Into The Lyon's Den: The Lyon's Den Connected World (Book 1)

by Jade Lee

  Amber stared down at the list. Diana had written nearly two dozen names along with their full title and pedigree. She’d also made notes as to their per annum income and their habits, which included interest, faults, and detractors. Under one man’s name, she’d written, “Laughs like a donkey.”

  Amber pointed to it. “Truly?”

  “Oh, yes. It might not bother you, but listening to that braying night and day would put me off my food. You’ll have to let me know when you meet him. He’ll be at Hyde Park today and has written Elliott requesting an introduction.”

  So formal. So very different from what she was used to. “What does your brother think?”

  “I doubt he knows. I’ve been corresponding with his secretary. Elliott won’t get involved until it’s time to negotiate the marriage settlement.”

  Naturally. She should have realized that, but there was so much to remember. “What do you think?”

  Diana grinned. “Well, that’s the question, isn’t it? It depends on what you prefer.”

  So began a delightful hour spent in gossip. Diana had plenty of tales of who was accounted sensible, who was not, and who was overly fond of hunting or had bad breath. Some of the gentlemen on the list frequented the Lyon’s Den, and several more had been the topic of conversation inside the Den. The two ladies talked with animation and much laughter, and Amber began to see the girl Diana must have been before her forced marriage to a sickly man, back when she’d been full of life. She was undoubtedly a beautiful woman when she smiled.

  But then Diana gasped as she looked at the clock on the mantle. “Goodness, we must get dressed now if we’re to make the luncheon. But I must send the acceptances for tonight. Will it be the theater or the ball?”

  “Which one will your brother likely attend? Do we need his escort?”

  “We do not, and I think he’ll be at the ball. By showing up at Almack’s last night, he announced that he’s looking for a bride. Much easier to hunt for a woman at the balls.”

  Good thing that Diana had no idea how much her words cut straight through Amber’s heart. Not only was Elliott unwilling to wed her, but he was now hunting for a different girl, one with a pedigree and a family of political influence. She wondered if he had a list akin to the one Diana had made. One where the girls were ranked in order and noted with things about teeth and unappealing habits.

  He probably did, and Amber would do well to remember it.

  “Let’s go to the theater,” she said abruptly. “My feet will be aching after everything this afternoon.”

  Diana flashed her a sympathetic smile. “I believe that’s for the best. He needs a political wife, you realize.”

  This was not a discussion she wished to have with Elliott’s sister. “He explained it in painful detail last night.”

  Diana’s expression took on horrified look. “He wasn’t cruel, was he? You haven’t developed tender feelings for him, have you?”

  Tender feelings? No. More like furious, angry, lustful, achingly frustrated feelings. But she wasn’t going to say that to Diana. “Let’s have no more talk of your brother. He is out of my thoughts and replaced by at least a dozen other gentlemen.” In the last hour, they had pared down Diana’s list to fourteen possibilities, but three of special interest.

  “Excellent,” Diana said with a bright smile. “Now hurry and dress. We have no time at all!”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The day was exhausting. Endless rounds of polite discussion, proper posture, and veiled jabs frayed Amber’s nerves. She knew that women were dangerous, spiteful creatures. The ladies’ side of the Lyon’s Den had taught her that. When she had helped with the dancing lessons or filled in occasionally at the women’s gaming tables, she had been treated with disdain if not outright cruelty. But she had assumed that was because to them, she’d been no more than a servant.

  Now she was one of them, or so they thought, and the things that they said to her were even more cruel, more hurtful, and more bizarre. They complimented her dress as a means to insult her. More than one woman praised her for being so economical as to refashion an old gown such that only the most discerning viewer could see that it wasn’t new. Others told her not to worry about being so long in the tooth. Twenty-five wasn’t old, but they seemed to think she was already in her dotage. And they seemed to have an obsessive interest in her freckles. She’d never really bothered with them before. Since she spent so much time indoors, she gloried in bright days when she could lift her face to the sun. Those days had marked her cheeks, apparently, and now she was given advice on how to cover them with cosmetics or bleach them right off her face.

