The Scandalous Lyon: The Lyon's Den

by Maggi Andersen

  The baboons were prancing about for the crowd who threw peanuts into their enclosure. One animal scaled the fence and stole a hat off a gentleman’s head. It darted away and hung suspended with the hat tipped over its eyes. The crowd roared. Beverly giggled. She turned to Jason. “How naughty they are. And crafty, too.”

  “Indeed. That baboon has chosen the finest hat in the crowd, a curly brimmed beaver from Lock & Co Hatters in St. James’s Street, if I’ve not missed my guess. The gentleman looks fit to burst.”

  “And rightly so. The hat will not be quite as handsome once it’s returned to him,” she said as the stern keeper entered to retrieve it. She tucked her hand into the crook of Jason’s elbow. When she gazed up at him, his heart turned over in his chest.

  They strolled on.

  A pair of ravens, their wings blue-black in the sunlight, hopped along the ground, taking scant notice of the crowd.

  “In Greek mythology, ravens are associated with Apollo, the god of prophecy,” Miss George volunteered.

  “Is that so?” Jason asked. “I know they are exceedingly clever, having watched their antics as a child.”

  “They are said to be a symbol of bad luck and were the gods’ messengers in the mortal world,” she added portentously.

  Jason disliked the sour note the woman imbued into the afternoon. He felt sorry for Beverly having this woman as a companion.

  Beverly laughed at the antics of an exotic bird hanging upside down on its perch. “Nature’s colors never clash, do they?” she asked, her eyes alight.

  They were directed to the west entrance where the lions and other wild beasts were kept in a yard. A figure of a lion was over the door, with a bell at the side to call the keeper. Jason rang it, and when the man appeared, he paid the fellow three shillings. They were escorted to view the penned animals, while the keeper explained their origins.

  Jason caught a flash of anger in Beverly’s eyes as they viewed a polar bear and an elephant chained to a stake. In the lofty, cavern-like dens, a leopard stalked restlessly behind iron gratings, while a brown bear sat hunched and immobile. An African hyena’s laugh echoed hideously. There were many exotic species of birds and animals to see. One of the smaller tigers thrust its face against the bars and watched them intently. The animal appeared to be limping.

  As they progressed, he noticed Beverly had fallen silent. When they reached the end and the keeper went off, Jason was shocked to discover tears on her cheeks.

  “Why, what is the matter, Miss Crabtree?”

  “Those poor animals should have been left in the wild.” Fury darkened her eyes, her voice croaky with emotion. “That tiger looked so miserable.”

  Utterly out of his depth, Jason reached into his pocket and removed a clean square of linen and held it out. She took it from him, and with a sigh, dabbed at her eyes. “You will think me a watering-pot! I am sorry. It’s just that to see them so…uncomfortable and unhappy.”

  “No, I’m sorry this has upset you.” He suddenly remembered Miss George, but there was no sign of her. Surely nothing less than falling into the polar bear pit would have kept her from her charge?

  “Your chaperone seems to have wandered off,” he said.

  “Oh, no.” Beverly’s pretty mouth firmed, and she stiffened.

  “I’m sure she will return in a minute,” he said, surprised by her reaction.

  Keeping an eye out for the chaperone, he ushered her to a bench in the sunshine. He removed her parasol from her fingers and opened it. She seemed barely aware of him but murmured her thanks when he held it over her head.

  “She didn’t mention going to see some animal or bird?” Jason searched the milling crowd. He doubted Miss George would, as she was so disapproving of the menagerie.

  Beverly scrunched his handkerchief in her fingers as she watched the people wandering up and down the stone steps. “I fear I’ve spoiled the afternoon for you, my lord.”

  “Nonsense.”

  Bathed in the pale light cast by the parasol, Beverly’s fresh beauty and the appeal in her tear-washed, brown eyes drew him closer. He took the handkerchief from her and fought the urge to kiss the tears from her cheeks. Bending, he gently pressed the handkerchief to a tear on her chin.

  He handed back the handkerchief. “I sense there is something else concerning you, Miss Crabtree.”

  Her anger turned to misery. “I shall be perfectly all right in a moment, my lord. And then we must go home.”

