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

by Jade Lee

  “Yes,” she said. She’d made it as well. It was meant to be a gift to Mrs. Dove-Lyon for next Christmas, but she hadn’t been able to resist wearing it now. The burnished gold matched her gown, and the bright, ruby eyes would dance in the candlelight.

  “Of her own design?” Lady Byrn asked. “How could that be?”

  “It is a hobby of hers, Mother,” Lord Byrn responded. “I have seen her sketchbook filled with jewelry designs. It is quite impressive.”

  “Really?” the lady asked. “Could you fashion a peacock for my hair? With beautiful plumage to trail down my face.”

  “It would be my absolute pleasure.” Not a lie. It would be a gloriously fun thing to do. “And while I am in London, I shall look for a good jeweler who could bring the design to life for you.” Especially since the thing would cost the moon and would amply repay her father for the two night’s he’d have to spend in the cage with her grandfather in her stead.

  “Hmm,” Lord Byrn drawled. “I wonder what jeweler you will pick.” He didn’t sound upset by that. More amused than anything else. “Keep the design modest, please. We aren’t made of gold.”

  “But the peacock will be. And it shall look wonderful in your hair.”

  Lady Byrn preened at the thought. With Amber’s help, she began to speculate on what gemstones could be in it. And so they progressed up the line inch by slow inch. The anticipation was killing her, but talking about jewelry was the best way to pass the time, especially as Lady Byrn began pointing out what the other ladies wore. It was the kind of discussion that would be invaluable to her later. It told her what society women wanted, what styles they preferred, and what was seen as too much or too little.

  If only she could focus on it rather than the approaching door. She could hear the Major Domo announcing everyone as they entered. Lord and Lady Castlereigh stood out in her mind. Imagine, she was about to be at a ball with such an important man! And if the jewelry was anything to judge by, she was surrounded by unimaginable wealth. It would have made her feel self-conscious if she hadn’t known her own design matched theirs in skill. Plus, Lord Byrn was by her side, making her feel safe as he smiled warmly at her whenever she glanced his way.

  “First balls are so exciting,” Diana whispered in her ear. “I’m so happy to be here with you.”

  She grabbed Diana’s hand and gripped it tight, then watched as Lord Byrn extended his arm to his mother. Now that was an impressive sight. The man was handsome with his broad shoulders and dark clothing. Amber pretended he was offering to escort her. She watched as Lady Byrn set her fingertips on his forearm, straightened her shoulders, and stepped forward as if she were the queen.

  They were introduced with a booming voice, and all heads turned to see them enter. Then with stately movements, they descended the stairs just like royalty.

  “Our turn,” Diana whispered. “Head high.”

  Amber soothed out her gown, took a deep breath, and then at Diana’s urging, linked arms with her. They stepped up and were announced.

  “Lady Dunnamore! Miss Amber Gohar!”

  Her name. Out loud. At a ball!

  No one looked. Or at least not many. But it didn’t matter, because at the base of the stairs, after the receiving line, Lord Byrn had stopped to await them. Lady Byrn had already wandered off to talk to her friends, but her son stood there and watched. His expression was genial, but his green eyes met hers with an intensity that made her heartbeat accelerate. And it was already going so fast.

  Lord Byrn held out his hand to her. To her! She took it, and he helped her down the last step. Then he waited as she made her curtsey to Lady Morthan and the rest of the receiving line before escorting her into the ballroom proper. He set her gloved hand on his forearm, and he even squeezed it a bit, which set butterflies dancing in her belly.

  “What would you like to do first?” he asked. “Lemonade? A turn about the room?”

  “Wait, wait,” Diana said as she held up three dance cards. “Put this on your wrist,” she said to Amber. “You have a pencil in your reticule, yes?”

  She did, along with a piece of paper, so that she could sketch the brooch.

  “And I brought one as well.” Lord Byrn pulled out a small pencil from his pocket and took the dance card from his sister’s hand. “If I may?” he asked Amber as he held his pencil aloft.

