The Scandalous Lyon: The Lyon's Den

by Maggi Andersen

  Jason raced up the stairs, feeling a bit unsteady as if his whole life was held in the balance. And how would Charles react to what Jason was about to tell him?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Beverly hurried inside. Cousin Granville sat in the parlor with two gentlemen. When they rose to their feet, she went in to greet them, tamping down her eagerness to see her mother. “Welcome home, Cousin Granville. Did you have an enjoyable sojourn?”

  “We did, thank you. We’re a little fatigued, as we’ve only just arrived back in good old London. But how grown you are, Beverly.” Coming forward, a smile in his weary blue eyes, he took her hands and introduced her to the two older gentlemen. “What a pity we won’t see more of you. Your mother has told me you leave for Horsham on the stage tomorrow.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know. I’ve been visiting Grandpapa in Upton Grey. Please excuse me. I must go up to her.”

  Shocked by the news, Beverly ran upstairs. She opened the door to her mother’s bedchamber. Mama lay on the bed with a cloth over her eyes. She pulled it off and sat up. “Beverly!”

  Beverly hurried to sit beside her on the bed. “Mama, I’m sorry you’ve been so worried. I did leave a note, but I had no idea how things would turn out. I have so much to tell you.”

  “I could not believe that you went to see your grandfather without asking my consent. You know how things stand between us. How could you? What will your father say? I should be so cross, but right at this moment, I am too exhausted and relieved to see you safe.”

  She laid her head back on the pillow and closed her eyes. “Please do hurry and explain. I confess all this has made me nauseous.” Mama opened her eyes again. “We cannot remain here now that Cousin Granville has returned. And his companions will want the best rooms. Most vexing. But we must go in any event. Unless something happens, your father will be hauled up before the judge. I have been able to book two seats on the stagecoach, which leaves in the morning.”

  “Oh, no! But Mama, Lord Jason is calling tomorrow. He has asked me to marry him.”

  “It won’t do a bit of good, Beverly. You will not marry Lord Jason Glazebrook.”

  Beverly gasped. “But Grandpapa has given us his blessing.”

  Her mother’s mouth tightened.

  “You wanted me to marry Lord Jason, Mama. You and Mrs. Dove-Lyon plotted…”

  Her mother flushed. “Mrs. Dove-Lyon wishes the best for you, Beverly. She has discovered an unsavory incident concerning Lord Jason. Your father will not accept him.”

  “Lord Jason explained what happened at Oxford. It isn’t true. He’s innocent, Mama!”

  Her mother firmed her lips. “Nevertheless, Mrs. Dove-Lyon has another gentleman in mind. He is wealthy and comes from an excellent family.”

  “Mama… no! I love Lord Jason.”

  “But, Beverly…my dear.” Agitated, her mother plucked at the shawl over her shoulders. “A young woman cannot always choose who she marries. Without wisdom and guidance, she might well come to regret it.”

  Beverly doubted Mama had ever regretted marrying Papa, but she didn’t say so; she hated to see her so distressed. “Lord Jason has integrity. He would never lie to me,” she said in a gentler voice. “And he loves me.”

  “I came to realize what a bad choice it would be for you because the duke is so fervently against the marriage. He came to the Lyon’s Den to put a stop to it.” She sighed. “As Lord Jason has not the means to support you, you’d be dependent upon his brother’s charity. I’m fully aware of how destructive bad blood within a family can be.”

  “I know, but Lord Jason feels sure that…”

  Her mother held up her hand. “Enough! We will send a note to Lord Jason to advise him of our decision. And thank him, of course, for his assistance, which was good of him. I trust…although…” She cast another anxious glance at Beverly. “I hope Miss George performed her duties well?”

  “She was most zealous in her attentions.” Recalling the night she spent with Jason, Beverly blushed. Fortunately, her mother was too distracted to notice.

  “Well, that is good news, at least! But all this is making my megrim worse! And we must pack for the long, tedious coach trip tomorrow.”

  “But what about Miss George?” Beverly asked. “We can’t just cast her out!”

  “Well, of course, we cannot. Did you think I would be so cruel? Granville has kindly agreed to allow her to remain until she has another position.

