CHAPTER FIVE
A week after Phoebe moved into the pink room next to Emma, she was convinced her aunt was slowly poisoning her.
The night Fluffy became sick after eating her dinner scraps, she threw such a fit that she forbade Phoebe from ever having any contact with the dog again.
Several more days went by, and Phoebe had the same symptoms as that night.
She took her tray down to the kitchens, one room she was allowed to enter, threw her food away, and ate with the servants.
If they were curious as to why, they kept it to themselves.
When she felt almost instantly better, she knew.
By the end of her second week, she was desperate to escape somehow, but she would need Emma’s help.
Was Emma ready to hear the truth about her mother?
That very night, she visited Emma’s room and sat on the bed beside her, as they had often done over the past weeks. “I was wondering if you could help me?”
“Help you with what?” Emma asked.
“I hate to say this, but my food trays were making me sick. I threw them out and started eating in the kitchen with the servants. I feel better now.” There, she said it without actually accusing anyone of tainting her food.
“How odd. Have you made an enemy of a servant?”
“Not that I know of,” Phoebe replied.
“Hmmm. Well, something was making you sick.”
“And Fluffy, too, when I shared my supper with her.”
“Indeed, I remember well. Mother had a fit, thinking she would lose poor Fluffy. You don’t think . . .”
“I don’t know,” Phoebe exhaled. “Your mother does resent my being here. It doesn’t really matter; all that matters is that I figured it out before any irreparable injury was done.
Anyway, I have a gold and sapphire necklace and earbobs belonging to my mother.
She sewed them into the seam of an old cloak to keep them safe from my father.
I’m shocked he ever found them. I was hoping you might know where I can sell them? ”
“I might be able to do better than that. You don’t need money.
What you need is a husband and protector, and I’m not sure my parents find one for you.
” Emma’s eyes widened with excitement. “During my first Season, there was a debutante, Lady Helena, who was caught in a compromising situation during a ball. A notorious rake, Mr. Henry Bellows, lured her into an empty drawing room, and it was rumored he ravished her, leaving her in ruin.” Emma climbed off the bed and paced around.
“Her father, Lord Caldwell, insisted that Mr. Henry Bellows marry Lady Helena, but he refused. Her father challenged him to a duel. Lord Caldwell won the duel. His bullet grazed Bellows’s arm.
Her father may have gotten his satisfaction, but Lady Helena was ruined nonetheless.
That was until she visited a gambling establishment called the Lyon’s Den and met Mrs. Dove-Lyon. ”
“I’m confused.” Frowned Phoebe. “Someone at a gambling hell solved her ruination from Society?” Phoebe questioned.
“Yes, but this was all gossip I heard. Let’s hope it’s the truth. You see, it was said that Mrs. Dove-Lyon is a matchmaker to the ton. Lady Helena paid Mrs. Dove-Lyon to find her a husband. She is now married to the Earl of Redhill and has been welcomed back into Society.”
“Are you sure this is true?”
“Not completely. Except that Lady Helena did marry the Earl of Redhill. But what do you have to lose? Tomorrow night, I’ll use some of my pin money to hire a hackney to take us to the Lyon’s Den, where you will request an audience with Mrs. Dove-Lyon.
Give her your mother’s jewelry and ask her to find you a husband within the ton. ”
“It does sound promising,” Phoebe tried not to get her hopes up. “But I’m a nobody. Who would agree to marry me?”
“Phoebe, you are the granddaughter of an earl and the niece of the Earl of Greenwich. No one can take that away from you, no matter how badly your father ruined things. You are part of the ton.”
“I have no dowry.” She may not know everything about marriage, but she knew that young ladies of the ton came with large dowries, which she didn’t have.
“Then Mrs. Dove-Lyon will have to find you a husband who doesn’t care about a dowry and has plenty of money of his own.”
“You’ll come with me? Risk your parents’ wrath and damage to your reputation for me?”
Emma plopped back down on the bed. “I would have one of the footmen escort you if I thought Mother wouldn’t find out, but I can’t. She will. You can’t go alone. It’s too dangerous, so it’s you and me. We’ll sneak out and sneak back in. No one will find out.”
“If you say so.” Phoebe had a strange feeling in her stomach. It wasn’t quite relief, excitement, or nerves, but a combination of all three. Her days of living in fear for her life were coming to an end. “Wait, what if Mrs. Dove-Lyon doesn’t think she can find me a match and refuses to help me?”
