Page 2 of A Lyon for Luck
Once inside, Daphne was ushered up the stairs and into a small sitting room. Decorated in shades of cream, gold, and black, it was lavish and quite beautiful. But a glimpse at the frescoed ceiling revealed scantily clad nymphs and satyrs that would have scandalized even the most debauched members of the ton. Averting her gaze quickly, she could do nothing about the blush which stained her cheeks when a concealed door within the paneled wall opened.
With hints of her features visible through the veil she wore, Mrs. Bessie Dove-Lyon appeared older than she had anticipated but was still quite exquisite. Petite in frame and wearing a confection of black silk and lace that appeared more suited to the boudoir than the ballroom, she was simply magnetic. An aura of power emanated from her that Daphne found herself quite envious of. If there was anything the last several months had taught her, it was simply how powerless she was in her own life. No one, she thought, had ever made Mrs. Dove-Lyon feel small and insignificant. Certainly, no one dared to tell her what she must do.
“You are not what I expected, Miss Acres,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said.
“You are not what I expected, Mrs. Dove-Lyon.” Daphne matched her tone and her inflection perfectly. She had a sense that showing weakness would be an unpardonable sin.
A hint of a smile, barely visible beneath the lace edge of her veil, shifted her features. “Indeed. I find it most advantageous to never be predictable. Tell me what necessitated your urgency in arranging to meet with me.”
Daphne took a deep breath, grounding herself before spilling the horror of her impending future. “My father is currently attempting to marry me off to Lord Cecil Pozenby. And I, quite frankly, would rather die. That is not melodrama or hysterics. It’s a simple fact. Marriage to that man would be a death sentence.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon nodded. “Indeed, it would. I daresay holding one’s breath for the frequency and duration required to be in that man’s presence to the degree marriage necessitates could, in fact, induce a cessation of life.”
“You know him?”
“My dear,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon replied with droll humor, “everyone knows him. And avoids him at all costs. There isn’t a nosegay in all of England potent enough to mask his… aroma.”
Relief washed through her. She had Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s sympathies, and that was surely the first step in securing her services. “Then you understand my dilemma perfectly. If I do not find a husband of my own within the next week, my father will force me to wed Pozenby. And quite frankly, I am very tired of men imposing their will on me.”
“Marriage may not change that, Miss Acres.”
Daphne nodded. “I’m aware. But it’s a risk worth taking when one considers the alternative.”
Mrs. Bessie Dove-Lyonsurveyed the young woman before her with a critical eye. Her composure was remarkable. Her self-containment wasenviable. And yet Bessie sensed within her a deep discontentment. This was a young woman searching for more—a young woman searching for herself.
“I will help you, Miss Acres, because I’m well aware that I—inadvertently—have played a role in your current predicament. That isn’t guilt I speak of, but a sense of fairness. Of justice. One must always seek to keep balance in what they put out into the world.”
“Certainly, Mrs. Dove-Lyon. I harbor no ill feeling toward you for the events surrounding Lord Lynley’s marriage to the current viscountess. In truth, I wish nothing but the best for them both… he and I did not suit. I was convenient for him, and for myself, I was simply compliant with the wishes of others.”
Bessie nodded. “I do not have a candidate in mind for you just yet. But given the nature of your situation, the need to move quickly will necessitate flexibility on your part.”
“Anything and anyone is preferable to what awaits me. I’d marry the devil himself,” Daphne stated emphatically.
“Oh, I’m certain I can do better than that for you,” Bessie stated with an enigmatic smile in her voice as she surveyed the very lovely young woman before her. “I’ve done some preliminary investigation into what precisely you might bring to the marriage… did you know that you are quite wealthy in your own right, Miss Acres?”
“Not the particulars, but yes. I’m well aware that there are funds set aside for me by my grandmother that are substantial but the exact value of that has never been revealed to me.”
“Pity. I find it always benefits a woman to know her worth—not that such a thing can ever be defined solely in terms of finance, but it’s all part and parcel, I think.” Bessie moved forward as she drew a slip of paper from her pocket. When she was within reach, she placed that in Daphne’s hand and watched.
The girl opened the small note and as she took in the number written there, her eyes widened in shock. “Just so, my dear. Just so. It’sa rather staggering sum, though the right man, if he can be found, will see that you are worth far more than what is documented on that bit of parchment.” She took Miss Acres’s chin between her thumb and forefinger, turning her face side to side. “You are remarkably beautiful. It’s a shame what happened with Dorchester and that your betrothal to Lynley came to naught. Though I daresay he’s quite happy now with Ellis Lockhart. But you know that, don’t you?”
“I’m aware. And I do not begrudge them their happiness. In truth, I think Lord Lynley and I—we’d have hated one another eventually, I think. He needed a bride, and I needed—I needed to get away from my very controlling mother and father. He seemed, at the time, an expedient way to do so. He was taciturn and… cool. But that was hardly a mark against him when I’ve spent my life living with two people who carried on incessantly about my many failings.”
Bessie perched delicately on the edge of an intricately carved armchair. “You do not seem the sort to tolerate such treatment.”
“I’ve changed, Mrs. Dove-Lyon. After my abduction, I realized that one may follow the rules and dictates of society to the very letter and still find themselves a pariah. Therefore, following those rules now seems rather unimportant to me.”
Bessie thought about the man she’d met only two days prior. She hadn’t yet had time to vet him thoroughly, but she knew enough to be certain he was a better choice than Pozenby. The question was whether or not he and Miss Acres would suit.
Lord Aldwyn, Fletcher Quill, was penniless. A second son of a second son who should never have inherited anything but for a string of tragedies. He was not well known in society. Her understanding was that the man had initially been intended for the Church though ill-suited by his nature for such a calling. He was quite handsome though, with an air about him that hinted at… more. Not unlike Miss Acres herself.
“I may have a solution for you, after all. Someone that has onlyrecently come to my attention,” Bessie stated. “Titled, though not exalted by any degree. You could well become Lady Daphne if that is of importance to you.”
“So long as he isn’t Cecil Pozenby, I’m not certain I care, Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”
“Wait here, dear girl. I’ll know more by and by, but it shan’t be long… Be certain if you say yes, because things will happen very quickly from this point on. I daresay, you will have to make good on the gossips’ claims that you eloped. It will be the only way you can marry by your choice rather than your father’s.”
“I’m prepared for that, Mrs. Dove-Lyon. I strongly suspect that my parents may never speak to me again after I defy them this way. To be perfectly frank, I honestly am not certain that I mind.”