  Diana had counseled her to smile and ignore every single word, but it was hard when the petty sniping came as a constant barrage. She did her best to focus on the gentlemen in her environs. Almost all of them were on Diana’s list, though some were already crossed off. Those who remained husband possibilities behaved in a perfectly acceptable manner. But she had no idea what they were like in private, because she was never, ever alone with them or anyone else.

  She never thought she’d miss the quiet times in the cage where the only sound was Lina’s abacas and the muted sounds of gameplay from the main floor. Right now, she longed for those very late times when all but the most dedicated gamblers had departed. The dealers worked with careful efficiency, and everyone else waited in silence for the night to end.

  “Miss Gohar, may I introduce you to…”

  “Let me tell you about my collection of rare Azawakhs. You’d think they were regular greyhounds, but…”

  “What a sickly shade of yellow that is. You really shouldn’t wear…”

  On and on it went throughout the afternoon. By the time they’d finished strolling in Hyde Park, Amber’s head was throbbing. She had only an hour to rest before dressing for the theater, and she planned to spend it on her bed with a wet towel over her face. No one would be allowed to say one word to her because, good Lord, how the ton liked to talk!

  She was just starting to relax into her pillow when a soft knock sounded on her door.

  Too exhausted to hide her irritation, Amber groaned by way of response. Diana didn’t seem to notice, however, as she stuck her head into the bedroom.

  “Bad news,” she said. “Richard has taken a turn for the worse. I won’t be able to go to the theater with you tonight.”

  Amber sat up. “Oh, dear. Is there anything I can do?”

  “Not at all. Just have a good time without me.”

  “But I can’t go without you. Let me stay here—”

  Diana shook her head. “You can’t. Not after rushing out so precipitously last night. People would begin to talk.”

  “But—”

  “Trust me. You need to go, but you also need a companion.”

  Elliott? She couldn’t even say his name out loud, but her heart was already thumping in anticipation.

  “My mother has agreed to do it. She loves flirting with Lord Portham for all that’s he’s fat as a cow. Just make sure she lets you talk with Portham’s son. He’s quiet, but he’s counted quite clever.”

  Amber nodded, her heart slowing to a depressed ka-thump. “I would be happy to stay here with you.”

  Diana gave her a sad smile. “Part of learning to be a society wife is learning what invitations to accept, reject, and forget. You cannot forget this one. Not even if your head is pounding, and your feet feel like they’re five sizes too large.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I was right beside you all day, and I feel the same way.”

  Actually, Amber had meant how did she know which invitations to accept, reject, or forget, but she supposed that would come with experience. “Perhaps I could read to your husband—”

  “That’s my duty, I’m afraid because I’m married and you’ve yet to cross that particular bridge. So get ready. Mother will be here early just so she can force you to change everything you’re wearing, then borrow your jewelry.”


  Amber frowned. “I will not let her wear the lion. It’s how everyone knows me. They keep talking about the lion in my hair, the roar of my beauty, the…” She waved her hands. She really didn’t want to remember any of the dreadful puns she’d heard this day.

  “Trust me,” Diana said with a laugh. “They’ll remember you without it, but create some sort of lie about how special it is to you. Given to you by your sick but now recovered grandmama.”

  Oh yes. They’d been telling everyone that good news had awaited Amber after rushing home from Almack’s last night. Her grandmother was on the mend, all was well, and she felt very silly for her emotional display. Most gentlemen had patted her hand and told her those excess emotions were a plague of the fairer sex, and they forgave her for being female.

  Blech. She hated condescending men.

  “It is special to me,” Amber said softly. “It reminds me of who I am.”

  “You are Miss Amber Gohar, who is about to make a brilliant match. Mother may plague you tonight, but she does add extra support to your respectability. Try not to strangle her if she becomes too obnoxious.”

  “I’m sure she’ll be fine.” She wasn’t at all sure, but Diana had enough to worry about. Amber didn’t want to add more.

