The Scandalous Lyon: The Lyon's Den

by Maggi Andersen

  She shook her head. “I did not feel we suited each other. But Mama…”

  “Yes?” He tamped down a deep sigh of relief.

  She rose from the sofa. “Would you care for wine or tea, sir?”

  “A glass of wine, thank you.”

  Beverly pulled the bell and returned to the sofa. “You’ve been so kind. I feel I owe you an explanation.”

  Chapter Eight

  Beverly’s somewhat garbled account of her circumstances faded with the last gasp of her breath. She smoothed the skirts of her primrose-spotted muslin and gazed anxiously at Jason, who, while sipping a glass of wine, had not interrupted her beyond an encouraging nod of his head. Although she had glossed over Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s dastardly plot to entrap him, the implication was clear, and, added to the unsavory business surrounding her father, he must be shocked. Indeed, she wondered why he hadn’t excused himself and left. But he was still seated there, regarding her thoughtfully over the glass, and she did feel a little easier for having unburdened herself. She could now meet his gaze with honesty.

  His eyes smiled reassuringly into hers, sparking a need in her she tried to ignore. “I can understand your mother’s concern to see you safe, Miss Crabtree, with this affair hanging over your father,” he said with what she considered courteous disregard to the dire circumstances he’d almost been caught up in. “What I don’t understand is your grandfather’s reluctance to help you.”

  “We haven’t sought Grandpapa’s help,” Beverly admitted.

  He leaned forward and picked up a biscuit. “Why not?”

  “Grandpapa was furious when Mama defied him and married my father,” Beverly said. “Once he learns about my father, he would consider his objection to the marriage to be justified.”

  She watched him bite into the biscuit. Had she lost his friendship? He could do nothing to help her. And why should he try? Her nape prickled at having the horror of her circumstances laid bare before him. She felt very much alone. Providing a small measure of relief to her, at least his lordship now knew the truth. No one could pull the wool over his eyes, not even devious Mrs. Dove-Lyon.

  She took a sip of her cooling tea. “So, you see, my lord, there is nothing anyone can do. When Mama returns to London, I shall beg her to take me home to Horsham.”

  “I appreciate you confiding in me.” Putting down his wine glass, he rested his hands on his knees. “The way I see it, Miss Crabtree, we can do one of two things.”

  Bewildered, she lifted her eyebrows. “We?”

  “This is not something you can undertake alone. The first option would be to seek my brother, the Duke of Shewsbury’s, assistance.”

  “Oh, no! That would not serve at all.” Beverly’s voice grew faint when the image of that splendid figure she’d seen in the club swam before her eyes. So composed, cool, and unapproachable.

  “Or, we can appeal to your grandfather. I prefer the second option.”

  The prospect was every bit as terrifying as facing the duke. If she did that without her mother’s permission, Mama would be astonished and certainly displeased. And how might it be accomplished? “Grandpapa rarely visits London. Mama says he prefers country life.” Beverly recalled the strong, upright figure she had met in Brighton. His ruddy complexion and powerful shoulders spoke of many hours spent in the saddle riding about his lands. “He wouldn’t consent to see me in any case.” She paused in thought. “But even should he agree, he will do nothing to help my mother.”

  “He might feel differently about his granddaughter.”

  “He barely knows me.”

  “Blood is thicker than water, Miss Crabtree.”

  “Is it?” She was inclined to disagree, for here was a man not of her blood, offering his aid.

  “Where is your grandfather’s estate?”

  “Deane Abbey is in Upton Grey in Hampshire…but…”

  “You might write to him, but it would be better if you went to see him,” he said. “Upton Grey is fifty or so miles from London. Such a trip would require at least one night spent at an inn. More, perhaps, if your grandfather doesn’t invite you to stay.”

  “But I cannot go to Hampshire.”

  “Well, you could, for I am happy to drive you there. However, you will need your chaperone. Shall we inform Miss George?”

  Beverly’s head was whirling. “She might not wish to go.” Not now that Mr. Perlew had shown such an interest in her.