  “So soon?” Surprised, he acknowledged that they should not be seen alone together. He needed to protect her from possible scandal. He straightened. “We cannot wait here for Miss George. I’ll send a keeper to find her. If you will give me your arm, I’ll engage a carriage.”

  As they rose from the bench, an elegantly dressed woman of some forty years approached them, a younger woman at her side. Recognizing the lady at once, Jason groaned under his breath.

  She paused in front of them and darted a look at Beverly. “I wasn’t aware you were interested in the menagerie, Glazebrook. I seem to recall you visiting it once before with Gerald.”

  “Lady Freemont, Lady Cecily.” Jason bowed to the widow whose husband had been a good friend of his father’s, and her son, Gerald, a boyhood friend. “Allow me to present Lady Freemont and Lady Cecily to you, Miss Crabtree. Miss Crabtree is visiting from the country and expressed a wish to visit the lion enclosure. We seem to have misplaced her chaperone.”

  Beverly sank into a curtsy. “How do you do, Lady Freemont, Lady Cecily.”

  Lady Freemont cast a skeptical glance at him, then turned to further scrutinize Beverly. She eyed the monogrammed square of linen still clutched in Beverly’s fingers. “How do you do. Have you grit in your eye? Kind of you to offer the young lady your handkerchief, Glazebrook.” Her ladyship seemed unsatisfied with Jason’s explanation. “Which part of the country do you hail from, Miss Crabtree?”

  “Horsham, in Sussex, my lady.”

  “That’s not far from Brighton, is it? I have been to Brighton, naturally, when the Prince of Wales is in residence. But I have never been to Horsham.” Lady Freemont cast an arch look in his direction. “We must not delay, we shall miss the feeding of the polar bear, which Cecily looks forward to. Good day, Miss Crabtree, Lord Jason, please pay my respects to your brother.” She turned and ushered her gawky daughter away.

  Cecily had not uttered a word, but she never did in her mother’s presence, Jason recalled.

  “Oh dear, I do hope that she doesn’t think…” Beverly began.

  At that moment, Miss George emerged from the crowd. “I must beg your pardon,” she gasped, her face pale and distressed. She waved a hand somewhere near her stomach. “I cannot imagine why, but I suddenly felt…” Her voice wobbled, then faded away.

  “Perfectly all right.” Jason felt a pang of sympathy for her and quashed the thought that she might have purposefully left him and Beverly alone.

  She appeared genuinely discomforted. However, the damage was done. He didn’t expect Lady Freemont to remain silent. This would be all over the ton drawing rooms before too long and would likely reach Charles’s ears. Blast!

  “An ice cream will set us all to rights,” Jason said, drumming up a jovial tone as he led the two women to where carriages waited for fares. The suggestion seemed to fall on deaf ears, for both ladies were much subdued. He didn’t hold out much hope that the afternoon would improve for Beverly, who still clutched his handkerchief. Miss George’s face bore a greenish tinge. He decided it was best to take them straight home.

  The carriage ride to Mayfair was spent in relative silence.

  Jason helped both ladies down from the carriage in Half Moon Street. “I am sorry this has not been as pleasant an outing as I’d hoped.”

  He offered his arm to Beverly to lead her to the house. “Perhaps I could suggest something more amenable next time, to make amends.”

  Miss George, apparently eager to go inside, had walked ahead of them. But Beverly paused on the pav
ement. “My lord, I don’t believe there can be a next time.”

  “Oh?” He gazed down into her delicate face, her soft eyes wide and troubled. Did she feel he was merely toying with her? He only knew that whatever drove him had little to do with good sense. He just wanted to see her again.

  “Once again, you have come nobly to my aid. You have been kindness itself, and I remain very grateful but…” She firmed her lips and glanced away from him.

  “I can’t help but feel there is something very wrong, Miss Crabtree. You seem to be struggling with a problem. I have broad shoulders, should you wish to tell me about it.”

  She looked appalled, and her arm tightened beneath his hand. “I… no, please. There is nothing, really.”

  Jason could hardly press her, certainly not here in the street with the maid waiting at the door. He escorted her up the steps.

