at the paper, thinking he could do no better; the written text were his true thoughts.
The door opened, and he glanced up to see Quince there. “My lord, I am here to collect your summary.”
Oliver was surprised that the allotted time had already passed. He rose and handed him the paper.
“If you are selected, Mrs. Dove-Lyon will return; if not, I will escort you out, and she will follow up with you at a later date.”
After Quince left, he paced back and forth. He wasn’t sure how long it would take. Oliver grabbed his drink and took a sip. Maybe if he wasn’t chosen, it was meant to be. He picked up the book and flipped through it.
Absurdly, his mind flashed back to Miss Larson. He wondered what she would think of his summary. Oliver slammed the book shut. He shouldn’t be thinking of her. Even if this game didn’t go in his direction, his focus needed to be on making the Everly Estate financially secure again.
Oliver heard the swoosh of skirts outside his door and knew he’d been selected.
He wasn’t sure what he felt, but it wasn’t happiness or excitement.
Part of him wanted to bolt and find his own bride.
The door opened, and the proprietor smiled at him.
“You listened to my advice and wrote your true thoughts. Congratulations, my lord. Follow me. You will meet your bride’s solicitor and discover who she is.
Mr. Smith is also a close family friend of the woman. ”
He followed her down the hallway and re-entered the private drawing room where he’d first met Mrs. Dove-Lyon. A small, older man waited, drinking a brandy. Identifying Oliver, his brows shot up in surprise. He choked on his drink and placed his glass on a table. Bowing, he said, “My lord.”
Oliver waved off the greeting. “Please, I think formality isn’t necessary in this situation.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon began, “The woman who will be your future bride had three requirements. The first is that you allow her to care for her sisters as she sees fit. The second is that you do not interfere in her business. Your bride is very wealthy and will pay the dowry, but her business will remain separate and under her management. The third is that you are kind.”
Oliver glanced at Quince, who adeptly moved around the room. He suspected the staff member’s clumsiness had been a clever ploy planned by the Lyon’s Den proprietor. Sensing his stare and confirming Oliver’s suspicion, Quince mouthed, “My apologies.”
“Do you have any concerns with those stipulations, my lord?” Mr. Smith asked him.
This was what Oliver’s family needed and the best way forward. “No.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon handed him a paper. “Then read this contract to discover who your new bride is. You will call on her tomorrow.”
Oliver took the paper, knowing he was about to merge his life and future with a woman who wasn’t his choice. He stared down at the document and read the name. His eyes flew back up, and he glanced back and forth between Mr. Smith and Mrs. Dove-Lyon. “She is to be my bride?”
They both nodded, and he smiled. Hope filled Oliver. He was incredulous who it was. Oliver realized he wanted this marriage, not only for his family’s financial stability.
“May I have something to sign with?” he asked.