Page 3 of A Lyon for Luck
It was a decisive answer and filled with a conviction that impressed Bessie. “I don’t think it will come to that. They may be angry, but in the end, the marriage you will have brokered for yourself will be more socially advantageous than the one your father is attempting to force you into. They will forgive you. The greater question, I think, is whether or not you can forgive them.”
With that, Bessie sailed from the room, leaving her young client alone in the sitting room. Making for her study, she dashed off a note, sealed it with her infamous seal set in gold sprinkled black wax. No one ever ignored correspondence from her.
Chapter Two
It had beenonly a matter of days since he’d met with the solicitor and then met privately with Mrs. Bessie Dove-Lyon—something that had felt shockingly like being interviewed for a position. It had never occurred to him that she might reach out to him again so soon. With her missive in hand, he left his dusty and horrifically understaffed house and made the very short walk to the Lyon’s Den. If Mrs. Dove-Lyon had managed to find a bride for him within forty-eight hours, then everything said of her and her matchmaking skills was a gross understatement of her apparently deity-esque capabilities.
The door to the hell was opened before he even reached it; one of Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s perfectly trained employees greeting him. “Good afternoon, my lord. Mrs. Dove-Lyon is in the library. Please follow me and I shall take you to her.”
Like a well-choreographed production, he was shown to the luxuriously appointed library that seemed more suited to a country house than a London gaming hell. He’d been in there for no more than a moment when the door opened once more and Mrs. Dove-Lyon entered. But it wasn’t the proprietress who captured his attention. It was the young woman beside her. Lovely, with a wealth of chestnuthair and wide blue eyes, she was quite perfect. From the top of her head to the tips of her perfectly dyed kid boots, she was exquisite. The quintessential English beauty with creamy skin and a cupid’s bow mouth.
“Lord Aldwyn, how prompt you are. Thank you for coming so quickly,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said.
He’d had the distinct impression that delaying wasn’t optional, but saying so would likely not endear him to the Black Widow of Whitehall. Instead, he said, “Thank you for reaching out to me so quickly, Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”
She nodded in acknowledgment of his thanks. “To that end, Lord Aldwyn, may I introduce you to Miss Daphne Acres. Miss Acres is in need of a husband lest her parents force her into a marriage with a most unsuitable and quite repulsive man. And Miss Acres, Lord Aldwyn is in need of a wife with a significant fortune. Your needs and requirements are compatible. Now we must only see that the two of you are, as well. I shall leave you alone to discuss the matter.”
With that, Mrs. Dove-Lyon immediately exited the room and left them alone. And Fletcher was rendered utterly speechless. In part because the entire turn of events was so stunning and in part because Miss Acres was so perfectly beautiful that he found it hard to even formulate a thought, much less translate that thought into speech.
“Lord Aldwyn,” Miss Acres said. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”
“Thank you, Miss Acres. I must admit, I did not expect Mrs. Dove-Lyon to be quite so efficient in locating a potential match. She seems to have moved rather expeditiously.”
“Indeed. I have only been in communication with Mrs. Dove-Lyon since yesterday… But I confess to being quite relieved at her quick action. I haven’t very much time before my father completes his negotiations with Lord Pozenby.”
Fletcher’s eyes widened and his eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Surely not Cecil Pozenby!” The man was a good forty years senior to the young woman before him and that, sadly, was the least objectionable thing about him.
“Indeed. Lord Cecil Pozenby. I was involved in a scandal sometime back, you see? I was abducted by the cousin of a man to whom I was betrothed. But it was made to appear as though I had run off with my brother’s tutor in some elopement scheme.”
Recognition niggled. Lynley’s interchangeable brides had prompted quite a bit of laughter, though it hardly seemed amusing given the true circumstances behind it all. “I recall it. It was quite the scandal, and you’ve certainly gotten the worst from it.”
Daphne nodded. “Indeed. It has been difficult. My former betrothed, with the assistance of Mrs. Dove-Lyon, found himself a bride. His circumstances were not so different from your own, I think, and he needed to move very quickly. But alas, since then, my social currency, as it were, has declined greatly. I fear I am not a viable participant in the marriage mart now and must utilize…alternativemethods.”
How very diplomatically she’d phrased it, he thought with some amusement. “I see. Well, in the interest of being entirely honest with one another and not trying to put a prettier face on it all… I’m utterly impoverished. There isn’t enough in the family coffers to even pay the death duties much less the mortgages on everything not entailed or set the sorely neglected estate to rights. I’m not even certain I can pay for a license.”
She frowned at him. “Are you trying to dissuade me?”
Fletcher shook his head and a wry chuckle escaped him. “Not in the least, Miss Acres. I just simply do not want you to feel you have been misled. There is no grand inheritance awaiting me if I marry by a certain date. Nor are there any wealthy relatives who have yet to shuffle off the mortal coil. If we wed, what you see before you is precisely all you will get… myself, my name, and my vows. That is all Ihave to give.”
She cocked her head to one side, considering. And her answer, when she voiced it, reflected that he’d been weighed and measured by her. “How fortuitous then that I find that to be quite enough.”
Daphne wasn’t entirelycertain why she felt an immediate kinship with Lord Aldwyn. But she did. Perhaps time would prove her wrong, but considering her other options, it was certainly a risk she would have to take. He was handsome. He was well spoken. Mrs. Dove-Lyon thought well enough of him to offer him up as a potential match. If any woman was an adequate judge of a man’s character, it would be the woman who ran a gambling den.
“How should we proceed, Lord Aldwyn?”
“I am to assume that your father intends to move quickly in securing your betrothal to Lord Pozenby?” he asked.
“He does. In a manner of days, I think. If we mean to wed, we will have to do so in a slightly clandestine manner,” she admitted, “and very hurriedly.”
“We will proceed as your situation dictates. It appears to be more immediately pressing than my own.”
“Elopement?” she queried.
“Yes. I think so. It seems to be the best option. I can make the arrangements. We could leave tomorrow.”
“Not to be indelicate, but if we need funds to travel—”
“I have that in hand. I may not have the means to set the estate to rights and despite my earlier quip to the contrary, I have the means to get us to Scotland. If you are in agreement?”
