“It matters not. Miss Crabtree has declined to see me again.”
“Oh? Then she exhibits more good sense than you do. Unless that is part of their tactics.”
“I can’t believe it of Beverly.” Jason raked a hand through his hair. “But then there is the matter of Lady Freemont and her daughter.”
“The deuce!” Charles slowly shook his head. “That can’t stir up too much interest. Not with the chaperone there.”
“Well, the chaperone wasn’t precisely in the area at the time.”
“Where the devil was she?”
“Miss George had been taken ill. She returned just after Lady Freemont left us.”
Charles ran a hand through his hair. “Worse and worse. What do you want me to do?”
“Nothing. I will handle it, Charles. I’m just warning you in case she mentions it, that’s all.”
“I’ll think of something to fob her off. But I don’t understand how you could get yourself drawn into this, Jas.”
“No, you probably don’t, Charles.” You need a heart for that.
“You won’t see the young lady again?”
“It doesn’t look like it.”
“That doesn’t sound like a strong confirmation.”
“As I say, I like her very much.”
Charles nodded thoughtfully. “There will be many more women you’ll like or even fall in love with before you marry,” he said after a moment. “But when you do marry, it will be to the right lady and for the right reasons.”
“Have you met any since Lady Drusilla Ryland?”
Charles rose from the chair. “We were discussing you, not me.” He strode to the door. His hand on the latch, he turned. “Thank you for confiding in me, Jas.”
Jason nodded. When the door closed behind his brother, an overwhelming sense of loss returned so strongly that Jason’s throat tightened. They were so formal together. The intimacy they’d once shared was gone. Charles now played his cards close to his chest. He would have once admitted to suffering some hurt about his lost love. Four years had passed since Drusilla spurned Charles and married her neighbor, the Marquess of Thorburn. A better prospect apparently. Michael was still alive and the heir to the dukedom, so Thorburn, whose lands ran with her father’s, held the winning card.
If only Charles had found someone else in the ensuing years, he wouldn’t be about to marry a woman chosen for him by their father on his deathbed.
Jason cursed. While it did not compare with his brother’s tumultuous first love, it was possible his feelings for Beverly could develop into something just as deep. If she’d allowed it to continue. The question returned. Why had she stopped him? What filled those lovely eyes with such sadness? He suspected some distress.
He left the salon with the intention of meeting friends for a ride in the park. Damn it if he didn’t want to know what lay behind this mystery. What had brought Mrs. Crabtree and her gently reared daughter to the Lyon’s Den when most debutantes were presented and attended ton parties and balls?
Two hours later, he returned from the park, determined to find out. Once he’d changed out of his riding clothes, he left the house again. Perhaps the answer might be found at Dove-Lyon’s establishment.
Chapter Six
“I believe we must play our best card,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon mused.
“Absolutely not!” Mama cried. “I won’t have my father’s name mentioned.” She tensed on the sofa beside Beverly.
Her mother looked so stricken, Beverly had to hold herself back from putting an arm around her.
Apparently unmoved by her mother’s violent protestation, the matchmaker joined her fingertips to form a steeple. “You must reconsider, Mrs. Crabtree.”
Beverly stared at those hands. Long, delicate fingers, the nails well cared for. The sort of hands found on a well-bred woman. She wondered again at Dove-Lyon’s past. It appeared that she’d been cast out into the harsh world and forced to make her way in it. Even so, Beverly could not summon much sympathy for her.
“It will encourage Glazebrook to declare himself,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon concluded.
“My father crossed my name out of the family Bible,” her mother said. “He disowned me when I eloped with Crabtree.” Her face flushed hotly. “I am no longer considered one of the Daintiths.”
“Nothing changes the fact that Miss Crabtree is the baron’s granddaughter,” the matchmaker said in dulcet tones. “Come now. Surely you can see the wisdom of it.”
It was hardly an ace, Beverly thought wryly. Not when her father’s circumstances were taken into account. She stared gloomily into space. It would barely attract the interest of the noble Shewsburys.
