Fall of the Lyon: The Lyon's Den

by Chasity Bowlin

  “Senility might be a kinder term for it,” she offered.

  “Senility doesn’t strike men in their prime. It was marriage that did him in,” Leo stated. And he was getting ready to take on the same sorry state. “And speaking of matrimony… I presume you have someone in mind for me? I’m just another confirmed bachelor up on the auction block, so to speak.”

  “You do not have to marry, Amberley. It appears the state of matrimony is more abhorrent to you than poverty, after all,” the woman pointed out, her tone disapproving.

  Leo had considered it. If it were only him, he might well have made that choice. “So what is it? Is she from a terrible family? Already carrying some other man’s bastard? Or just terribly unattractive?”

  “There are many reasons women may choose an unorthodox method of finding a husband, my lord. Your judgment of her does you no credit. The world is far kinder to men than women. If we lived in an equitable society, she would have no need of you at all. But in order to inherit—to access or even utilize her own fortune, the very funds her stepfather wished to leave her—she must, by law, have a husband. Have you never stopped to consider the state of the world women must live in? Considering that you have two younger half-sisters who will soon be subjected to it, perhaps you should.”

  Chastened, Leo nodded. “You are correct, Mrs. Dove-Lyon. I should not be so quick to judge. Indeed, were she so quick to judge, I’d hardly have any opportunity to rectify my current situation. You know the girl?”

  “I do. Not well, but to some degree. I was better acquainted with her stepfather who initiated this arrangement. At any rate, she’s only just arrived here from the country and it has been very traumatic for her. Be kind to her, won’t you?”

  “I’ll hardly behave like an ogre. I’ve been told that I am even capable of being charming on occasion.”

  Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s lips curved upward in a satisfied smirk. “So you can be, Amberley. Just so you know, I would normally take all the credit for making this match for you. But in this instance, I am not the matchmaker as much as the match facilitator. Her stepfather suggested that you might be the perfect man for her. Now, if you refuse, I have the necessary documentation that I can find another prospect for her. But I hope it won’t come to that. I rather think the two of you would do well together.”

  “Well enough,” he mused. “Lofty goals. Why me?”

  “We’ll get to that shortly… I rather thought we should discuss the terms of her settlement first,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon replied, a strategist to the end. “It is a rather tidy sum.”

  It stung his pride to ask, but it was imperative, after all, and he had to know. “How tidy a sum?”

  Mrs. Dove-Lyon leaned forward. “Forty thousand pounds along with her stepfather’s collection of antiquities which I believe will be of particular interest to you.” Each word was uttered in a stage whisper and the phrase itself punctuated with dramatic pauses.

  Outwardly, he didn’t respond. Not so much as a blink of his eyes betrayed his shock at such a pronouncement. After a momentary pause, he said coolly, “That is rather tidy, yes.”

  “She’s a lovely girl, too. Though I imagine that few would dare say otherwise when she is set to be as rich as Croesus,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon stated with a decisive snap.

  Well, it mattered a little. He’d like to be able to consummate his marriage without having to drink himself into a stupor first. Though he supposed for that amount, he’d manage to rally the soldier, so to speak. “What is her name?”

  “Miss Margaret Upshaw.”

  The name sounded vaguely familiar though he couldn’t quite place it. “Her stepfather?”

  “Sir William Ashby,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon replied softly.

  His gut clenched, his breath seizing in his lungs the moment it was uttered. “This must be some sort of jest. A terrible one, to be certain.”

  “It isn’t. Sir William, in one of his letters to me, informed me that you have a history together… and that he felt some sense of responsibility for your unfortunate accident.”

  “What happened was not an accident… but yes, he did have a hand in it,” Leo admitted bitterly.

  “He shot you?”

  “No. And I don’t mean to discuss the particulars with you. Why on earth would the man responsible for shattering my leg and who nearly cost me my life now offer up his stepdaughter and his fortune to me?”

  “Ah,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said, a world of wisdom encompassed in that single syllable. “I believe it is his way of making amends.”

  “How can I accept this?” Leo demanded.

  “The question, Amberley, isn’t whether or not you can accept it… it’s whether or not you can afford to refuse it. Can you?”

  The truth of that hit him like a punch to the gut. No. He couldn’t. “I suppose I have no choice in the matter, really,” Leo stated. “Heiresses are hardly thick on the ground… especially those who have desperate need of a husband and are willing to overlook my current impoverished state.”

  “She was a child when all that occurred. In fact, I don’t even think Sir William had married her mother at that point.”

  Another terrible thought entered his mind then, one that left him deeply unsettled. What if she were little better than a child? “Just how old is this girl?”

  “Young, I think. Nineteen or so.”

  Well, at least she wasn’t a child, though she was not so far from it that it didn’t cause a pang of concern. But she was not in society or he would know her. And if she wasn’t in society, there was probably a reason why. Was she shy and bookish? Was she gauche and possessed of terrible manners? Did she have the face of a horse? Why had Sir William hidden her away? Could he afford to care? No. And that was the damnable, miserable truth of it. If it were only him, he’d simply strike out on his own. A man could earn a living in the world if he was willing to get his hands dirty. There was always the East India Company, who even with his limp had come calling numerous times. Certainly no one had dirtier hands than they did, after all. But there were his half-sisters to think of. And while it wouldn’t make him lose a wink of sleep at the thought of his stepmother starving in the streets, he would never allow Julia and Louisa to suffer for their mother’s sins.

