Lyon's Prey: The Lyon's Den

by Anna St. Claire

Her mother’s eyes watered, and she stiffened her shoulders. Charlotte prepared herself.

  “Young lady, I do not know when you became so uppity, but I am your mother and deserve your respect. You would never act thus if your father was still here. Even so, you could make a worse match.” Her mother sniffed.

  “I apologize, Mama. Of course you are right. I should not have snapped. I am afraid I acted impulsively,” Charlotte continued, “but Uncle does not need to know.” She had lost quite a lot of respect for her uncle in the months that had followed Papa’s death. She and Mama had gone from a life of ease while her father was around to one where every farthing was checked and accounted for with her uncle.

  “I had purpose to my meeting, Mama. Lord Clarendon’s horse nearly ran me over yesterday in Mayfair, and I gave him a piece of my mind. His sister and brother-in-law were there, so I was not alone.” It was a stretch, but not really a lie. His family had pulled up when she arrived and left only a short while before she did. “Surely Lord and Lady Rivers qualify as adequate chaperones,” she pressed. No way would she volunteer any information about her brother because that would put her mother over the top. Each day since Papa’s death, her mother had eaten and dressed, but only sat in her parlor staring out the window. She barely paid attention to anything, and quite startled Charlotte with her observation of the carriage.

  “Oh darling, you should mind your cheekiness in public. You know how your father felt about the sharpness of your tongue.”

  Her father would not have been happy.

  “Certainly they would qualify as chaperones. The Dowager Clarendon and I are friends, you know.” She looked at her daughter. “And no, I do not feel like speaking with my brother. He is always in such an ill temper of late.” Her mother stopped. “He does not listen to what I have to say and says the harshest things to me. Your Papa . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  Charlotte waited, careful not to cut her mother off again. She had never seen her mother as distraught as she had been since Papa’s death. “Mama, I cannot help but wonder why we are not able to buy new clothes. Uncle limited us to two dresses each to observe Papa’s mourning period. I had Jane dye some of my lighter dresses black so I would have a few more changes.” She paused and took a calming breath before she continued. “Was Papa . . . are we without funds?” She swallowed. Charlotte had never worried about her clothing purchases before, yet her uncle was being very specific when it came to how much she and her mother were allowed to spend. Not only that, but her uncle was always telling her mother she had been spoiled and they needed to save money. Papa had cherished her mother.

  “Your father always told me we would be well taken care of should something happen, so I do not understand why we are limited in our mourning attire—in everything, in fact. Even the household accounts are challenged. Dear daughter, I do not know what to think. My brother says we are quite strapped.” The countess drew out the word in a huff.

  It seemed her mother was beginning to question her brother. Still, Charlotte could not take the chance that Mama would see things as she did. At one and twenty years old, she was nearly firmly on the shelf. Had her father not passed and her brother not gone missing, she felt sure her life would have been different. However, it was to be the way of it, and she needed to accept things. Her uncle had made mention that it was high time she married. That, and the close attention he paid when she was near, was beginning to make her nervous. If they were as without funds as he claimed, perhaps she should consider employment. She worried so about her brother and mother. If her mother was more herself, she might consider it.

  “My dear, I have sent word and asked to see a friend of mine tomorrow. I would like you to go with me,” her mother said in a detached voice.

  “You were out? I would have accompanied you wherever you needed to go today. It has been an age since we have gone anywhere together,” Charlotte said solicitously.

  “It truly has, my dear. But this was something I felt compelled to do, and when we are sure that we are alone, I will speak with you further. For now, please do not mention this to anyone.”

  Footsteps outside the door caused them to stop talking. A moment later, Mrs. Graves, the housekeeper, stepped inside. “My lady, your brother has arrived and has alerted Myers that a visitor is expected.”

  “Oh? Did he happen to mention who was expected?” Her mother inquired nonchalantly.

  “I do not believe he gave the name, your ladyship,” Mrs. Graves responded.

  “If you happen to hear, I would be interested in quietly knowing,” her mother’s voice was almost a low whisper.