  “Where is that maid?” Mama said fretfully. “I rang for her ten minutes ago.”

  Her heart aching, Beverly could do nothing but retire to her bedroom and have Daisy pack for Horsham. She took out Jason’s handkerchief to wipe away her tears. She so hated weakness, but all her hopes and dreams, so rosy only a short time ago, seemed to have turned to ashes. Unless she held on to the hope that her grandfather would come to her aid, despite her good sense telling her it was unlikely. Jason would not give up, she was sure, but she could not turn him against his brother. He was so fond of him; she must be strong.

  ***

  Charles sat back in his desk chair and surveyed him. “I wish I had better news,” he said, striking a knife into Jason’s heart. “Bernard Forbush has gone to live in Italy. Basil Wheelwright is very ill. On his deathbed, it’s said. I have asked the chaplain to visit him.”

  Jason sank into a chair. “I’d best tell you where I’ve been.”

  “I expect it to be most interesting,” Charles said wryly.

  A half-hour later, Jason, having shared the lavish meal Cook sent up with Charles, had resorted to drinking brandy.

  “You’ve done the best you could, Jason,” Charles said, eating the last of the cheese. “I’m impressed, I must say. As you have not faltered in your devotion to Miss Crabtree, I trust your good sense not to risk your future by marrying the wrong woman. I certainly cannot withhold my blessing. I offer it wholeheartedly.”

  “Thank you, Charles.” Despite the uncertainty, Jason was pleased. “If we are able to marry, it’s my hope that you will stand up as my best man.”

  Charles nodded with a smile. “I am honored. I hope to have good news soon concerning the trust.”

  “A lot appears to stand in our way,” Jason said. “I will write to Baron Daintith and explain the situation. And Crabtree, too, of course.”

  Charles pushed back his chair and stood. “I must change for the ball. Get a good night’s sleep. Things might look brighter in the morning.”

  “Or a good deal gloomier,” Jason said, following him out of the library.

  Chapter Fifteen

  By morning, Beverly’s mother still had not changed her mind. As they donned their hats before the mirror, their luggage piled in the hall awaiting the arrival of the hackney, a knock came on the front door. Daisy rushed to open it.

  Mr. Perlew stood on the doorstep, hat in hand. His eyes widened, and he cleared his throat. “Good day, Mrs. Crabtree, Miss Crabtree.” He turned the hat around and around by its brim.

  “Mr. Perlew, how surprising to see you, especially at the crack of dawn,” her mother said crisply.

  She had not forgiven him for rejecting Beverly. Mama had spoken of it over breakfast. In her opinion, the man lacked both taste and good sense, and how glad was she that Beverly wasn’t to marry him.

  “Have you come to see Miss George, sir?” Beverly asked, attempting to ease the poor man’s discomfort.

  “Ah, yes, I do apologize. Calling this early is not the thing at all. But I did hope to speak to Miss George for a moment. I am on my way to the country for a few days. But I see you are about to embark on a journey as well. Is Miss George…?”

  “No, she does not accompany us.” Beverly turned to the maid, who stood at the front door. “Daisy, will you tell Miss George, Mr. Perlew is here to see her?”

  At that moment, the hackney pulled up outside in the street. As their goodbyes had been said to Cousin Granville and Miss George, whom Beverly had warmly wished well, they nodded to Mr. Perlew and left
the house.

  They settled themselves in the hackney. “How odd that a stickler for convention like Mr. Perlew would call so early. I wonder if he intends to marry Miss George?” Beverly asked idly, in an effort to distract herself from the heartache which plagued her.

  Mama was fussing with her parcels. “If so, I pity her.”

  “I do hope so. Better, surely, than taking another position. She wishes to have children.”

  Mama looked up from examining a parcel wrapped in brown paper. “MaryAnne George? She seems so, I don’t know, old-maidish. I can’t imagine. Well, never mind. If that is the case, then I am happy for her.”