At the knock on the door, a footman entered. He spoke quietly into Dove-Lyon’s ear. She rose hurriedly.
“You must excuse me.”
Beverly watched with interest as the lady followed him out with a hasty step. Whatever he’d said had flustered her.
Her mother sniffed and fumbled for her handkerchief. The usual noise which flowed into the room from the gambling chambers had fallen away. Rising from the sofa, Beverly hurried to the door.
“Beverly!” her mother hissed. “Where are you going?”
“I’ll just take a peek.” She darted into the adjoining ladies’ dining room. Casting a hopefully appealing smile at the scary bouncer who stood guard at the door, she slipped up to the observation gallery. From there, she could view the main gambling floor where a low murmur had arisen.
A tall, broad-shouldered and exquisitely dressed gentleman stood with his cane under his arm whilst removing gray gloves. Seemingly unaffected by the attention riveted upon him from gamblers at every table, his blue eyes coolly surveyed the room. He removed his beaver hat, revealing hair as inky black as Jason’s, then handed gloves, cane, and hat to a footman who had scurried to his side.
“Haven’t seen the Duke of Shewsbury here before,” murmured a gambler at the table directly below her. He sounded disgruntled; his hand paused over the dice.
So, this gentleman was Jason’s brother. The duke strongly resembled him, but at this moment, his face lacked his brother’s openness and warmth. Another footman emerged from Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s private apartments and rushed over, bowed very low, and escorted him inside.
Beverly scanned the crowded room but couldn’t see Jason. He might be in one of the other chambers but had not been summoned.
She turned and hurried back to the ladies’ parlor.
Her mother frowned. “Where did you go, Beverly?”
“Not far, Mama.” She returned to her chair. “I wanted to know what the fuss was about. It proved to be nothing.” She folded her hands in her lap and waited as the minutes ticked by. Why had the duke come to see Mrs. Dove-Lyon? Did it have something to do with them? The thought made her cringe, but it would prove interesting to observe Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s demeanor when she returned.
“You should not wander in the club,” Mama said. “It is unseemly.”
Then why are we here? She clamped her lips on the unhelpful observation, while her mother tugged at her bonnet strings as if they choked her.
“Do you know anything about Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s history, Mama?” she asked in an attempt to distract her.
Mama nodded. “This house was once known as Lyon’s Gate Manor. Her husband, Colonel Sandstrom T. Lyons, died some years ago and bequeathed his family home to her. He was much older apparently.”
“So… she turned the property into this… business.”
Her mother raised her eyebrows. “One must not look down on a woman for making her way in the world.”
Beverly held her tongue.
Close to twenty minutes passed before Mrs. Dove-Lyon reappeared. She walked stiffly into the room and sat down. “I apologize for keeping you waiting,” she said in a clipped tone. “Tea has been ordered. We must talk.”
Once the tea was served, the woman’s obvious annoyance with what had transpired with the duke seemed to diminish. With a brisk gesture, s
he straightened the cuffs of her black gown and began to discuss the matter at hand. Beverly might have admired her determination had she not disliked and distrusted her.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon cleared her throat. “A genteel widower of some means, a Mr. Purlew, has requested my help to find him a suitable wife.”
“Oh,” Mama said with a quick glance at Beverly. “Then it’s not to be…”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon shook her head. “No.”
It was over. A pleasant interlude, Beverly supposed. Although the pain in the region of her heart told her it had been much more, at least for her. She wished she could escape the room and quietly mourn the end of a hopeless dream. But now she must face this Mr. Purlew. She steeled herself to hear the rest.
***
Jason arrived at the Lyon’s Den the following afternoon. He nodded to the beefy bouncer at the door as he entered the main gambling floor, intent on discovering if Miss Crabtree was in the club. A violinist and a harpist’s rendition of a Mozart sonata fought for ascendance above the cries of alarm and gleeful chuckles from the gamblers.
Jason’s friend, Will Denning, hurried to join him as he headed for the private gaming room. “The duke came in yesterday, Jas.”
Jason continued across the floor. What the devil was Charles up to? “Here to play cards, was he?”