  It took a moment for her to understand that he was asking her permission to write his name on her dance card. Asking for her permission as if she were someone special.

  She tried to swallow the lump in her throat and barely managed a nod. She watched in stunned delight as he scrawled his name for the first dance and the first waltz. Two dances with him! She would not be a wallflower this night. Well, at least not the whole night. Then she held out her hand as he tied the card around her wrist.

  “I know it’s not the same as your own ball, but I shall be very pleased to escort you out for your first dance.”

  She felt like she would burst from happiness. “Thank you,” she whispered. She meant so much more than those two words, but it would have to do.

  “And what of me?” Diana said, her voice teasingly sharp. “Am I to sit with the old ladies all night?”

  “They shall be lining up for you, Diana. You know they will. But if I could beg the second waltz, would that be enough?”

  “Definitely not. I shall have the second dance with you after Amber.” Then she held out her card, and he dutifully wrote his name. “Don’t forget, Mother will want your attendance as well. Not to mention—”

  “I know my duties, sister dear.” Then he turned to Amber. “Speaking of which, shall we walk?” At her surprised look, he tilted his head. “The portrait is over there.”

  Ah yes. The reason she was here. He wanted to be sure she sketched the brooch. The light dimmed from her heart. It was the perfect reminder that she wasn’t here as an honored guest, but as a fraud here to sketch a design.

  “Of course,” she murmured.

  “I’ll be off then,” Diana said. “Amelia’s over there, and I haven’t spoken with her in ages.”

  So it was just the two of them walking slowly through the ballroom toward a portrait. “Lady Morthan is known to stint on her spirits, but the lemonade is passable. As is the midnight buffet. But don’t eat the shrimp, it made half the ton sick last year.”

  Shrimp? Spirits? “I shall follow your lead,” she finally said. Especially since she’d never had spirits mostly because the example of drunken men in the Den had never left her with a desire to taste it. As for shrimp, that was something the aristocrats ate. She lived on meat pies and black bread, though she had snuck a taste of crab once from Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s buffet. It had been Christmas, and the lady had made enough that the staff was allowed a small taste.

  “Now tell me what you are most excited about tonight. Is it the dancing? The food? The fashion?”

  It was all of the above, but she didn’t get a chance to answer. He hadn’t even finished his questions when a portly gentleman stepped into their path. “Byrn, wasn’t sure if you’d be here tonight.”

  “I’m dancing attendance on my mother. May I introduce you to my sister’s dear friend, Miss Amber Gohar.”

  “Enchanted, m’dear,” the man said as he bowed quickly over her hand. She thought he said his name, but it was lost because his mouth was at her glove. Then he straightened and went right back to his conversation with Lord Byrn. “We need to discuss this resolution of yours. You can’t mean to spend that much on the veterans. There are other places that need the money more.”

  “I do mean to spend every ha’penny on our soldiers. They deserve it and…”

  The discussion continued for long minutes. And though she did get a quick understanding of his resolution and the objections to it, she did not get a chance to speak or do anything but stand there feeling stupid. What did she know of governing? Not a thing, not that anyone was interested in her opinion anyway.

  “I have promised Miss Gohar some l
emonade,” Lord Byrn eventually said.

  “Quite right, quite right. I do hope you enjoy the ball, Miss Gohar.” And then just before they were to move on, he pulled out a pencil. “Nearly forgot. Must have a dance with someone as lovely as you. With your permission?”

  Was he asking to dance with her? Apparently so, because he was already grabbing at the dance card on her wrist. She obliged him by lifting it up, and he scribbled his name on the next open line.

  “Charming,” he said when he was done, and it took another moment for her to realize that it was his way of dismissing them. He turned immediately to scan the crowd before heading off in another direction.

  “Don’t worry,” Lord Byrn said in her ear. “He’s a decent dancer. Won’t step on your toes.”

  She hadn’t been worried until now. “I just hope I can remember the steps.” She was pretty sure she could, but then she’d never danced at a real ball before.

  “I have every confidence—” he began, but a pair of gentlemen turned in their direction and spoke over his words.