Emma grasped her hand. “Let us not think about that. Think positive thoughts. If she can find a suitable husband for a ruined debutante, how hard can it be to find you a husband? You are not ruined.”
“If you say so.”
“I say so,” Emma said with such enthusiasm for what they were planning.
She had no qualms about sneaking out and putting her reputation on the line by visiting a gambling den at night to help her.
Phoebe hoped Emma would be allowed to marry a man who wouldn’t squash her exuberant personality and would let her shine to her full potential.
Phoebe climbed out of Emma’s bed. “Good night, and thank you.”
“It will be a great adventure. I can hardly wait.”
Shaking her head at her cousin’s bravery, she left, went to her room, climbed into bed, and hoped she could sleep despite all the scenarios running through her mind.
She tossed and turned most of the night and was thankful for the coffee the cook brewed for breakfast. She disliked the taste, but with extra sugar and cream, she managed to drink every last drop.
The coffee was needed to clear her sleep-deprived mind so she could prepare for tonight.
Though she had nothing to really prepare for except to think about what she would say if she were received by Mrs. Dove-Lyon.
The truth was a good start. She imagined Mrs. Dove-Lyon would accept nothing less. She could hardly take on clients who lied about themselves and their circumstances; her reputation as a matchmaker would be ruined.
The day ticked by as slowly as she watched the minute hand on the clock on the mantel in her room.
At dinner, she went down to the servants’ kitchen and ate roasted chicken, potatoes, and carrots, none of which she actually tasted.
Back in her room, she sat on the bench and waited as patiently as she could for Emma to get her.
At ten o’clock, Emma quietly entered her room, dressed in a brown cloak. The hood covered her hair and shielded a good portion of her face. “Are you ready?”
Phoebe put on a dark blue cloak and pulled the hood up. She picked up the small pouch holding her mother’s jewelry, the only things of value she owned. “I’m ready.”
Emma opened the door a crack and waved her to follow.
They crept down the stairs and slipped into the kitchen, where the servants’ door to the outside was.
Good fortune was with them because they encountered no one.
They hurried out the door, made sure it was left unlocked, and hurried down the street, then hailed a hack.
Emma handed over payment to the driver and said, “The Lyon’s Den. ”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Inside the small carriage, Phoebe sighed with relief at getting this far.
She never really thought they would make it out of the house and wave down a hack, let alone arrive at the Lyon’s Den.
It took nearly forty-five minutes for the carriage wheels to come to a stop.
Emma opened the door, and they stepped out in front of a building on a street known for gambling dens.
She was surprised to see that the ground floor housed a jewelry store.
Phoebe slipped her arm through Emma’s and said, “This way, I think.” As they approached the two large men dressed in black, one wearing an eye patch, she wanted to turn around and run as fast and as far as her legs would carry her.
Instead, she took a deep breath, tried to steady her legs, and said, “We have come to see Mrs. Dove-Lyon. Is she receiving visitors?” She exhaled, her entire being shaking from the inside out.
Both men looked them over from head to toe. Then one of them said, “Go on up the side staircase and ask Helena to get Puck for you.”
“Thank you,” Phoebe said as she removed her arm from Emma’s. So far, Emma’s earlier confidence had vanished, leaving her unable to speak. At the top of the stairs, before they went inside, she asked, “Are you fine to come inside with me?”
Emma giggled, and Phoebe knew it was nervousness, since she felt like laughing, too. “Yes. The two men frightened me for a moment. I’m fine now. Let’s go inside and get this done.”
“Thank you,” she said, and she meant it. She didn’t know if she would have had the courage to come by herself tonight. Just as she went to knock, the door opened to reveal a women, who must be Helena, and many voices traveled toward them from rooms beyond.
“Welcome. I’m Helena. Please come with me.” They are escorted to a small ladies’ receiving room just off the entrance. “How may I help you?”
“We were told to ask for Puck.” ”
“Ah, I see. Wait right here.”
Helena exited the room and, a short time later, returned. “Please come with me.”
Phoebe and Emma exchanged nervous looks before following Helena down a corridor to a large man walking toward them.
“I’m Puck. You requested to see me?” the new arrival asked, his brows raised in curiosity.
“I’m hoping to meet with Mrs. Dove-Lyon,” Phoebe said, her mouth dry as sand. “I would like to request her help with a certain matter.”
“Follow me.”
“Wait,” she said, panicking. “Can my cousin come with me? And don’t you need my name?”