  “Your mother engaged her as your chaperone, did she not?”

  “Yes, because Nanny was considered too old to make the journey. But it was to be here in London, not on a jaunt into Hampshire.”

  “We shall see,” Jason said with almost spellbinding calm.

  Beverly feared she was losing command of the situation. She should be protesting vigorously. What was wrong with her?

  “I believe I heard the front doorbell,” he said.

  Beverly leaped to her feet, her knees trembling.

  The parlor door opened, and Miss George peeked in. She swung her bonnet strings by one hand and ran her fingers through her tumbled curls, her eyes filled with lively curiosity.

  He stood. “Good afternoon, Miss George.”

  “How do you do.” She bobbed a curtsy.

  “Will you spare us a moment? We have something to discuss with you.” He motioned to a chair.

  After an inquiring glance at Beverly, she sat down.

  “May I offer you tea?” Beverly asked her.

  “No, thank you. Mr. Perlew and I enjoyed afternoon tea at the Pavilion.” She slid a glance at Beverly and flushed slightly.

  “How pleasant,” Jason said. “Now, allow me to explain.”

  It appeared that the matter had been taken out of her hands, which wasn’t an entirely uncomfortable feeling. Beverly sank back onto the sofa, aware that she should protest about his high-handed manner, but somehow, she couldn’t. She could only stare at him with admiration. Despite everything, hope had begun to lighten her dark thoughts.

  ***

  Miss George had undergone a surprising change. She appeared quite lively. It must be a different hairstyle, Jason thought vaguely. “Miss Crabtree has urgent need to consult her grandfather on a matter of great importance,” he said. “As I am to drive her to his country estate, she requires you to accompany her for propriety’s sake.”

  The woman sat upright in the chair. “I have been engaged as Miss Crabtree’s chaperone. I shall not shirk my duty, my lord.”

  “Good.” He smiled at Beverly, then stood. “We shall require an early start. I will call at eight o’clock in the morning. I suggest you pack a portmanteau for several days. Bad weather may delay our journey and extend our stay at an inn.”

  Beverly rose and offered her hand to him. “My lord, is this wise?”

  “Time will tell, Miss Crabtree.” He raised her hand to his lips and met her worried gaze. “It is better than doing nothing at all, is it not?”

  Despite her obvious doubts, he saw relief and something more personal in her lovely eyes, which made him want to fight for her.

  With a bow, he took his leave.

  The cool afternoon breeze vanquished some of his inflated self-confidence. What if he couldn’t help Beverly? Would he make matters worse?

  The urgings of his brain to leave after he learned what lay behind Mrs. Crabtree’s eagerness to marry off her daughter had been swiftly banished. He’d responded to a young lady in distress. He felt empathetic towards her, he supposed, because of his own helpless struggle the last two years.

  But he couldn’t delude himself. A strong attraction to Beverly drove his actions. He’d felt this way since he first met her. He must rescue her from her appalling circumstances and could only hope the baron was a better man than she’d described. Surely, no gentleman would turn away his troubled, young granddaughter.

  As he traveled home in a hackney, he dwelt on the worst that could happen. Whether her father was guilty or not, it appeared he would soon be charged and subsequently
imprisoned. Charles would be furious when he heard what Jason had got himself involved in. His brother would not be pleased to go from sorting out one mess to his involvement in another of even greater complexity.

  He might lose his brother’s confidence in his judgment all over again. But he counted on Charles being a good fellow who was known never to turn a blind eye to someone in need. Either way, it couldn’t be helped. Jason intended to live his life as he saw fit. He wondered idly if his brother had any success in Oxford. Strange how Beverly’s entrance into his life had banished the event, which had occupied his thoughts for almost two years.

  If Charles succeeded in his appeal to the university and cleared Jason of any disgrace, it would be like a new broom sweeping away the past, clearing the way for the future. A future he considered to be darned attractive, recalling the velvety softness of Beverly’s cheek and her sweet mouth that he wanted so much to kiss. It was the trust in her eyes, most particularly, he decided, which made him want to promise her the world.