“Cards?” Will grabbed his arm and stared at him wide-eyed as if he’d gone mad. “The duke… join a table to play a hand at the Lyon’s Den? I would like a wager on that.”
Jason wished Will would leave him alone. “To meet an acquaintance, then, perhaps?”
Irritatingly, Will would not be shrugged off. “Don’t know. He was in Dove-Lyon’s private chamber. Not there above ten minutes. Left the club straight afterward.” He frowned. “Here long enough to hold up play, though. It was low tide with me after that hand. A dashed dampening influence, your brother.”
Damn! Jason’s ire rose to strangle his throat. He’d told Charles he would handle it. Once again, he obviously hadn’t trusted him. How like him to take the upper hand and treat him like a callow youth. Trouble was, Charles had such big shoes to fill, if one took his sporting prowess into account, then there was his first in Mathematics, which Jason had no opportunity to match, having been kicked out before his final year. Jason didn’t suffer any resentment for his brother’s success; he loved and admired him and desperately wanted to regain his respect.
“Forgive me, I’ve forgotten a prior engagement, Will.” He swiveled on his heel and headed toward the door leading to the street.
“Ha! A prior engagement, eh?” Will called after him. “Going to beard the lion in his den?”
Jason left the house and strode down Cleveland Row. Will was obviously concerned for him but had chosen an unfortunate analogy. Heads had turned to watch Jason’s progress as he exited the door. Two and two would be added together by even the thickest skulls to make four. He would be seen to be under his brother’s thumb. Charles had ruined the place for him. He hailed a hackney and asked to be taken to Mayfair. He would have to seek another club.
When he learned from Grove that Charles was in his study, Jason strode unceremoniously into the room and shut the door behind him. He faced his brother across the desk. “Why did you go to the Lyon’s Den? Was it on my behalf? You had no need. It is common knowledge that Dove-Lyon runs a matchmaking venue.”
“It’s how she goes about it that worries me. I wanted her to understand I knew what she was up to. She will not employ anymore of her tricks on you.”
“You don’t think I could have handled it?”
“You seem a little distracted. This closed the door on it. Slammed it shut. Dove-Lyon is a smart woman. She won’t try again.”
Jason struggled to breathe as rage tightened his chest. “You have no faith in me. You chose to accept that I was responsible for what happened up at Oxford. You took those fellows’ word against mine. Why, Charles? Did you not know me well enough to believe in me?”
Charles threw back his chair and stood. He leaned forward, resting his knuckles on the desk’s leather top, his brilliant eyes searching Jason’s. “Don’t you think I wanted to? But there were two witnesses who both swore they saw you go into the boathouse the night before the race. Why were you there if it wasn’t to tamper with the boat’s steering?”
“Bernie Forbush and Basil Wheelwright lied, Charles. I wasn’t there.”
“Both of them?”
“Yes, it was they who sabotaged the cox’s steering rope, cut it almost through so it came apart during that race between my college and Brasenose. When I overheard them speaking of it, they decided to have me take the blame. I swore to you it wasn’t me. You chose not to believe me.”
Charles folded his arms. “I bloody well wanted to believe you. But you refused to say where you were that night. You weren’t in your rooms. If you’d only told me, I would have gone to bat for you without hesitation.”
Jason fell silent. It was true he hadn’t offered an alibi. A sense of honor had kept him silent. But now it seemed foolish.
“I was with Professor Chalmer’s wife in their residence,” he confessed, his cheeks damnably hot. “The professor was away visiting the Delphi in Greece.” He bit down on a groan. He hated the way Charles made him feel like a green youth. Well, he wasn’t one, and the sooner his brother realized it, the better for both of them.
Charles sat down again, surprise widening his eyes. “You tumbled the professor’s wife?”
Jason uttered a humorless laugh. “I rather think it was the other way around.”
“Why the devil didn’t you tell me?”
“I swore on my code of honor as a gentleman, promised the lady I wouldn’t. I knew if I had told you, you wouldn’t hesitate to rush up there and make it public.”
“I would have had a quiet word in the vice-chancellor’s ear. I could have tamped the whole thing down.”