  Beverly took one last look back at the house as the hackney took them to Blossom’s Inn, where they were to board the stagecoach for Brighton. The most wonderful period of her life was over. So much had happened in such a short time. Grief brought tears to her eyes, and she slumped on the squab. She had asked Daisy to add her letter to Jason, explaining all, to the one her mother had written to him. The kitchen boy was to deliver them this morning. What would Jason make of the news? Would he come after her? Her father would only turn him away. If by some miracle, Grandpapa succeeded in his efforts to clear her father’s name, would it change Papa’s mind about their marriage? She feared it wouldn’t. Not unless the duke returned from Oxford with news that would exonerate Jason. And now, to make matters worse, the loathsome Mrs. Dove-Lyon had advised her mother of a new suitor. She was not about to let them go when there was more money to be made. The way forward suddenly seemed blocked by a solid brick wall impossible to climb. You throw your heart over, Jason had said when speaking of riding to hounds. If there was something she could do, no matter how bold, she would throw her heart over and take a chance. But what?

  ***

  The two letters, one from Mrs. Crabtree and one from Beverly, were delivered to Jason as he ate a late breakfast. He pushed his plate away when their contents made his stomach clench. Charles was still asleep, not having returned home much before dawn. Jason drank the last of his coffee and left the table.

  Beverly had written that her mother was taking her home to Horsham, and things looked very bad indeed for her father. The ink was slightly smudged where she’d written that he must forget her because his family would never accept her. He didn’t care a jot for that. But Crabtree would likely reject his suit. And now a new suitor had presented himself at the Lyon’s Den.

  Jason left the breakfast room and made his way upstairs. Anger bubbled up inside him at the way the university had failed to investigate fully the claim against him. But mostly, his rage was centered on Mrs. Dove-Lyon. He stalked up and down in need of his brother’s opinion and waited for Charles to appear.

  Eventually, the door opened. “I can’t decide. Was it your gnashing of teeth that woke me? Or your stomping up and down the hall?” Charles asked, yawning as he emerged from his bedchamber, tying the sash of his banyan worn over his shirt and riding breeches. He ran a hand over his freshly shaven jaw. “It was fortunate that Feeley didn’t cut me. Is this angst the result of some new development?”

  “I’ll tell you while you eat,” Jason said grimly.

  “If it cannot wait. You obviously have no sympathy for my digestion,” Charles observed as he headed downstairs.

  By the time Charles put away a rasher of bacon, sausage, kidneys, eggs, and several slices of toast and was on his third cup of coffee, the letters had been produced, read, and discussed at length.

  “What makes you so sure that Crabtree is innocent of the charges?” Charles asked.

  “In the past, Lord Daintith has crossed paths with this Lord Paine, who plans to get rid of Crabtree and become magistrate himself. Says Paine is a crook. He has directed his lawyers to hire Bow Street Runners to investigate the man.” Jason frowned. “That will take time.”

  “The man’s insidious, and so far, the authorities haven’t been able to prove any wrongdoing. But he’s arrogant, and that might trip him up when he seeks to widen his criminal enterprises.”

  “He might never be brought to justice,” Jason said despondently. “All I know is the life I hoped for has gone.” Jason stared moodily into space, as his vision of Beverly smiling at him over breakfast faded.

  “Not yet it hasn’t. We will work to change what we can,” Charles said. “And trust Daintith to do the rest. I remain hopeful.”

  “And what can we change exactly?”

  “I’ve heard from Clegg. He has examined the trust, which appears not to be as watertight as I expected. Perhaps Father planned it that way. I’d like to get that weasel Basil Wheelwright’s deathbed confession, though,” Charles added thoughtfully.

  Jason raised his eyebrows. “Shall I go and choke it out of him?”

  “Let the chaplain manage it in a less violent manner. He can appeal to Basil’s fear of the Almighty. We’ll hear from him in a day or so.”

  “I’m going to ride down to Horsham. I must see Beverly. She is upset.”

  “There’s no point in rushing down there until you stand on firmer ground. Right now, come for a ride in Hyde Park. It will clear your head of the brandy fumes, which are affecting your thinking. I noticed the empty decanter.”

  “More than my usual.” Jason rubbed his forehead. “If Beverly and I marry, I don’t intend to touch another drop of brandy.”