  Jason folded his arms and watched the Mayfair streets pass by the hackney window. He looked forward to the adventure. However, the journey could be beset with problems if bad weather held them up for days. They might not return to London before Mrs. Crabtree. He seriously considered the result of such an outcome and smiled. He had a possible plan of action in place, which depended very much on Beverly.

  And he was seldom wrong about women.

  Chapter Nine

  Once his lordship had left, silence fell over the parlor while Beverly tried to make sense of what had just transpired.

  Seated opposite, Miss George cleared her throat. “I do hope you weren’t averse to my acceptance of Mr. Perlew’s invitation to tea, Miss Crabtree, when it was to be just a promenade in the park.” She blushed. “The gentleman felt it not indiscreet to tell me you’d both decided you wouldn’t suit.” She paused and added, “It was my free afternoon, as you know.”

  “It was perfectly acceptable, Miss George,” Beverly said, gaining her wits at last. “The gentleman and I were in complete accord. And I would be very pleased for you, should a proposal be forthcoming.”

  Her hand flew to her chest. “Oh, my goodness. I don’t expect it. I am past thirty now, but I admit, I would like my own home and a child to care for.”

  “You were living with your brother before you applied for this position, were you not?”

  “Yes.”

  “Surely that would have been better than taking up employment?” Beverly asked.

  “No. A spinster aunt’s position is not a happy one, Miss Crabtree. I was expected to be there for the children when my brother and sister-in-law were away. But when they were in residence, I often felt in their way. It was not my home, you see.”

  Beverly swallowed on a swift rush of sympathy. “I quite understand.”

  “This position the Registry found for me has been most agreeable. Your mother is a generous woman.” She sighed. “But I’ve no idea where I shall go once you are married and have no further need of me.”

  Beverly didn’t wish to think of that. “Surely, Mr. Perlew will realize what a paragon he has found in you.” She rose. “Shall we go up and change for supper?”

  “Lord Jason didn’t mention why you are to visit your grandfather’s estate,” Miss George said as they mounted the stairs. “I trust your grandfather isn’t ill?”

  “No, I don’t believe so.” Beverly paused, a hand on the banister.

  Her thoughts had been taken up with consulting the housekeeper who had begun to fuss over Cousin Granville’s return, and what to tell Daisy to pack for her. How much should she reveal to her chaperone? Being such a stickler for propriety, she might disapprove and refuse to come with her. She could even write to alert her mother.

  “I am in need of my grandfather’s advice. As the head of the family, he always provides the wisest counsel,” Beverly said mendaciously. “Grandpapa seldom comes to London, so I must go to Upton Grey to consult him.” She waited for Miss George to throw an objection into the scheme, and when she did not, Beverly hurried on. “It is good of Lord Jason to drive us there, is it not?”

  Miss George frowned. “I trust he is an honorable man,” she said. “He might be a blue-beard for all we know. Your virtue could be at stake.”

  “Oh, my goodness.” A nervous giggle escaped Beverly’s lips. “Blue Beard is a fairytale. Lord Jason has exhibited no sign of violent lust toward me. Merely politeness. He has excellent manners.”

  Miss George firmed her lips. “One cannot always trust how a man behaves. He might adopt a mask to present himself to society. You would do well to keep that in mind, Miss Crabtree. His lordship may plan to offer you...” While her words fell away, the implication was plain. A carte blanche.

  Beverly had considered this possibility early in their relationship, and although his offer of help surprised her, she could only think well of him. “In that unlikely event, I have only to say no,” she said, sounding far more reasonable than she felt, for a romantic liaison with Jason did send her heart racing. “But he is a gentleman, and I have no doubt he will behave accordingly.”

  Miss George looked unconvinced. “You are an innocent, and therefore have an optimistic view of the world, Miss Crabtree.”

  “I have you to protect me.”

  “Indeed,” Miss George said with a stiff nod.