  “Byrn, hello there! Doing the pretty for your mother and sister?”

  “And my sister’s dear friend. Gentleman, may I present Miss Amber Gohar.”

  “Enchanted,” they said in unison. They bowed over her hand while Lord Byrn gave their names.

  Each begged permission and then wrote their names next to dances, but their attention remained on Lord Byrn and politics. A different resolution this time. They were asking for his support, and Lord Byrn wasn’t as committed. The discussion lasted no more than three minutes, but then there were more gentlemen, more discussions, and more names upon her dance card. At least some of the men had ladies upon their arm. The women looked vaguely bored as they, too, were introduced, then held up their cards. Lord Byrn wrote his name and then paused long enough to record the lady’s name in his card.

  In truth, there was a lot more writing and recording than she’d ever expected at a ball. And now that she was here, there were a lot of things that she hadn’t anticipated but now saw as completely logical.

  In her daydreams, she’d only thought of the dancing, but now she saw the business of the ballroom. All over were ladies standing in small groups, while the men approached. It didn’t take much to realize these ladies were searching for husbands. The men looking for wives went there and not to Amber. Older women sat in a clutch to one side, and men uninterested in the proceeding disappeared into what she guessed was the game room. Meanwhile, yet more gentlemen—the politicals if she were to guess—were busy greeting one another before leaping to whatever issue was important to them. Corn, finance, veterans. She had no understanding of it all, but Lord Byrn handled it with ease.

  “Forgive me, gentleman, but I see Lady Castlereagh and must present Miss Gohar.”

  The gentlemen faded away, and just as Amber was turning toward the portrait hung close by, his words finally registered. Lady Castlereagh? And he meant to present her? “What are you doing?” she asked, aghast. She was a tradeswoman. She couldn’t meet one of the reigning patronesses of society! Even she had heard of the ladies who ruled Almack’s with an iron hand.

  But there was no time for it as Lord Byrn was bowing over the older lady’s hand. “You look quite lovely this evening,” he said. “May I present to you my sister’s dear friend, Miss Amber Gohar from Berlin? She is in town visiting for a time.”

  Amber dropped into a curtsey while the woman frowned. “Gohar? Do I know that name?”

  Good God, she hoped not! Could her father’s scandal have followed her here? Now?

  “I doubt it,” Lord Byrn was saying. “She is from a small but respectable family. You know the Germans. Every family has a connection to some prince somewhere. But Miss Gohar is a delight and most welcome in our home.”

  “Your sister’s friend, you say?”

  “From school. Forgive me, but I can’t remember the specifics.”

  Amber mentally scrambled for details. What would she say should the lady ask? But she was spared her lies as Lady Castlereagh tsked in the way of a fond aunt.

  “Men never remember the important things.” She blew out a breath. “Very well. I suppose you have come to ask that she may waltz.”

  Lord Byrn flashed a charming smile. “They are dancing it already on the Continent.”

  The lady pursed her lips in thought while Amber’s pulse beat rapidly in her throat. She needed permission to dance the waltz? She hadn’t known. And already there were names on her card next to the scandalous dance. What if she was denied permission? What if—

  “It is good to see your sister out again in society. Does she fare well? I hear her husband has fallen ill.”

  “Yes, I’m afraid that’s true. In fact, I believe she would have remained at his bedside if it were not for Miss Gohar’s presence.”

  “Hmm.” The woman looked at Amber again, and this time her inspection was quite thorough. She seemed to study everything from Amber’s head down to her slippered toes, her gaze lingering on the flaws in the rapidly remade gown. At least in Amber’s mind, she did. “That is an interesting design in your hair piece. Family crest?”

  The lion? “Of a sort, my lady.” Thank God she wasn’t stammering, though it was a near thing. “It is a beast that means a great deal to my family. It symbolizes courage in uncertain times.”

  “Yes, yes. Though not quite as uncertain as it once was, now that the Corsican is gone.”

  “Quite right,” Lord Byrn said.