  “Nonsense, of course you will. Necessary, I imagine, when pacing the floor while your wife gives birth.”

  “You might face parenthood before I do,” Jason said, thinking it was time to discuss Charles’s problems instead of his.

  Charles nodded. “I’ve been invited to visit Dountry Park in Cumbria in April to meet Lady Cornelia. When the dreaded measles should no longer be a threat.”

  “You’d best brush up on your poetry then. I’ve heard she is a bluestocking. Favors the bards,” Jason said, attempting to inject some humor into the situation. His brother was as far from a poet as the sun was from the moon.

  Charles raked an agitated hand through his hair and made a noise somewhere between a moan and a growl. “I hope she doesn’t anticipate flowery verses.”

  Jason cast a quick look at him. “Come on. You need this exercise more than I do.”

  ***

  Two days later, Charles, holding a letter, walked into Jason’s bedchamber, where his valet was brushing his coat. “We have it,” he said with a grin.

  “I don’t believe it!” Jason whirled around. He snatched the paper from Charles’s fingers and perused it hungrily. Jason chortled. “My God! Basil has confessed! I’m off to Horsham.”

  “I’ve asked the chancellor to request a retraction from the University Press. Best wait until you have it in your hands.”

  Jason scowled. “One of Dove-Lyon’s clients could be haring down to Horsham as we speak, ready to fall in love with Beverly.”

  Charles laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Does Beverly love you?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “Have faith in the girl.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Beverly sat with her arms around her knees on the grassy bank beside the river flowing through her father’s land. She’d fed all the bread Cook had given her to the ducks, and they’d wandered off, back to the water. Through the trees, their manor house overlooked the river from a slight rise, a rambling but handsome building of apricot brick with white-painted shutters. A flowering creeper grew over one wall.

  Home had always been her refuge. A place to come back to rest. But it failed her now. She couldn’t bear to be in the house. Her father looked so pale, he was almost ghostly, and it frightened her. When Mama fussed around him, he waved her away. No reprieve had been forthcoming. The Assizes sat at the end of the week, and her father would appear before the judge. Mama had advised Mrs. Dove-Lyon of their return but refused to leave Papa in his hour of need. Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s reply came only a few days later to say the gentleman was happy to await their return to London.

  It was all moving too fast. Beverly had pl
aced a great deal of faith in her grandfather, but perhaps even he could do little to help them. She’d heard nothing from Jason. He must have taken her advice to forget her.

  Sighing, she picked up Friday, a black and white kitten, and the one she liked best from the newest litter and walked back to the house. The loose strings of her bonnet swung against her neck, and she wore her plainest morning gown of faded pink with a grass stain near the knee, her fingers grubby from feeding the ducks.

  As she crossed from the rose arbor to the front door, a coach rattled down the driveway. Beverly stood rooted to the spot, the kitten wriggling in her arms. The breeze seized her straw hat and flung it into the azaleas. She brushed away a ringlet threatening to blind her and watched as the coach pulled up. The groom opened the door and jumped out but had no time to put down the steps before Jason leaped out.

  He reached her quickly and beamed at her, love in his eyes. “Beverly!”

  “Jason…” The kitten managed its escape, leaping from her loosened grasp. Jason laughed and quickly recaptured the animal. He held the small, writhing body out to her. “Have you heard the news about your father?”

  She took it and cradled it against her bodice, where her heart fluttered. “No. What news?”

  “Then we must be the bearers of it. A most pleasant task, I must say.” His eyes roamed her face. “Are you well? I’ve missed you, sweetheart.”

  She drew in a deep breath. “Oh, I have missed you, too, Jason, so very much.”

  “My darling, I must tell you…”

  “Am I to meet the young lady, Jason?” The Duke of Shewsbury, who had alighted in a more dignified manner, approached them.

  “Beverly, Miss Crabtree, allow me to introduce you to my brother, Charles, Duke of Shewsbury,” Jason said formally.

  “Your Grace,” Painfully aware of her disheveled appearance, Beverly sank into a curtsey while the kitten stabbed her chest with its tiny claws.