“And I would have remained under suspicion for nobbling the boat race, while the fellow who almost drowned, Anthony Fordham, along with everyone else would hate me.”
“So...” Charles ran a finger over the handsome engraving on his snuff box. “Mrs. Chalmers had her way with you, a youth barely up from Eton, and then made you keep a promise which ruined your university career. That was your idea of keeping to a code of honor?”
He stiffened. “It seemed important to me at the time.”
Charles shook his head. He stood and shoved himself away from the desk. When he reached Jason, he took him by the shoulders and gave him an almost bone-rattling shake.
“Hey!” Jason protested.
He was then smothered by the tang of Charles’s special blend of tobacco as he enveloped him in a brotherly hug. “You honorable fool, Jas,” he said as he moved away. “If only you’d told me. It’s not too late, you know.”
Jason watched his brother, surprised by the warmth in his voice. “It is. Those two will back each other to the hilt. Otherwise, everyone will learn what scoundrels they are.”
“I understand why you didn’t speak out,” Charles said. “But will you leave this business in Oxford in my hands and trust me to do what I can?”
Jason nodded. “I should be grateful, thank you,” he said quietly, not confident Charles could fix what happened almost two years ago. But he’d begun to sense a momentous shift in their relationship. He hoped it would continue.
“I apologize for not allowing you to manage this affair with Mrs. Dove-Lyon. But have you considered that it was me she had in mind to target?”
Jason stared at him. “You mean she would try to extort money from you?”
“Yes, if you’d found yourself caught up in a breach of promise suit.”
“I can believe it of Dove-Lyon.” Jason ran a hand through his hair. “I should have considered it. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“With another part of your anatomy? Or your heart, perhaps?” Charles said with a raised eyebrow.
“I don’t know. I think she’s in trouble. I sh
ould like to find out more and see how I feel. Away from the Lyon’s Den.”
Charles eyed him thoughtfully. “If you can safely pursue this matter with Miss Crabtree, then by all means, do so. Just remember that unlike the women you generally spend time with, Miss Crabtree will expect marriage.” He lifted his shoulders. “I’d like to know what has drawn you to her so strongly. It can’t merely be the net Dove-Lyon attempted to throw over you. Is it because you have a tendency to rescue those in need? I remember countless times you leaped into the fray to save an animal or the odd person. The maid at the Blue Boar, remember? When she was ill-treated by a customer, you took him on. Fought him at the back of the inn. And he was much bigger than you.”
“Beat me black and blue,” Jason admitted, remembering the ensuing bruises and discomfort.
He struggled to explain how Beverly made him feel. He’d rescued a young hound drowning in the lake at Shewsbury Park once and had been terribly pleased when Billy not only survived, but decided he belonged to him and followed him everywhere. He admitted he was susceptible that way. But was that all this was? Beverly wasn’t in dire need of help like the maid, nor was she drowning. “I just know she is struggling with something, Charles. She hasn’t told me the reason, but I plan to find out.”
His brother nodded. “I’ll go to Oxford tomorrow. I don’t intend to let this matter rest. Damned if I will. We’ll drink on it!”
Jason watched his brother at the drinks’ tray. He felt very much in need of strong liquor. When Charles returned and handed him the glass, he took a hearty swig of brandy, which sent fire burning down his throat. The liquid hit his belly, where it thawed the cold knot, and he began to feel more human.
“Was Mrs. Chalmers your first?” Charles asked, mildly.
“Apart from a few brief skirmishes behind the dairy with the publican’s daughter at the Red Lion.”
Charles grinned and raised his glass.
He clinked his glass against his brother’s. Charles would not have talked of this a year ago. Jason took another swallow as he recalled Mrs. Chalmers’s passionate insistence; how she had invited him in on the pretext of freeing a jammed window. He hadn’t allowed himself to dwell on what followed between them. Only that he’d left her rooms feeling euphoric, but less than an hour later, became deeply ashamed. He’d liked the professor.
The Scandalous Lyon: The Lyon's Den Page 5