  Almost as if she’d plucked the idea from his very mind, Mrs. Dove-Lyon asked pointedly, “The real question, Amberley, is whether you can forgive this girl for her connection to a man whom you seem to despise?”

  “This isn’t a Greek tragedy, Madam,” he said, affronted at the idea of it. “I’ve no intention of punishing her for something she had no part in.”

  “Very well then.”

  Silence fell for just a moment, and then Leo asked, “When will she arrive?”

  “She is already here,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said. “Resting in a room upstairs. I’ll have her brought down shortly. There are extenuating circumstances which require that the matter must be seen to as expediently as possible.”

  “Gretna Green?”

  “I don’t think that will be necessary. Sir William signed the necessary documents in advance… it should be easy enough. We should have no trouble at all getting a special license for you. You should be aware that, upon Sir William’s death, there is every likelihood that it will be contested by her uncle and you risk losing everything… though, I daresay, given her age, it would not come to that.”

  “And what do you get out of this?” Leo demanded.

  Mrs. Dove-Lyon smiled, just a slight quirk of her lips. “Sir William paid me already, rather handsomely.”

  Leo didn’t believe in favors. No one, especially a woman such as Bessie Dove-Lyon, did something so generous without expecting some form of recompense. “And you’re just gifting this heiress to me out of the kindness of your heart?”

  “Oh, heavens no! She still has to say yes, after all. I am carrying out her stepfather’s wishes for her… and for you. Whatever occurred all those years ago, he did feel that he wronged you and this is how he means to make amends. Even f
or those such as you and me, jaded as we are, a dying man’s last request is sacrosanct. And to that, the nature of your past acquaintance with Sir William should be kept quiet. There’s no need to add to her already considerable distress,” she stated. After a pause, she cocked her head to one side and looked him over like he was some sort of prized goose at the butcher’s shop. “In the event that you refused, I was instructed to find someone young, handsome, honorable… who would treat her kindly and protect her from those who would exploit her in her soon to be orphaned state. I think it only right that I should hold you to that same standard and demand you treat her well. Or am I mistaken about the nature of your character?” The last was asked rather pointedly, with her eyebrows arching upward and her lips pressed into a firm and somewhat disapproving line.

  “Are you asking me if I will be a good husband?”

  She laughed. “There is no such thing as a good husband, Amberley. Only tolerable ones and dead ones. Will you deal honorably with her or will you abuse your power of position by virtue of being born as a man in this world?”

  “I will behave honorably,” he said, being as forthcoming as he could be. “I am not a man who would be cruel or abusive to a woman. But I cannot stand here and promise you that I will make her happy. By virtue of the mess my father has left our holdings in, I must become a husband, but that doesn’t mean I am well suited for it.”

  “One year,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said. “One year… of you not darkening my door. Staying far from this hell and any other. No mistress… or mistresses. No prostitutes, courtesans, demireps, tavern wenches, doxies or common prostitutes.” Her eyes narrowed as she mentally recited her list. Then she added to it. “You will not seek out affairs with loose women in society, married or otherwise. In short, Amberley, you will attempt, for a period of one year, to be a faithful and attentive husband. Do you agree?”

  To say yes to such an edict seemed far more ominous than any wedding vow he’d ever heard repeated. It wasn’t as if he were some sort of libertine rutting his way through London, but once he gave his word to her, he’d be bound by it. “And I’m to assume this match is contingent upon my agreement to your terms?”

  “Your introduction to her is contingent upon your agreement,” the older woman stated firmly. “Consent will be in the hands of Miss Upshaw.”

  Well, that left him no other option. It was only for a year, after all, that he had to play the doting husband. Of course, if they despised one another, a year could feel like a lifetime. “You have my word. For one year, I will abide by your terms. I will be faithful. It’s an insult to my honor to have to state so implicitly that I will not abuse the girl, but one does what one must at such times. I will treat her well.”

  Mrs. Dove-Lyon smiled in satisfaction as she rose to her feet. “Very well. I will leave you here. A servant will fetch her and bring her down momentarily and you may make your offer to her here in these rooms with the privacy such things warrant.”

  Leo watched the woman sweep from the room, her skirts once more rustling about her and catching the light with their golden embroidery. But he was not left alone for long. In just a matter of moments, a soft knock sounded upon the door and he bade the person enter.

  It was impossible to say what he’d been expecting. But it certainly wasn’t the woman who stood before him in that doorway. He’d taken punches that packed less force, he thought. It wasn’t that she was beautiful, though she was incredibly lovely. And terribly, painfully young. Still, he took stock, as any man would when presented with his potential bride. Her dark hair was swept up in a simple chignon. There was a softness about her face, in the sweeping curve of her jaw, sweetly rounded cheeks, all of it capped by a slightly pointed chin that formed a perfect heart shape. It was her mouth that held him transfixed, however. Her lips were full, a perfect bow shape, and titled upward at the corners, not in a smile, but in a natural curve.

