Page 6 of Read To Me, Lyon

He walked around the room. It was a decadent space. The walls were covered with rich magentas and silvers, while the furniture had a different pattern but similar colors. Oliver pondered how many other men had stood in the same room facing a similar predicament. He swallowed, doing his best to soothe his nerves; he was offering himself up as some type of prize.

It was for the best. He wasn’t the first Everly to find himself in this type of awkward position. The family had endured and kept several scandals quiet. This would be just another one. Still, he wondered whether he would come to love the wife selected for him. Would he be able to pick any qualities he wanted in a partner? He doubted it. Oliver had nothing to offer Mrs. Dove-Lyon but his name for the match she was being paid to make.

The doors opened, and the proprietor of the Lyon’s Den entered. She was an older woman, dressed in black silk. The gown and the veil she wore obscured most of her. Rumors swirled that she had once been a courtesan, and he pondered for a moment what she looked like behind all the fabric. He pushed the thoughts away. Oliver needed to focus on his responsibilities. He rose. “Thank you for meeting with me, Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”

She nodded and sat, pointing to the chair across from her. A member of her staff poured her a glass of champagne and then started to refill his brandy glass, but stumbled. The liquor landed on his pants, and the male server stepped back, a horrified expression on his face. “I’m so sorry, my lord.” He reached for a cloth on the liquor cart and held it out to Oliver.

Oliver smiled at him, taking the cloth he held out. “I spill enough things on myself; it would be wrong to be angry about your mistake.”

The man shot him a grateful look and took his glass, refilling it. He placed it on the table next to Oliver, likely thinking it was the safer move.

“Thank you, Quince,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said.

Oliver handed Quince back the cloth, and the man hurried from the room.

“Sorry about that, Everly. He is new. I suppose I may have to let him go.”

He shook his head, alarmed and not wanting a man to lose his job for a simple mistake. “Please don’t. It was an accident.”

She tilted her head and studied him. “Would you say you’re a kind person, my lord?”

Oliver frowned, confused by the question. “I try to be, but I’m human.”

“I’ve known men with lesser titles or none who would demand I fire or garnish Quince’s wages.”

He took a sip of his drink. Oliver wasn’t sure he would ever do that, but his time on the Continent had also changed him. “I’m sure you are aware, as you are, of everything that I’ve just returned from France. You learn when you are fighting or enduring so much loss that kindness is the greatest blessing a man can give or receive.”

Oliver hadn’t meant to say something so personal. He’d seen more death than he ever imagined he would as a lord’s son. He’d been naïve when he left to fight, thinking that he’d not be near the front line. That hadn’t been the case.

Mrs. Dove-Lyon said, “I think this generation of men will be forever changed, and I’m sorry for the hardship you went through.”

Oliver lifted his gaze to her face. The proprietor of the Lyon’s Den was a shrewd and calculated woman; he was shocked to be offered words of comfort from her. “Thank you.”

She took a sip of her champagne. “I have a woman whom you might suit. But what are your requirements?”

Gone was the tiny bit of compassion she’d shown, and the businesswoman was back. “My family has fallen into a dire situation.”

“You are broke,” she said plainly.

The woman’s investigators were skilled. No one in his circle had any idea. Oliver supposed that was one of the pluses of being the primary investor in a failed mine in a faraway place. “We are. I would need a wife who brings a substantial dowry.”

“How much?”

He’d expected this question and had spent the previous night reviewing his family’s finances to be as accurate as possible. Oliver pulled a paper from his pocket and slid it across the table. Mrs. Dove-Lyon picked it up and read the sum. It was a staggering amount, but he had no choice.

She nodded. “What other requirements do you have?”

He was shocked that he even had options. What did he want? Eventually, after some thought, he said, “Someone with whom I enjoy speaking.”

Surprise flickered across the proprietor’s face, and he flushed, wondering if his requirement was absurd. “I’m sure that isn’t easy. Let me think of something else—”

“Not necessary. I can accommodate that request.” She paused and peered at him. “You didn’t mention that she needed to be a lady.”

He shrugged. “It isn’t necessary. My mother wasn’t one until she married my father.”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s mouth lifted into an amused smirk. “I recently discovered that information. The ton would be scandalized if they knew their leading lady wasn’t always one of them.”

He laughed. “I’m sure that if you are aware of my mother’s past, then you understand my family is adept at covering up scandals.”