  “Yes, my lady.” The housekeeper gave a polite curtsey and left them alone. As if they were wary of her uncle themselves, the household—especially Myers, their butler, and Mrs. Graves—had become protective since Papa died. As with Mrs. Graves, they found ways to apprise them of her uncle’s arrivals. How was it, though, that not even her lady’s maid had mentioned Mama’s outing to Charlotte? Perhaps it was because you have been out yourself these two days past, a voice in her head reminded her.

  Mama had not been taking visitors—none that she had noticed, anyway. The only visitor was her uncle, and he came unannounced and had begun to use Papa’s study as his own. Her blood simmered when she thought about it for reasons she could not quite understand.

  While her uncle mostly annoyed her, her mother’s activities took Charlotte by surprise. Mama had behaved so despondently since Papa died, Charlotte would have never imagined she would leave their home at all, much less without her. Just what is mother up to? If she worried about it, it would just frustrate her, so Charlotte resigned herself to being content and busy for the rest of the day. She would find out soon enough.

  The next morning her mother sent her maid up to ready her for a visit. Jane laid out her long-sleeved lavender-grey day dress and matching shoes, which Mama had approved. It was slightly better than the black or plain grey tones, barely. Once Charlotte dressed, Jane created soft curls to frame several loosely woven braids fashioned into a chignon. Turning side to side, Charlotte admired Jane’s handiwork with a hand mirror. “You have never done this particular style. I like it.” She smiled at her maid, eliciting a soft giggle.

  “Thank you, m’lady. ’Tis something I saw on the fashion plates in the store when we were there last. I wanted to try it and am glad it pleases you.”

  Charlotte nodded and held up her mirror for one more peek. Noting the need for a bit of color, she pinched her cheeks. Satisfied with her appearance, she placed the looking glass down on her vanity and stood. “I am as ready as I will ever be. You have no idea who we are visiting today, do you?”

  “No, m’lady. Your mother took a short visit somewhere yesterday, but I never thought to ask.”

  Mama is being very mysterious, she thought to herself as she made her way to the entry. There, she found her mother waiting.

  “Put on your coat, dear. We have an appointment,” her mother said, making her way out the door. “I would like to be home before your uncle visits. This is important.” She scurried down the front steps to their waiting carriage.

  The footman placed a small wooden block under the carriage door and handed both ladies up inside, where warm bricks awaited them. That was thoughtful, she reflected, considering the weather was cold, and overcast skies threatened rain. “Mama, where did you say we are going?” Charlotte asked politely.

  “I did not say, child, but we are going to see a woman who has agreed to help us.”

  “Help us? With what? I do not understand.”

  “Charlotte, you are one and twenty years of age. While your father and I would have supported additional seasons for you, we no longer have that luxury. I do not want you to suffer because you have no prospects. Added to that, we are in mourning for your dear papa, and my brother . . .” She stalled. “With the control that my brother is exacting, I am worried for you,” her mother explained in a slow voice, one she used when she brooked little to no disagreem
ent.

  “I have not met the right man, Mama. Please tell me you are not doing something rash,” Charlotte responded.

  “No, I have not. However, your uncle has. I heard him speaking with a man of your father’s years about wedding you. I heard no offer, but your uncle said . . . things.” Her mother’s head shook back and forth as if she was trying to deny to herself what she had heard. “I must protect my children.”

  “Mama, perhaps you misunderstood—”

  “No, child.” Her mother cut her off. “I know my own brother, and his heart is not always in control of his actions. Sometimes he is ruled by other . . . emotions.”

  That was a nice way to say her uncle was greedy. That was how she had heard her father describe him. Why did Papa not make better arrangements for us in the event of his death? They were pinching every bit of money they could, while she had noticed her uncle wearing much grander clothing. I must stop this. Thinking these thoughts about her uncle would only cause things to get worse.