  After he’d left her, Jason returned to the hackney. An empty sensation filled him as he climbed into the seat. By the time the carriage pulled up outside his home, he had come to the view that Beverly didn’t want to end their friendship any more than he did. She had not returned his handkerchief. A small gesture and yet, to him, it spoke volumes.

  However, he was forced to face the truth. She had come to London to find a husband. And that was unlikely to be him.

  Chapter Five

  Mrs. Dove-Lyon questioned Beverly the following day. She had already told her mother how considerate Lord Jason had been, especially about the animals, some of which were most dreadfully unhappy. It had shocked her to see them because she understood how they must feel trapped and presented for public display. Much like she felt in her darkest moments, but she didn’t mention any of that to her mother, who would call her sentimental.

  She could not do what Mrs. Dove-Lyon asked of her, to entice Lord Jason into kissing her in a public place, although she suspected he wanted to and might have, but for Lady Freemont and her daughter. It had been very hard to refuse to see him again. But the thought of him being trapped into a declaration so horrified her, that she knew she must.

  She’d explained to her mother how Miss George had become ill, which spoiled the day and forced them to return early. Mama had been surprisingly understanding and assured her that things had a way of working out in the end. Beverly had never kept a secret from her parent before. But she didn’t tell her she’d put an end to this trickery.

  Once she was alone, she’d taken Jason’s handkerchief out of her reticule and held it to her nose. It smelled of his musky soap and sent a pang of yearning, which brought tears to her eyes. There would be no further invitation. Even as she’d spoken those words to him, which had an awful ring of finality, she’d hoped he would refuse, then declare his love for her and sweep her off her feet. He did not, of course.

  Was her mother becoming unsure of the wisdom of employing Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s services? She would never admit it and had committed them to this course of action and was determined not to return home to Papa without being the bearer of glad tidings. With Beverly’s sister, Anabel, living in Wales with her husband and children, and her brother, Derek, away serving in the Royal Navy, the onus was now on Beverly. As the prospect of her father’s disgrace loomed ever closer, Mama grew more anxious to settle Beverly well. And she had been only too willing to seek her future in London to save them from impoverishment. But how naïve to believe that a storybook ending awaited her.

  Mrs. Dove-Lyon was not so understanding. She looked sternly at Beverly’s mother. “The draught I gave you to slip into the chaperone’s tea should have given your daughter more than enough time to draw his lordship into a compromising situation.”

  Beverly drew in a horrified breath. Poor Miss George. How could Mama make her sick like that? Beverly’s stomach tightened, and she felt ill, too, with shame, even though they had not told her. She glanced at her mother.

  Beverly hastened to placate the horrid Mrs. Dove-Lyon. “We did meet an acquaintance of Lord Jason’s whilst Miss George was indisposed. Lady Freemont and her daughter.”

  “Excellent.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon sounded pleased. Her dark veil swung as if in a gentle breeze, while Beverly watched in hopeless fascination. “All is not lost then. It is sure to reach the family’s ears. We must act quickly to build upon it as soon as his lordship issues another invitation.”

  Beverly glanced at her mother. “Lord Jason led me to believe there wouldn’t be another invitation,” she said in a firm voice.

  No relief had registered in Jason’s eyes when she’d made it clear they would not meet again. But surely, he must have felt it. What a dismal day it turned out to be. He must have decided she was woefully dull. She drew in a breath. How quickly he’d taken control and found a hackney, ushered the ill Miss George and her inside, and saw to their comfort. She sighed. “His lordship was so…masterful.”

  “You do like him, Beverly?” Her mother sat straighter in her chair.

  “Yes, who would not?” It shouldn’t matter now because it was over, but it did, most dreadfully. She’d watched from the parlor window as he’d crossed the road to the hackney. He was her ideal type, everything she looked for in a husband. But she reminded herself sharply that he would never be hers.

  Beverly felt certain that Mrs. Dove-Lyon didn’t care if she liked Jason or not. She studied the woman, trying to guess what was in her mind. Would she make another effort to try to snare him? Or accept defeat? Defeat didn’t seem to fit with the woman who had fought to get where she was in life. The matchmaker might plan to find another suitor for them, but Beverly knew he would fail to measure up to Jason.