  “Excellent. I’ll leave you to it then. And do try to have a little fun! Life can get dreadful very fast.”

  There was weight to her last words, and though Diana left with a smile, there was a darkness in her that was painful to see. Amber might struggle beneath the weight of her dream come true, but Diana’s life was immeasurably worse married to a sick, old man and plagued by a wastrel stepson who was larger and scarier. Amber feared for Diana, but there was nothing she could do about it now. She had to focus on getting through tonight with the dowager Lady Byrn. Especially since Diana’s maid came to help her dress.

  The gowns were beautiful, of course, and Amber selected a light green one so pale as to appear white. It was a measure of her mood. She felt worn down and bleached out. She almost didn’t wear the lion hairpiece, but everyone was accustomed to seeing it, so she allowed the maid to put it in. She made it downstairs just after Lady Byrn arrived and found the woman interrogating Titan…er, Lucifer in the front hallway.

  “I don’t remember seeing you here before,” the lady was saying.

  The man bowed deeply before her. “I am new to the household, my lady. Here to help out for a short time.”

  “Well, I don’t approve. You look very dangerous, and I don’t like dangerous people around my daughter.”

  Then she ought to look into Geoffrey rather than harass the man hired to protect Diana. But Amber couldn’t say that. Instead, she hurried down the stairs with a warm smile. “Lady Byrn, how beautiful you look.”

  The lady turned with a harrumph as she inspected Amber from head to toe. Then she shook her head. “That won’t do. That won’t do at all.” The lady waved her hand at her in an imperious gesture. “Upstairs. I won’t go to the theater with you unless you are properly attired.”

  Of course, she wouldn’t. Hadn’t Diana warned her that Lady Byrn would require her to change? She bowed her head and forced herself to say placating words. “I would welcome your advice, my lady.” Then as she straightened, she caught Lucifer’s surprised expression. Did he think she wouldn’t give in? A day ago, she might have stood her ground. Today, she cared so little for her dress that she could wear sackcloth and barely notice.

  Amber went upstairs, and after a half-hour of criticism, Lady Byrn gave in with little grace. “I see now why you picked that dress. It is the best of a bad lot, but that lion in your hair doesn’t match. Though…” she said as if she had just thought of it. “It would look lovely in mine. I have always been able to wear gold to perfection.”

  “I can recommend a jeweler for you. He would fashion the loveliest items for you. I’m sure if you dropped a word to your son, he would have something made for you as a birthday gift.”

  The lady pursed her lips as if she were about to object, but Amber rolled right over her.

  “Oh my! I hadn’t realized I had dawdled so long. My lady, you must forgive me for making us tardy. Please, I’m ready to go now. Let us be off before Lord Portham thinks we’ve forgotten him.” Then she managed to hurry, bully, and apologize in such rapid succession that they were in the carriage a few moments later.

  If she’d been alone, Amber would have grinned. All those days helping the dancing master had taught her how to manage angry society women, and Lady Byrn was no different. However, Amber did have to listen to a lecture on how to behave at the theater. The list went from the excruciatingly obvious, all the way through to most subtle forms of observation, the most interesting of which was to watch a man’s feet as he spoke. “Men lie with their mouths and hands all the time, and no one can tell,” the lady said, “but if the feet twitch or are placed to run away, then they are certainly hiding something.”

  That was an idea worth exploring, and so she resolved to keep half an eye on gentlemen’s feet tonight. It would at least alleviate some of the boredom while listening to tales of their latest hunt.

  They found Lord Portham’s box quickly, went through the usual introductions of the eight people already there—a mixture of eligible ladies and their chaperones—and then Amber found herself seated in the back of the box with an excellent view of Lady Byrn as she did indeed flirt outrageously with Lord Portham. Amber would have preferred a view of the stage, but perhaps no one would notice if she closed her eyes and took a nap. Her first trip to the Theatre Royal—and sitting in a box, no less—and all she could think about was her bed. How sad that this was her dream come true.