  The carriage pulled up in front of a nondescript blue building on Cleveland Avenue. Charlotte puzzled about it, as it was the same establishment she had seen Lord Clarendon enter after nearly hitting her brother. They were led to a side entrance and up the stairs to await the proprietress in a parlor completely decorated in red—red velvet curtains, a red velvet settee with carved gold arms, and red velvet armchairs. It was garish by any description. She recognized the large man outside as the man who had assisted them after Lord Clarendon’s carriage had nearly run them down. Was there some connection? Did Mama know what had happened? A cold chill shot to her toes and she shuddered.

  “Are you all right, my dear?” her mother tutted.

  “I may or may not feel well,” she hedged. “I think it may depend on why we are here,” she added honestly.

  “Do not be difficult, Charlotte. It is not like you,” her mother said as she sat in one of the armchairs. Pale red wallpaper featuring a golden cherub pattern covered the walls, and a large crystal chandelier that might have been better suited to a large dining room hung above them.

  Charlotte’s hands suddenly felt frozen despite her gloves and muff. Nerves. Mama carefully looked in every direction except Charlotte’s. She noticed her mother wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. Whatever was about to happen, Charlotte felt sure she was not going to be happy with it.

  Moments later, a woman dressed head-to-toe in black, including a black veil that covered her face, swished into the room. “My dear Lady Romney. I hope I did not make you wait overlong. I had a small situation to handle.”

  “No, we only just arrived. Charlotte, this is Mrs. Dove-Lyon. Her husband was a friend of your papa’s, and we have been acquainted a number of years.” She turned to Mrs. Dove-Lyon. “This is my daughter, Charlotte.”

  “Ah! She is a beauty as you described.” The proprietress sat down on her settee and began serving them tea. “I find orange tea to be the most refreshing, and with the season upon us, its blend is very satisfying.”

  Charlotte wondered whether orange was the only tea the woman drank. She sipped her tea and looked up, only to notice the woman eyeing her critically.

  “I have given quite a bit of thought to your predicament,” she started.

  “What predicament are we talking about, exactly?” Charlotte asked, more and more fearful about this meeting.

  Her mother set down her cup and looked at her sharply. “Charlotte, let us hear Mrs. Dove-Lyon out before you pepper her with questions.”

  “Yes, Mama.” Her own reply was short, staccato-like.

  “Lady Romney, I think she should understand why we are doing this. In order for it to succeed, she needs to participate,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon corrected gently.

  “You are right, of course,” Mama responded, looking a little embarrassed. “Charlotte, while you are twenty-one years of age, your father’s death has placed us in a situation. Your uncle still has tremendous influence over your future. I am concerned because while he thought I was sitting listlessly in the parlor, I was outside your Papa’s study and heard him talking to a man I do not even know about marrying you off. When the man left, I saw that he was quite a bit older than you. While your Papa and I always wanted a love match for you, we never anticipated this type of thing could happen. I do not believe the bargain has been struck as of yet, and I sought out Mrs. Dove-Lyon for her counsel.”

  “I do not understand.” Charlotte bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling.

  “Child, we need to move you out of your uncle’s reach, or your life will take a turn you may not want,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon interjected. “Now, we realize that we are ‘arranging’ this interlude, however, it is for your own good. I assure you, Lady Charlotte, I am only taking into account the best possibilities. I would like to give you a choice.”

  “Excuse me for sounding ungrateful, but it seems I am having my choice taken away from me,” Charlotte fairly snapped.

  Mrs. Dove-Lyon glanced at her mother and then to her. “I see that I may need to give you some other reasons. Yesterday, you were observed in the household of Lord Clarendon without your chaperone. Word has already reached my ears. I will not say how. But that will ruin you with the ton. Not only that, but you are in mourning, dear lady.”

  “I made a mistake. Surely, I can explain that away . . .” Charlotte saw the pained look on her mother’s face and stopped talking.

  “Daughter, your uncle plans to marry you off to Lord Thomas Butler. I asked Mrs. Graves to tell me who the visitor was. As I said, I do not know him. However, I know of him.” Her mother paused for effect before continuing. “Your father would not consider such a liaison for his daughter and would never forgive me if I allowed that to happen. It would ruin your life,” her mother said, drawing herself up.

