13. Two Points of View, One Compromise
Chapter Thirteen
Two Points of View, One Compromise
The following day, the Lyon’s Den
Titan watched as several bleary-eyed patrons made their way out of the front door of the Lyon’s Den, their slurred speech giving away their drunkenness.
Considering Mrs. Dove-Lyon saw to it that her establishment served the very best liquors, he was a frequent witness to the scene before him.
None of the gentlemen seemed to notice snow was falling.
They had been playing cards since nine o’clock the night before, and despite the number of games each one of them had won, they were all leaving with far less blunt than what they had possessed when they arrived.
To top it off, their last-ditch efforts to win back some blunt had been an ill-advised spin of the roulette wheel, resulting in even more losses.
“Watch the door, will you?” he said to Theseus.
Having come from escorting a gentleman to the hazard table, the dunner nodded. “Gladly. Nice day for a Saturday, given the rain has stopped,” he remarked as he took his usual position outside the front door.
“I take it you haven’t noticed the snow?” Titan countered, grinning at Theseus.
The larger man shrugged. “Better than rain,” he commented, although he pulled his greatcoat tighter around his middle.
Titan stopped in the gentlemen’s dining room to collect a cup of tea and hurried up the stairs, knowing the Widow of Whitehall would be expecting it.
“There you are,” she said, reaching for the cup and saucer when he entered her office. She drank deeply of the steaming tea before taking her chair.
“Apologies for the delay, ma’am. The card game was a bit late in finishing this morning,” he replied.
“Any big winners?”
He smirked. “Only the house.”
“Good. Any other news?”
Titan knew exactly what she was asking. He had reluctantly agreed to go to Sotheran & Company the night before, sure Matthew, Earl of Wingfield, would recognize him should the two run into one another in the small shop.
Given the dim lighting and the greatcoat and hat Titan had worn, fortunately, he’d gone unnoticed.
“As expected, Miss Kingston and Lord Wingfield met at Sotheran’s last evening. ”
“And?”
“They spent at least a half hour in the reading room. She agreed to be courted. His Lordship is due to fetch her tonight when she finishes her work at the Temple of the Muses. He plans to take her to Gunter’s for an ice.”
“So late?” Mrs. Dove-Lyon made a sound of disgust before finishing off her tea. “That should be an afternoon pursuit.”
“He offered to collect her at two o’clock, but Miss Kingston is employed,” Titan reminded her, remembering how he had struggled to listen to their conversation. He’d hated eavesdropping on the couple, but he knew the matchmaker would require an update.
“We should see to it that it’s not for long.”
Titan gave a start. “What are you saying?”
“Her employment. If she has income, she has less of a reason to agree to marry,” she argued.
“What about her marriage portion?”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon sat back and sighed with satisfaction. “I had a discussion with her father yesterday. In exchange for what I did with seeing to it Mrs. Buxton is to become his bride, he agreed to withhold his daughter’s dowry with the stipulation she marry.”
Dipping his head, Titan experienced a moment of regret for Catherine Kingston.
If he were in the market for a wife—he wasn’t, at least, not yet—he might consider someone like her.
Someone who was clever and not afraid to work for her living.
So many aristocrats and those blessed with incomes that allowed them a life of leisure would never dirty their hands with labor.
Never aspire to start a business as a means to make their livings.
Indeed, if others in the peerage knew his real identity, they would be appalled.
“You don’t agree.”
Pulled from his brief reverie, Titan shook his head. “I believe Lord Wingfield appreciates her dedication to her avocation. She has Sundays off, of course. Once she agrees to marry him, then perhaps she will give her notice.”
“When will he propose, do you suppose?”
Titan inhaled to answer but sighed instead. “Mayhap tonight,” he whispered. He was struck by another thought. “No,” he added as he shook his head.
“What do you mean, no?” Mrs. Dove-Lyon asked, her voice filled with disbelief.
“We’re talking about Matthew Higby here. He’ll want to secure her father’s permission before he asks for her hand.”
The matchmaker lifted her cup to take a drink and set it back down on the saucer when she realized it was empty. “Mr. Kingston is sure to give his permission. He’s agreed not to wed Mrs. Buxton until his daughter is married.”
Titan swallowed. “He told you that?” he asked in surprise.
“He did. After I reminded him it was part of the bargain.”
Unaware the matchmaker had any contact with Cornelius Kingston—Titan only knew she had met with Mrs. Buxton—he considered what he knew about that widow.
She had been anxious to gain an offer of marriage from the publisher.
As much as she claimed to like Cornelius Kingston—the two had known one another for many years—Titan couldn’t help but think Mrs. Buxton was desperate to marry simply to alleviate her fear of poverty.
The pensions for the widows of officers were not particularly generous.
But perhaps she really did feel affection for the old coot.
“May I suggest we allow this to play out without further… involvement?” he asked. “Miss Kingston was only promised employment for a fortnight at the Temple. Should Mr. Allen let her go at the end of that time, she will at least have the satisfaction of knowing she didn’t quit the position.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon narrowed her eyes before she sighed dramatically. “Oh, all right,” she agreed. “But only until then. She and Wingfield had better be married by this time next month. Then they can be off to Berkshire to spend their first Christmas together.”
Relieved she had agreed to the more relaxed timeline, Titan said, “Very good. I’ll fetch you another cup of tea.” Before he could reach for her cup and saucer, she held up a staying hand, and he paused.
“After Miss Kingston is wed, and if she is so inclined, and if her husband allows it, she can start her own publishing company.” When she noted Titan’s surprise, she added, “I know it may not seem like it, but I’m rooting for her. We need more women running businesses in this town.”
“Agreed,” he said. He lifted her empty cup and saucer from the desk and took his leave of her office, breathing a sigh of relief on behalf of Matthew.
Or maybe it was for Catherine Kingston.
He wasn’t exactly sure why, but he didn’t want to force this particular pairing. Matthew was one of the good ones, he remembered. Not a spoiled bone in his body, his nose always in a book. If he was pushed, he would retreat into his library and might never marry.
Where would that leave Miss Kingston?
Still a spinster, rearranging books for an ungrateful employer when she could be the proprietress of her very own publishing company.
This last thought had him bounding down the stairs, hoping one of the caddies was in need of a farthing.