  Forcing himself to look away from her beautiful face, his gaze swept over the rest of her. The dress she wore was simple and smacked of country gentry with its simple print and lack of ornamentation. Of course, the fullness of her breasts beneath that simple fabric was impossible to miss. But it wasn’t just what appeared to be an enviable figure. She was tall for a woman, tall enough that he imagined they’d be eye to eye were they to stand close enough to test the theory. And yet, there was something else about her, beyond simply her obvious beauty and his immediate attraction that he found compelling. And all of that was terribly complicated given his rather ugly history with the man who’d made her an heiress.

  There was a sadness about her, a vulnerability that stirred a protectiveness inside him. Looking at this young, beautiful woman, he was compelled by a need to care for her, to shield her from all harm. It was rather alarming.

  “Miss Upshaw?” he asked softly. He couldn’t imagine that she might be anyone else, but he also couldn’t quite believe he was actually that lucky.

  “Yes,” she said, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. She remained close to it, however, watching him warily as if she might need to make a hasty retreat. “You are Lord Amberley?”

  “Yes,” he confirmed. “I’m terribly sorry for the circumstances and the… somewhat unorthodox location of our introduction.”

  “It could be worse, I suppose,” she said, gazing about the room. “I’m not entirely certain how, but I think that’s more a reflection of my lack of sophistication than any true shortage of more dire scenarios.”

  His lips quirked, a smile tugging at them in spite of everything. “I find a sense of humor serves me well in almost any situation. I am glad to see you have one, as well. But my reference was more in thinking of your stepfather’s unfortunate illness.”

  She sighed. “I’m not here because my stepfather is ill. I am here because my father’s half-brother is a man with no conscience, no ethics and no hint of morality. He has decided that I should marry his son, Neville, so that they might gain control of my inheritance. My stepfather, bless him, sent me here that I might avoid that fate by marrying someone else.”

  “I see… Neville… Neville Snead?” Leo’s stomach turned at the notion of it. Neville Snead had been at Eton with him. As a boy, he’d been beyond cruel. He’d reveled in inflicting pain and humiliation on others, tormenting the younger boys at school with a kind of glee that he’d never seen in another. Regardless of what his rather conflicted feelings were about Sir William Ashby and the young woman before him, he could hardly leave her to suffer such a fate.

  “Yes. I take it you are acquainted with him?”

  “Well enough.” Leo considered what he should say next, but ultimately decided on the truth, or as much of it as he could offer at any rate. “Miss Upshaw, I have little more than a tuppence to my name. But I am a viscount. As my viscountess, you would be in a station elevated enough that you would need never associate with your cousin or your uncle ever again. I can offer you the protection of my name, a home here in London or elsewhere. I’m perfectly content to go the countryside so long as we can convince my younger half-sisters to leave the joys of London behind us.”

  “Half-sisters?” she asked softly. “They are in your care?”

  “I have two younger half-sisters. They are twelve and fourteen respectively. Julia and Louisa. Their mother, my stepmother, was cut from a very different sort of cloth than your stepfather seems to have been. She was not so willing to open her heart to another’s woman’s child. After my father’s death, when she discovered that he’d lost everything, Judith left them in my care and… well, I don’t know really where she is now. I imagine in the arms of one of her many lovers or possibly she has gone to Spain. Italy perhaps. Greece even. It’s really anyone’s guess. Wherever she might be the belle of the ball, I suppose.”

  She blinked at that. “Oh… well, I wasn’t aware that there would be children involved.”

  “They’re hardly children. Slightly shorter and less scheming versions of society matrons… and I mean that
in the best possible way, of course,” he assured her. “If circumstances were different, Miss Upshaw, we might have met in a more traditional fashion and I might have offered a proposal in the way that a gentleman normally would. And perhaps I could have introduced you to my half-sisters so that you all might know one another before suddenly being thrust into the role of being family to one another. But I feel, based on the rapidly deteriorating state of your stepfather’s condition and the very dwindling bit of coin in the family coffers, that haste is in order.”

  She stepped deeper into the room, moving away from the door that seemed to have offered her some sense of security. Having reached a small settee, she simply sank down upon it. With her back straight and her spine rigid, she clasped her hands in her lap and stared up at him. “You are correct in your assumptions, Lord Amberley. I haven’t the luxury of waiting. Nor do I have the luxury of demanding that things be conducted in the usual manner. We are both in untenable situations, it seems. Situations that will only be resolved by a hasty marriage to one another… and the sooner the better. But I may have conditions of my own.”

  “And what conditions are those, Miss Upshaw?” he asked. She was certainly entitled to have reservations. He had plenty enough of his own.

  “That we should not… that… rather… due to the unusual circumstances of our meeting and our betrothal… and well, that we have had so little time to know one another prior to…” she simply trailed off, as if she had no notion of how to even broach the subject.

  “You’re referring to the consummation of our union,” he supplied, taking pity on her.

  A heated blush stole over her cheeks and she looked away. “Yes. Thank you.”