  “You had not mentioned the name, Lady Romney. As a businesswoman, I make it a practice not to indulge in gossip about those that frequent my establishment. However, it would not be wrong for me to say that Lord Butler would not be a suitable match, in my opinion, for a lovely innocent such as yourself,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon finished, pinning Charlotte with her gaze.

  “We have lost this season, daughter. As you are aware, you are not permitted to go to balls, lunches, or anything that spells society gatherings. It would be unseemly,” her mother added.

  “I see.” Charlotte eyed her mother. It was a very stupid move on her part to leave Jane behind, but she did not want Uncle to hear about the near mishap and was not sure they had absolute discretion with the young girl. Charlotte wished she knew exactly how it had reached Mrs. Dove-Lyon. She could not imagine the earl’s staff had already gossiped about her. Still, these were valid points. “I will hear you both out,” she said finally.

  “Wonderful. Here are your choices as I see them. One, you can stay with a relative of your father’s—your father’s sister, Lady Agatha Wendt, in Kent. You could agree to be a companion to her,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said matter-of-factly, eyeing her as she digested that distasteful option.

  Aunt Agatha would be a horrible person to live with; Charlotte fought the impulse to count off the reasons why. She did not bathe regularly and used the most horrific scent to mask her own. Second, she could not hear and screamed at one for everything. Charlotte saw Mrs. Dove-Lyon raise a brow and decided she needed to stay focused and not miss any of this as it could decide her future. She wondered how much Mama had already decided on her behalf.

  “A second option is to become the wife of a member of our club—a very well-placed member who is in need of a wife at the moment. He has a small boy and has suffered much since the loss of his wife a year ago.”

  Could she be speaking of Lord Clarendon? It certainly fit. No! It could not possibly be so. “May I ask who?” Charlotte ventured, her voice trembling.

  “I am afraid not. Not at this time. I plan to discuss the opportunity with the gentleman in question. I only need your assurance that you will go through with this. We will need to get a special license and get this done
without your uncle being the wiser.”

  Charlotte’s mother sat with her mouth agape and her eyes wide. Realizing her mouth was open, she closed it before responding. “You have already determined this fine opportunity? I do not know how to thank you,” she rejoined quietly.

  “Lady Romney, I feel this is an excellent chance for Lady Charlotte. And there will be no financial obligation on your part for my help. I am doing it because your husband once helped guide me in my finances when my dear Colonel Lyons departed this earth. He left me in a bit of a muddle. Your husband was the only man I felt I could turn to for help. Without hesitating, he gave me direction, paving the way for his man of business to direct my affairs free of charge. I was able to save this home and other investments until my own business became profitable. I never forget a kindness.”

  “I do not know what to say. I know that my dear husband would not expect you to feel indebted for his kindness, but I thank you for your help. If there is ever anything I can do in return, please never hesitate to ask,” her mother replied.

  “Be careful, my dear. In my business, I consider all options.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon chuckled.

  “I am being serious. My children are my world. I am not sure what my brother is up to, but it is not benefiting my family. I need to protect them, even if they do not feel the need to be protected,” her mother said. “Please know you have a friend in me.”

  “I will do that.” The proprietress smiled. She turned to Charlotte. “Lady Charlotte, I realize that this is quite a bit to tell you, but I assure you that I have your best interests in mind. Afterall, I do have a reputation to maintain.”

  “You feel this is my only option?” Charlotte turned her attention to her mother.

  “I do,” her mother responded, wiping a tear from her eye. “One day when you have your own children, you will better understand my motivations.”

  “It sounds like we are agreed,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon looked from mother to daughter. “Now, I suggest you both return home and get her clothes packed. Do not allow anyone in the household to assist, just in case. I would not want this to get out, and I would advise you not to be over certain of loyalties within your home. Money is a strange accomplice. It makes people do things they would not normally choose to do.”