  There was no other gentleman presenting himself, for Mrs. Dove-Lyon had advised her mother to refuse Williston’s offer. He was now paying court to another lady, for which Beverly was intensely relieved. But after letting a duke’s son slip through their fingers, Mama would give serious consideration to any gentleman Mrs. Dove-Lyon produced if he was in any way acceptable. And she would try to persuade Beverly to marry him. She would be unable to refuse.

  “I don’t think we should discount his lordship,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said, surprising Beverly. “It appears he has developed a tendre for Miss Crabtree.”

  “Oh, do you think so?” Mama gasped. “Of course, he would. A prettier or more sweet-natured girl he could not find.”

  Beverly stared at the veiled woman sitting like a malevolent spider before them. Could it be true? Did Jason care deeply for her? Oh, she mustn’t believe it! She mustn’t! She feared her heart would break in two. Was this some mischief intended to weaken her and make her more amenable? It was right to refuse to behave unscrupulously, and yet, she still suffered regret that she’d lost her chance with him. She chewed her lip until it felt raw and fell silent as Mrs. Dove-Lyon and her mother put their heads together to hatch another plan.

  ***

  “You’re home early.” Charles entered the blue salon where Jason rested his boot on the grate and stared moodily into the empty fireplace. “How was your visit to the Tower?”

  “All right, I suppose.”

  “It doesn’t sound like it.” Charles went to the sideboard. “Madeira, brandy, or a glass of claret?”

  Jason sagged into a chair. “Brandy, thanks.” He watched Charles at the sideboard removing the stopper from the crystal decanter. He’d had time to consider the events at the Tower and was certain Lady Freemont would waste no time trying to find out if Charles knew. The woman’s interfering ways were as reliable as the opening of the stock exchange. “Might be best to warn you about Lady Freemont.”

  Charles walked across the Eastern rug carrying two glasses of amber liquid. He raised an eyebrow as he handed one to Jason. “Lady Freemont?”

  “Yes, saw her at the Tower. I escorted a young lady and her chaperone.”

  His brother’s dark brows met in a frown. “Who was this young lady?”

  “Miss Crabtree. She is in London for the Season with her mother. They hail from Horsham, in Sussex.”

  Charles sat i
n the maroon velvet grandfather chair. He settled back, sipping from his glass. “Where did you meet this Miss Crabtree?”

  Jason had been tempted to make up some story but found he preferred to be honest. He didn’t like the idea of lying to Charles when things were so bad between them and supposed he hadn’t entirely given up hope that he would see Beverly again. His shoulders tensed, and he took a deep breath. “The Lyon’s Den.”

  Charles sat forward so fast he came close to splashing the brandy on his lap. “What the devil was this debutante doing there?”

  “She was there with her mother. Mrs. Dove-Lyon introduced me to them.”

  “Dear Lord,” Charles said in a tight voice. “I’d like to see that Dove-Lyon in the pillory! She is seeking a husband for this girl. Have you learned nothing?”

  “I’m well aware that the woman is an unscrupulous matchmaker. If that is what you are referring to?” Jason asked coolly.

  “Then why did you…”

  “I like Miss Crabtree. I think if you met her, you would like her, too.”

  “I meet many nice young debutantes. Who are her people?”

  “I am not entirely sure.”

  “It’s not difficult to understand what is happening here. Ask yourself why a woman would take her daughter to Dove-Lyon,” Charles said crisply. He groaned. “What is it about this young lady that attracts you?”

  “Miss Crabtree is unlike most debutantes.”

  “Meaning?”

  “She is not a flirt and does not cast out lures. And she is very lovely.”

  “Naturally.” Charles tossed back his drink and slammed the glass down on the table. “You are aware that they are trying to trap you into a declaration?”

  “I am not a fool,” Jason said, realizing that he probably sounded like one right now. “I was careful.” But was he? He would have kissed her had he had the chance. What was it about Beverly that made him reckless?

  “You must stop this before that Dove-Lyon woman outwits you. You’re obviously not thinking clearly, and she has a reputation for this sort of thing.”