  Beverly wondered if her chaperone had faced such a situation. It seemed unlikely, but one never could be sure. How vulnerable would one be when sent by the Registry to occupy a new position under a stranger’s roof?

  “There is danger lurking where one least expects it.” Miss George scowled as if they were in peril at this very moment.

  “Nevertheless, I trust Lord Jason,” Beverly repeated firmly.

  She would not believe such a suggestion. She had enough to contend with. But she did wonder where the seemingly sober-natured woman got such ideas. Her chaperone was an enthusiastic reader by all accounts, for she’d mentioned belonging to Hookham’s Circulating Library.

  Beverly was forced to admit that few women would risk placing their faith in a gentleman of such brief acquaintance as she had done. While she was driven by the hope that her grandfather could solve their problems, her actions were undoubtedly reckless. She must talk to him when they had a moment alone.

  “I confess to some knowledge of his lordship’s brother, the Duke of Shewsbury,” Miss George said, surprising Beverly as they crossed the landing. “He is judged in the best circles to be a highly principled man.”

  It was curious how she knew this, but Beverly felt it unwise to ask her. “How interesting.” It pleased her to know the duke had a gentler side to his nature, although his benevolence was unlikely to include her.

  They walked along the corridor to their bedchambers. “I read an article about the duke in The Morning Post—that publication is read by the Prince Regent, you know,” Miss George said. “The Duke’s support in the House of Lords for bills to aid the poor has been lauded.” She nodded sagely. “My papa has a bad opinion of aristocrats in general, but he does approve of Shewsbury, when so many of the upper classes don’t concern themselves with those beneath them.”

  “The duke does seem to be of an admirable character,” she said, pleased there was something which might allay Miss George’s fears. “My Grandmama, who has since passed, was praised for her extensive charity work.” Beverly’s mother had been very fond of her mama and talked of her often.

  The chaperone gave an approving smile before she continued walking to her chamber.

  Beverly opened her door, astonished at how much a smile could soften a person’s face. Perhaps their journey would not be as awkward as she’d feared. At least not until they arrived at Deane Abbey.

  She greeted the maid, who stood waiting for her. “Pack a portmanteau, Daisy. Miss George and I are to travel to the country tomorrow. Lord Jason Glazebrook will be escorting us to Upton Grey.”

  “Oh me goodness!” Daisy’s f
reckled face beamed. “Ye are travelin’ with that handsome gentleman, Miss Beverly?”

  Beverly smiled at the maid, who was new to London from the country, and busied herself with considering what to select. She wanted to look her best. “We must pack enough for several days. The green-spotted muslin and the primrose spencer. I shall wear the lilac carriage gown, which goes so well with my gray pelisse.”

  As she considered her choice of bonnets, her thoughts turned unwillingly to their ultimate destination. What if her grandfather refused to see her? She might have written, but that would take too long. If the worst happened, she expected Jason to appeal to his brother, which would, no doubt, fall on deaf ears. Hadn’t the duke come specifically to the Lyon’s Den to stop his brother from becoming involved with her?

  While she examined her kid half-boots for signs of wear, she acknowledged that she’d allowed Jason to overwhelm her good sense. There was a fluttery feeling in her stomach as sadness mixed with excitement at the prospect of being near him, while she knew he could never be hers.

  ***

  By midmorning, the chaise, driven by two postboys, left the ramshackle outskirts of London behind. Jason rode beside them, mounted on his horse, Centaur. He’d considered it best for propriety’s sake not to hire a coach. They made good time, bowling along the toll road at a brisk pace through the Surrey countryside, passing through woodlands of beech, ash, and larch decked out in spring finery, while the scents of wildflowers filled the air.

  The two ladies, charmingly attired in their traveling apparel, chatted to him when he brought his mount close. They were to stop for luncheon at the inn in Camberley, where Charles kept horses. As they slowed the team on the rise of the turnpike road through Bagshot Heath, Miss George beckoned from the window. “Is there any chance we might encounter highwaymen, Lord Jason? I remember reading this area had been rife with them.”