  The tragedy had just started when Lord Portham’s son stepped into the box. He apologized in low whispers for his delay, then sat in the only chair available, the one right next to her. This produced a number of hard glares from the eligible ladies as he, apparently, was the reason they were all here. Lady Byrn for her part, shot Amber a triumphant look before turning back to discuss a new breed of hound with Lord Portham.

  Had the lady foreseen just this circumstance and maneuvered the situation to Amber’s benefit? It appeared so, and her estimation of the lady increased. Meanwhile, the gentleman in question introduced himself as Mr. Christopher Jupp and settled beside her with a barely audible sigh.

  “It’s not a very good view, is it?” he muttered.

  “No. But the chatter is so loud in here, I can barely hear the actors’ voices anyway.”

  He shook his head. “Pity. Kean’s performance is very good.”

  “You have seen it before?”

  He grinned. “A few times in a friend’s box closer to the stage.”

  He must have wealthy friends, indeed. They spoke quietly for a while, pausing to catch what he deemed the best parts of the play. The audience did settle in those moments when Kean appeared, but it was by no means as absorbing an event as she had thought it would be. Though to be fair, Richard III was not her favorite play, and Mr. Jupp was an interesting man. He was a man of books, speaking earnestly of the difference between plays and epic poetry. When she encouraged him, he was able to discuss how Shakespeare's Hamlet came originally from an old folktale Hamblet, and then he blushed and apologized for blathering on.

  It was such a relief from hearing about dogs that she reassured him she was interested. It wasn’t a lie. He talked about characters in such a sweeping way that she found it sparked her artist’s mind. How would she sketch a sad Hamlet as opposed to a happy one? And Hamblet was a new idea entirely. She didn’t create cameos, but the idea of sculpting famous characters was a fascinating thought. They discussed it quite avidly at the intermission. And though she didn’t say she created jewelry, she became quite open about her sketches.

  And while she and Mr. Jupp discussed the play he was penning, the other ladies scowled at her for monopolizing his time. All except Lady Byrn, who winked at her before skillfully stepping between her and the other women. That left her and Mr.
Jupp not quite alone but certainly cut off the others as they continued to talk.

  She liked this man. And though he wasn’t Elliott, and he certainly didn’t look at her in the same way, he was pleasant to talk to, his ideas inspired her, and his feet were aimed straight at her. A win in three categories, and that was more than any man had accomplished so far.

  Then gentlemen began knocking at the box door. They were barely three minutes into intermission, but this was the time the ton visited one another. The influx of bodies was hard to manage, and Amber found herself pressed up against the front side of the box, fearing that she might topple over onto the floor below. Mr. Jupp grabbed her elbow, and she clutched his forearm. How absurd! If one went over, the other would as well.

  They looked at each other then, both flinching aside as the lady nearest them gestured wildly with her fan. They recovered quickly, but the hilarity of it all had them catching each other’s gazes and fighting not to laugh. That didn’t work, and soon the two of them burst into giggles.

  It was a sweet moment as Amber began to relax among the ton. It was also the moment of her undoing. One of the gentlemen whipped around, his voice loud as he called out.

  “I know that laugh! It’s most distinctive.”

  Amber’s eyes widened. No one had ever said that her laugh was distinctive, but she supposed everyone made their own particular sound. That gentleman, for example, was a regular at the Lyon’s Den. She knew his voice very well. He often stayed late when the Den was less crowded, and workers like her were left to chat amongst themselves. She had friends in the Den, people who made her laugh, and so he must have heard her. He absolutely did point his finger straight at her as he crowed. “It’s you! Thisbe Gold! The most beautiful gel in the Lyon’s Den. Whatever are you doing here?”

  Amber felt her jaw drop and her breath catch. She was exposed. Worse, the declaration had come in a voice that carried throughout the box, if not the whole theater. Cold chills shivered through her body, and panic clutched at her throat. But also, a sense of inevitability sank to her belly. What had she been thinking? Dreams did not come true. Not unless they were nightmares. One where everyone stared at her in horror.