  Napoleon was defeated, and the world was returning to some form of normalcy. At least that’s what Amber assumed they meant. Politics had never been of much interest to her, and yet among these people, it was their daily fare. After all, they were the ones running the country, and she was no one at all.

  “Very well, Lord Byrn, she may dance,” Lady Castlereagh said loudly. “Provided I see you at Almack’s in two days.” She arched a brow. “Have we a bargain?”

  “We do,” he said as he bowed over her hand. And as he did so, the lady shot a look at Amber.

  “You are welcome as well. I shall see that the vouchers are sent.”

  What? Her in Almack’s? The haven of the most proper, most elite ladies of the ton? Amber waited until they were just beyond earshot before she spoke, her voice squeaking slightly in alarm.

  “I can’t go to Almack’s!”

  Lord Byrn exchanged a nod with another gentleman, but his words were for her. “Whyever not? It’s just her way of getting me to the marriage mart. There’s nothing sacred about that place. Quite the opposite.”

  Of course, there was nothing special about it. To him. But she’d been hearing tales of the place since she first started helping the dance master at the Lyon’s Den. The girls who came there spoke of an Almack’s voucher as if they were describing a royal decree. And Amber had daydreamed the missives into an elaborate gold envelope with a blood-red seal. The paper was the whitest linen ever made, and every stroke of the pen was beautiful in curve as it was in content.

  She was to receive one of those missives! Sweet heaven, she was giddy with delight. Until Lord Byrn realized what they were discussing and why she’d said she couldn’t go.

  “Oh, right. That’s in two days, and our business will be done by then.” He pursed his lips. “I suppose I can fashion some excuse for you. I’ll have to go, but you needn’t be bothered.”

  Bothered? Bothered! The man didn’t understand anything at all. She’d give her right hand to attend. But before she could speak, they came to the portrait. The one of Lady Morthan in her youth as she wore the brooch Amber was supposed to copy.

  And that, it turned out, was an utter disaster.

  Chapter Eight

  “It won’t work.”

  Elliott jolted at the sound of Amber’s words. They were spoken low, but the misery in them was palpable. “What? Why not?”

  “Look at it,” she said as she gestured at the portrait of the young Lady Morthan at her presentation.

  He wa
s looking. He saw the brooch clear as day. A square-cut ruby surrounded by diamonds.

  “Can you tell if the ruby has a bevel setting, or is it pronged?”

  He didn’t even understand the words, but it didn’t matter. “It’s a smear of red.”

  “Exactly. I can recreate the general idea, but anyone who knows the piece will be able to tell it’s a fraud.”

  Oh hell. The whole scheme was dependent upon the countess not knowing exactly what her feckless grandson had done. And if there was one thing the lady knew, it was her jewelry.

  “Is there another portrait?” she asked.

  “None that I am aware of. But perhaps Lord Morthan knows of one.” He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “He’s here somewhere. Probably at the sideboard drinking all the port.” And how had his life become so deuced ridiculous that he was searching a ball for a man who might help him forge a piece of jewelry, all because the country had forgotten to care for its own soldiers? “Come along. I’ll walk you back to my sister. Did you want some lemonade before I return you?”

  She blinked, her eyes wide with hope as she spoke. “I can stay?”

  He frowned. “Stay? Stay where?”

  “Here. At the ball. Even though I can’t make the brooch.”

  “Of course, you can stay. What kind of man would I be if I took away your fun simply because my plans didn’t work out?”

  She didn’t answer, but then again, she didn’t need to. The only men of his set she knew were the ones who frequented the Lyon’s Den. Not the best examples of humanity, by his standards, and so he lifted her hand and bowed over it.

  “It should be my greatest pleasure to allow you to stay until the candles are blown out, and your feet ache abominably.”

  “Thank you,” she said, her voice a bare whisper. “My lord, I cannot express—”

  He waved her to silence as he took her arm. “Come on. Let us try Lady Morthan’s minimally acceptable lemonade.”

  She gave him a dazzling smile, set her hand on his arm, and hopped twice on her tiptoes as they walked. And he nearly copied her, because he was pleased to see her so happy.