Page 11 of Read To Me, Lyon

His mind had moved past outrage to what he would write. The proprietor stated, “You have thirty minutes.”

He began to write, deciding that sharing his true thoughts was the best. To Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s point, if the lady connected with his words, then it was meant to be, and if not, he would find another solution for his family. When done, Oliver stared at the paper, thinking he could do no better; the written text were his true thoughts.

The door opened, and he glanced up to see Quince there. “My lord, I am here to collect your summary.”

Oliver was surprised that the allotted time had already passed. He rose and handed him the paper.

“If you are selected, Mrs. Dove-Lyon will return; if not, I will escort you out, and she will follow up with you at a later date.”

After Quince left, he paced back and forth. He wasn’t sure how long it would take. Oliver grabbed his drink and took a sip. Maybe if he wasn’t chosen, it was meant to be. He picked up the book and flipped through it.

Absurdly, his mind flashed back to Miss Larson. He wondered what she would think of his summary. Oliver slammed the book shut. He shouldn’t be thinking of her. Even if this game didn’t go in his direction, his focus needed to be on making the Everly Estate financially secure again.

Oliver heard the swoosh of skirts outside his door and knew he’d been selected. He wasn’t sure what he felt, but it wasn’t happiness or excitement. Part of him wanted to bolt and find his own bride. The door opened, and the proprietor smiled at him. “You listened to my advice and wrote your true thoughts. Congratulations, my lord. Follow me. You will meet your bride’s solicitor and discover who she is. Mr. Smith is also a close family friend of the woman.”

He followed her down the hallway and re-entered the private drawing room where he’d first met Mrs. Dove-Lyon. A small, older man waited, drinking a brandy. Identifying Oliver, his brows shot up in surprise. He choked on his drink and placed his glass on a table. Bowing, he said, “My lord.”

Oliver waved off the greeting. “Please, I think formality isn’t necessary in this situation.”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon began, “The woman who will be your future bride had three requirements. The first is that you allow her to care for her sisters as she sees fit. The second is that you do not interfere in her business. Your bride is very wealthy and will pay the dowry, but her business will remain separate and under her management. The third is that you are kind.”

Oliver glanced at Quince, who adeptly moved around the room. He suspected the staff member’s clumsiness had been a clever ploy planned by the Lyon’s Den proprietor. Sensing his stare and confirming Oliver’s suspicion, Quince mouthed, “My apologies.”

“Do you have any concerns with those stipulations, my lord?” Mr. Smith asked him.

This was what Oliver’s family needed and the best way forward. “No.”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon handed him a paper. “Then read this contract to discover who your new bride is. You will call on her tomorrow.”

Oliver took the paper, knowing he was about to merge his life and future with a woman who wasn’t his choice. He stared down at the document and read the name. His eyes flew back up, and he glanced back and forth between Mr. Smith and Mrs. Dove-Lyon. “She is to be my bride?”

They both nodded, and he smiled. Hope filled Oliver. He was incredulous who it was. Oliver realized he wanted this marriage, not only for his family’s financial stability.

“May I have something to sign with?” he asked.

Chapter Five

Kitty walked into her family’s townhouse in Piccadilly. It was late, and she should be exhausted, but leaving the Lyon’s Den without learning who her husband was left her on edge. Was he a lord or a wealthy businessman?

“Who is it?” Hazel asked, rushing into the foyer with their other sister on her heels. Kitty apparently wasn’t the only one too curious to sleep. She motioned to the drawing room. The butler asked, “Shall I fetch you something to drink, Miss Larson?”

She shook her head. “No, we will all be going to bed soon.”

Anna looked at her incredulously. Kitty insisted, “We will.”

“Who is it?” Hazel questioned again, throwing herself on one of the overstuffed sofas.

Kitty sighed, taking a seat. She kicked her slippers off and tucked her feet under her legs on the other sofa. Anna sat on the edge of the wingback chair, humming with excitement.

“I don’t know. She had me choose my betrothed in a peculiar way. I read summaries of the new pirate book and picked the one I liked the most. The winning author will call on me late tomorrow morning.”

“Really?” Hazel asked.

Anna’s eyes turned dreamy. “I think that sounds romantic.”

“It sounds like madness,” Hazel stated.

Kitty nodded. “I assumed I’d pick my future husband off their appearance or a few minutes of conversation. It was different.”